#I ordered these in a woman's 11 and how they fit

[oldwomanwears]

Badaboom.

I've become very good at finding something I like for my wardrobe and then waiting and waiting and waiting until a sale brings it down to an acceptable price for me.

These Pumas still weren't cheap, but they about the price I pay for a good pair of work shoes.

But those colours. Oh man. Can't wait until they get here.

Granted, I busted up my ankle a week ago and am currently using a came to keep myself upright, so I've no idea if I'll be able to get these on without extreme pain... But who cares. Fashion, amiright?

[viennakarma]

The Lucky One

Part 1 (of 2) | Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Summary: Formula One had been your dream and your goal ever since you were a kid, and you did all you had to in order to achieve it. Between ups and downs, Sebastian becomes a steady presence despite being your complicated frenemy relationship. Until everything comes crashing down. Formula One gives, but Formula One takes.

Word count: 6.5k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, reader is mirrorball coded, coming of age, cursing, romance, both are assholes, smut, +18, complicated feelings, rivals to lovers, crash, major injury, medical innacuracies, bittersweet ending, not beta read

Relationship: Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Note: This is fully inspired by the song, and throughout my writing process I realized it also fits mirrorball. This one may require some tissues (especially in part 2). Everything is fictional and I mean no disrespect to Sebastian or his family (they don't exist in this story). Let me know in the comments if you wanna be tagged for part 2. Not proofread. Comments and feedback are welcomed.

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You knew from an early age that charisma could conquer the world, it was a relatively easy taught lesson back in your early karting days. Mum sat you down one day in karting, showing two other kids around. One sitting alone, quietly twinkling with his go-kart, you knew him, Jamie-something, one of the best kids in karting, and you always had fun battles with him, but he was a bit of an odd one out. The other kid mum pointed at was Nick, loud, funny and popular… not that good at karting but a really smart talker. And it showed as he was surrounded by adults and other kids, every bit of attention on him.

You were around 11 when your mum pointed out the difference between the two kids.

“What is different about them, darling?” Mum asked you.

“Jamie is alone… And Nick is surrounded by people.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know, Mama…” You said, scratching your brain to try and reply.

“Jamie is not very good with people, right? He’s a bit of an introvert…” Your mum said, quite somberly, “And Nick, he’s charismatic, see how he manages to grab everyone's attention?” As you nodded, your mum kept talking, “There are greater chances of Nick making far in motorsports, rather than Jamie.”

“But it’s not fair! Jamie is much better…”

“I know, darling… But you’ll see that motorsports is not fair at all. And unfortunately, if you really want to go far in this career, you’ll have to do everything they want and more. Being a good driver won’t be enough.”

“Why not, mama?” You asked, pouting.

“Because everybody loves pretty and everybody loves cool.”

-

Over the next few years of your teens, you learned to adapt, not only in karting, then single seaters, then Formula categories, not only as a driver, but as a person. You were fun, charming, and after a few years, it came to you easily. Laugh at his joke, that’s a sponsor. Smile at the journalists and they’ll write you as the future of motorsport. Be funny, but not too funny to the point they won’t take you seriously. Smile, but not too much so they don’t think you’re flirting. Be smart about your sport, but not too smart so they won’t feel emasculated. Take good care of your career and your every step, but don’t let them know so they won’t call you manipulative. Never be angry, never lash out, never be curt.

Nobody ever thought about you as a carefully crafted person, because even that was planned out. No one called you fake. They always thought you were that person: funny, smart and pretty like a 60’s queen.

You made it to Formula 1 at the age 23, a little late but you had accounted for that, being a woman and all. You were a damn good driver, but really it was your charm that put you there. You knew that your presence was good PR for the Federation. Look how inclusive we are!

After substituting a driver twice in the 2014 season, you were signed in 2015 for Toro Rosso, rookie you and rookie Max Verstappen, who was much younger than you. You and him got along well, but you couldn’t help but think how he got the chance to join Formula 1 much younger than you, having had almost the same career path in earlier categories. The only difference? You were a woman.

But you didn’t let that outshine your happiness of making it to Formula 1.

Soon you got in everyone’s good graces, charming your way through motorsports like you had been doing your whole career. Your first ever race as an official driver on the grid, there was this sense of relief, of making it to the ultimate dream. All that you had endured was worth it in that glorious moment.

You managed a little friendship with most drivers, getting to chat with them despite your rivalry on the track. You end up getting two podiums that season, brilliantly going down in history.

Well into your first official season, somehow the nickname “Principessa” caught on after an Italian newspaper wrote a praiseful cover article about how you managed to be classy and talented in your rookie year at Toro Rosso.

Life was a dream come true all the way to 2016, when you realized, Sebastian Vettel didn’t like you much. You thought it was just a distance thing, since you two weren’t used to talking that much. Until you overheard him talking about you with Nico, one of the drivers he was always talking to.

“I’m just not really interested…” Sebastian sounded reluctant.

“She’s really nice once you get to chat with her,” Nico said, as you hid behind a pile of tyres, “Vivian adores her, she even sent her a basket of goodies because of the pregnancy.”

“I understand. But me and her don’t click,” Sebastian mumbled, sounding annoyed.

“And why not?”

“She’s fake. A perfect PR doll, and I don’t like it.”

There was a long silence from Nico, probably shocked at the sudden harshness of Sebastian’s towards someone he had barely opened up to meet. You stood there frozen for a couple of seconds, not understanding his aversion to you.

Snapping out of it, you silently walked away without them noticing you were ever there. You couldn’t believe how, or why Sebastian could see right through you, how he could say that stuff when he had barely talked to you. But worst of all, you couldn’t understand his aversion to you, being against you.

“Having a quiet day?” Nico asked later that day, at the drivers parade as you stood a bit quieter than usual, still in your head about Sebastian’s words.

“Oh, no! Just a bit hungry!” You lied with a believable smile, “How’s Vivian?” You decided to change the subject.

Later that year, you had a great, almost competitive car, which had taken you to P3 in the championship standings, with a real, consistent chance of fighting for the championship.

Unfortunately for you, after the fourth to last race of the season, one race you had finished first place, you and part of your team were called in to talk with the representatives of the FIA because of an irregular part of your car. It was a minimal part of the livery that connected with the air vents, they said it was irregular, and despite the team showing proof that you had gained no advantage out of that, you were still punished with disqualification from that race.

It wasn’t just the problem of being DSQ, but not making points in that race meant you were out of the fight for the championship.

It felt like a punch in the face. Unjustifiable and an arbitrary decision.

After that disqualification, that came out right after the race had ended, Sebastian was the one to inherit that win, and a small part of him wanted to check on you, just because those kinds of disqualifications were a blow to the confidence of a driver.

Sebastian walked into your driver’s room and the first thing he noticed were the objects thrown around on the floor, a flipped table and chair. Chess pieces and boards on the floor, along with water bottles and towels, he looked around and you were sitting in a corner, on the floor, tears streaming down your face as you tried to wipe them with trembling hands, but the tears kept coming down.

It sent Sebastian into some sort of shock, he knew you for around three years now, and he had never seen you cry, or be angry, or even annoyed. You were always happy and bubbly… And now… It was like you were someone else, so painfully real, multifaceted for the first time.

“Hey… you-” He wasn’t even sure of what to say.

“They took my chances from me…” You said, voice trembling and a fresh stream of tears, “they did it on purpose. They did it to keep me where I am, to keep me on a leash, to not let me become a World Champion.”

“I’m so sorry…” He knelt down by your side, unsure of what to do or say.

“I did everything right. Played by their rules. I smiled, and I danced like a circus monkey, and I clapped even when I shouldn’t… I took it silently even when they threw spears at my chest. I swallowed my pride countless times to be here. I did everything right…” You knew you were rambling, to someone who probably didn’t even like you, but you couldn’t stop, the burning rage that brought tears to your eyes was stronger than anything you ever felt.

Sebastian didn’t know what to say, too shocked by the view of the real you that he could barely wrap his head around it. There was anger in your eyes, sadness, but somewhat a sprinkle of despair too. So he did the only thing his mind could think of, he hugged you. A little awkwardly, but a hug nonetheless. He felt your tears dampening his shirt, your hands fisting the material as if you were drowning and he was the only lifebuoy left. The sobs rocked your shaky frame and he held you for a long time, until someone from the team came to check on you. Then Sebastian hesitantly let go of you, despite your fingers still gripping his shirt, he pulled back, astonished.

As he left, stunned, he couldn’t even remember the reason he had gone there in the first place.

You only saw Sebastian again, the following race weekend, during media day. You were sitting on a box, drinking some water, your legs dangling in the air. You looked like you always did, bubbly, content, hair in place, light makeup…

Despite everything, and the memories being a little blurry, you didn’t forget what Sebastian had done for you. But even though the support was nice at the time, you couldn’t help but feel an immense amount of shame and embarrassment for what he had witnessed. Your mask had slipped, and you didn’t know how to proceed in this new, unknown territory.

In the end, you opted for deflection.

“Hey,” Sebastian approached you, looking slightly worried, “how…” he cleared his throat, “how have you been?” There was a silent question there, a silent approach to everything that had transpired the other day.

“Hi? Yeah, I’m alright, thanks!” You said with a bright smile, but now Sebastian could see it never reached your eyes. You hopped off the box you were sitting on, starting to walk away.

“Um- about the other day…?” Sebastian tried to breach the subject, unsure of how you would react.

“Oh, that? It was silly, just forget about it!” You kept smiling, your voice was cheerful, but your eyes betrayed that. You kept walking away, eating fruits and Sebastian ran up to you again, confused about you brushing under the rug something that was a pretty big deal.

“No, uh- how-” He wanted to think of something to say, but your smile dimmed a little bit as you looked at him.

“Let’s forget about that. And please don’t pity me.” You said with that same frozen smile and Sebastian frowned. He wasn’t pitying you, he was genuinely worried about that.

You walked away before he could say anything else. He was shocked at you dismissing so easily a full blown breakdown you had the week before. He had spent days thinking about you, not because he enjoyed any of it, he didn’t, but because he saw you for the first time. The real you. The ugly and painful parts, but it was so, so genuine, he knew that was the real you, with an honest reaction to something that hurt and upset you. He saw something he had never seen in you before, and he couldn’t get that version of you out of his head.

It was obvious you didn’t want to talk about that, or even address it. And Sebastian wasn’t going to press for answers, because in the end, he didn’t even like you particularly. He didn’t. And in the media pen, when a reporter asked you about the penalty that took you out of the championship competition, you smiled politely.

“Oh, I believe the FIA did the right thing, if I was accidentally irregular, that’s what should have been done. No complaints on my part or on behalf of my team,” You said into the mic, seeing in their faces that no one expected that response. Sebastian kept staring at you, in disbelief.

“Well, I for one,” Sebastian said after a few shocked seconds, “think that her disqualification was bullshit.”

The room burst out laughing, even you. A fake laugh, but since no one could tell, it was still a laugh. Saving your tears for some other time, alone and quiet, away from prying eyes.

Despite everything, you and Sebastian didn’t become closer, but in some way he just decided to open up to you a little bit more, as opposed to what he had been doing these past few years. He still wasn’t a friend or a close acquaintance, but he was less closed off and less short towards you. There was a silent acknowledgement of each other in public settings, a quiet nod or polite smile here and there.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that he was about to leave the hotel to go to a dinner during the week of the Malaysian GP, when he got into the elevator and as he got to the first floor, you stumbled into the small space, reeking of alcohol and makeup a little smeared. He called your name, in such shock he forgot to hop out and the elevator started going up again.

“What,” You said, holding yourself steady against the elevator wall. Sebastian was shocked, that was another facet of you, raw and belling with the persona you usually sold the world.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the elevator stopping on your floor.

“I’m fine,” you said, stumbling out of the elevator in your high heels, Sebastian couldn’t help but also step out, grabbing your arm to steady you, “I said I’m fine!” You said, drunkenly stomping your foot.

“No, you’re not. Come on, give me your key.” Sebastian said, with a voice that left no space for arguing. 

You tried to be stubborn, but he just grabbed your purse and started fumbling with it until he grabbed your key-card. Holding your arm, he guided you to your hotel suite. Once inside, he placed you sitting on an armchair, and as he knelt in front of you to remove your shoes, you plopped back against the backrest.

“No, no,” he said, tossing your heels away and pulling your arms so you’d sit up straight, “No sleeping yet, come on. I didn’t pick you for a drinker.”

“And I didn’t pick you for a nosy asshole” You snapped back.

“Well, well, well, isn’t motorsports’ favorite doll hiding a foul mouth?” He said, holding you up, guiding you to the bathroom.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Well, isn’t that what you are? We both know the truth, Principessa.” There was some bitterness to the way he said the nickname. You were not particularly fond of the nickname either, but the way he said it, with disgust, it rubbed you the wrong way.

“Why are you here?” You asked slowly.

“Why are you hammered on a Tuesday night?” He held you up, putting you on your feet and calmly leading you to the bathroom.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Sebastian pressed his lips together at your deflection, deep down he knew. More than anyone he knew you were just pretending to be okay with being taken out of the fight for the championship. He knew you were hurting. He also wanted to tell you that wasn’t the way to go about it, but at the end of the day, you two weren’t really close.

“Get in the shower. Cold.” He said, walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind himself.

He could hear the sound of the water running, so he went to the phone and ordered soup and tea from room service. He sat down on the armchair, somewhat worried about you. He had gone through that before, but he was also four times world champion, compared to you who was just in your second year, losing the opportunity to fight for the championship for a mistake that wasn’t yours and that was completely out of your hands.

You left the bathroom dressed in a fluffy robe, face clean off of remnants of makeup. But your eyes were puffy and red, and he wondered if you were crying in the shower. He didn’t ask.

“Since you look a little more sober, I’m going. Room service will bring you something to eat and something non-alcoholic to drink.”

You sat on the couch opposite to him, feeling a little better and a bit more sober. You watched as he got up, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You had many questions. But the most important one was why he was there. Why was he taking care of you? You knew he didn’t like you, he knew you knew it too. Before you could ask any of it, he walked towards the door.

“Thank you,” You mumbled. He only nodded, not bothering to look back at you. It was a quiet murmur, but some part of you hoped he knew that thank you wasn’t about just this instance, but also the time he consoled you when no one else did.

The rest of the season, you managed to get ahold of yourself since you knew, keeping wallowing in self pity would get you nowhere. So you focused on finishing the season better. Sebastian and you also didn’t grow particularly close in the following months, despite sometimes meeting his eyes across the room. There was always this underlying tension between you, like two people that knew a secret but swore to not talk about it.

During the Prize Giving Ceremony, you were mingling with some drivers, members of the team and from the FIA. You were known for being the life of the party, usually a social butterfly, always making connections and meeting new people.

But then, you made a small pause to grab a drink and some air, sitting down on a bench, when Sebastian made his way to you, a somewhat bright smile directed to you as he crossed the room. It was the first time he had ever directed that kind of smile to you. He looked like he had drunk a little bit.

“You look tipsy,” You pointed out as soon as he stopped before you. He grinned.

“High quality champagne,” Sebastian replied, sitting on the bench beside you, raising his flute for a toast. You replied by clicking your flute against his.

You two sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching the party in full swing.

“You’re back to your old self,” Sebastian pointed out, suddenly. But it didn’t sound like a compliment nor a critique. So you didn’t reply, unsure of what he meant.

“Well, we all do what we gotta do,” You shrugged gently, with a small smile as you turned to face him and his bright blue eyes were already on your face.

“But, you know, it’s good to remember you’re very lucky to be here,” he said.

His words made you stop, your smile fading and that almost accomplice glinting in your eyes completely disappeared. And Sebastian frowned confused, seeing the way you put up your walls again, back to the frozen, fake smile you usually gave the media.

Lucky. You hated that word. You hated how everyone used to say you got lucky to be there. You got lucky to get into Formula 1. You got lucky to be a successful driver. Rarely did anyone mention the efforts you had to put into becoming that. The early mornings training, the absurd amount of time and distance away from your family. All the metaphorical slaps you had to endure with a straight face. Then you realized, Sebastian saw you just the way everyone else saw you. You were lucky, your spot was a gift not the consequence of your efforts.

And Sebastian noticed the shift in your expression in that very moment. He hadn’t meant to offend, and he wasn’t even sure why his words had ticked you off, but he could see. He was probably the only one in that whole room who could tell the real you from your persona, mostly due to the fact that he had seen the real you a couple of times.

“Princess, I-” He started again, but you cut him off.

“Don’t.”

He watched as you stood up, gave him a polite smile and a nod, before sauntering away.

The following year, your car was improved, and even better than the year before, you were up there in the stands, and after a third of the season, you and the team knew you were a contender for the championship. You did everything in your power to be the world champion that year. Your main competitor was Lewis Hamilton. Somehow, despite the fierce battles on track, you two managed to maintain a certain level of respect outside it. Probably because you two were different kinds of minority in that sport, or because he had learned a lesson with how everything had come down with Rosberg. Funnily enough, you two had managed a somewhat friendship that very year.

You and Sebastian, on the other hand, grew more distant than ever, and you barely spoke that year. You two kept this cold, polite façade in front of the media and other drivers.

Battle after battle, the media pressure only grew on your shoulders, you weren’t just a pretty face for the sponsors to plaster your face around, you showed a real driver existed behind that persona. And it pissed some people off, just because now you were a woman playing a big man’s sport. They nitpicked every mistake you made if you had made some, or they diminished your every win if you didn’t make a mistake. Because you were lucky. You were lucky that one time Vettel DNFed. You were lucky this one time Lewis Hamilton crashed out. You were lucky your tyres were better during some overtakes. You were lucky for that good pitstop.

When you became World Champion that year, during the Mexican GP, it had all been worth it to endure. The weight of the trophy in your hands, the way you hugged it to your chest in the top step of the podium, crying as the other drivers splashed you with champagne, that was the taste of the years of dedication paying off.

The celebrations were wild, the team, some of the other drivers, everyone congratulated you. You were at a nightclub, drink in hand when suddenly Sebastian Vettel appeared out of nowhere. You supposed all drivers were invited, but you didn’t expect him to actually show up.

He walked up at you, loose shirt, messy hair and flushed face. Biting his lip to hide a smile, that genuine smile he had given you only once since you met him. And Sebastian had never seen you so beautiful. He knew you were always pretty, like you were some sort of model, but in that moment, you looked genuinely happy, and the smile you could barely contain in your face made you even more stunning than you already were.

“Congratulations, Principessa,” He smiled, stopping beside you. At that moment, you didn’t even remember that you were ever upset with him, that you had barely spoken the whole season. He remembered very well that feeling of being champion, the relief and happiness.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about what I said last year. I never meant to diminish you. And later on I understood why you felt upset by it.” Sebastian said, firmly. It made you feel validated, and it was nice that he had realized on his own.

“It’s okay. It’s water under the bridge.”

Sebastian nodded, understanding. You both went back to the party. And later that night you two were dancing on the dance floor with some other people. You were not physically close, more like jumping up and down and singing, facing each other, laughing. But there was that spark in each other’s eyes again, like there was a funny secret you two were keeping.

That’s how you two ended up going to his hotel, sitting silently in the back of a car, the windows a bit rolled down and the fresh air of the night hitting your faces. This silent tension that had always been brewing reached a boiling point. None of you moved or said anything, afraid of breaking the spell even on the way up to his floor. But the moment you crossed the threshold of his hotel room, you tiptoed to him, kissing him. He kicked the door shut, one arm around your waist as he pulled up to his height so he could properly kiss you. The other hand on the back of your head, pressing you further into him as if he wanted to merge with you, his lips and tongue coaxing yours open, his kiss all tongue and teeth as if he was starved for you. You two stumbled inside, but Sebastian managed to keep you upright by pressing you against a small side table, while you two laughed at his clumsiness.

When he put you down again, he reached for the back of your tube dress, tugging the zipper down, but it got stuck and he muttered a curse, which made you laugh again against his neck.

“Sorry about this,” he said, before forcefully tugging the dress, which made it rip off, and the dress fell down, pooled at your feet, leaving you naked in only your panties and shoes. He took a moment to take in your figure, humming appreciatively.

You took a step forward, removing his shirt without a second thought, followed by you also fumbling with his belt. You two were giggling when finally all clothes were out of the way and Sebastian pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply before pushing you into the bed. His lips around your nipples as his hands teased your body, touching, groping, feeling the smoothness of your skin.

When he climbed up, holding your head so you would look at him while his fingers fucked you open, there was this deep sense of intimacy in his eyes as he watched you. Then finally, he got on top of you, holding one of your thighs up against his waist and he sank down, in one deep stroke as you two moaned. His movements were slow and hard, enjoying every little thing about you. The soft sounds you made, your dilated pupils, the way your cunt fluttered around him when he hit a particularly perfect spot.

It didn’t take you long to come, your hands around his waist, nails sinking into his back. After you did, he knelt back, pulling your legs up, ankles by his shoulders as he then went even faster with each thrust, your moans growing louder as you went careening into a second orgasm, and soon he followed behind you, biting on your ankle to muffle his groans.

“Damn…” He sighed, breathless as he plopped on the bed right beside you.

“Damn is right…” You laughed.

After that, you two got in the shower, kissing and making out like teenagers, until he bent you over the glass wall, fucking you again until you two came again, your back to his chest and his hand down your front to tease you clit.

When you two fell on the bed again, you were out like a light.

The following morning you woke up painfully early, his arms around you as you situated yourself, when you checked your phone, you realized you were late to catch your flight. So you carefully removed yourself from his arms without waking him up, stole some clothes from his suitcase since your dress was ruined, and left in a cab.

You didn’t speak about through the final two races of the season and not at all during winter break. A small part of you had expected him to say something about what had happened. You were not sure what.

As the new season started the following year, the underlying tension between you now had a new kind of meaning behind it. Since you couldn’t look at each other and not think of that night. Of his hands tightening on your ass, of your nails scratching his back.

You decided to leave it all behind, focusing on the season and trying to strike that second consecutive championship. It was hard, it wasn’t that your car was bad, per se, but it was unreliable. Sometimes you were about to win a race when it suddenly had some sort of malfunction or some kind of shut down that had you DNF a race you should’ve won. Despite that, you made the best of it, achieving a couple of podiums and eventually, your first win of the season.

That night, you met with Sebastian again, the first real conversation ever since what had happened the year before. 

“Congratulations on the win,” He said with a smile.

“You too, congrats on the win last week.”

And just as the first time, soon you two were wrapped around each other in the elevator, lost in a desperate kiss. Kisses and giggles as you made your way stumbling to your hotel room. This time, he had you bent over the bed, hands on the mattress as he knelt down eating you out for the life of him until you had come fisting the sheets, then he got up and fucked you from behind.

You two laid on the bed, breathless and with a thin layer of sweat as he pulled you closer, a palm over your stomach, tracing all dips and curves lazily.

“Here we are again,” Sebastian whispered, and you looked at his eyes, shining blue and flushed face.

“Seems like we keep coming back for more…” You pointed out, with a laugh.

He was about to say something when his phone rang, and he found his jeans and picked up the call. You just watched as he started speaking on the phone, quickly grabbing his clothes and starting to dress up again.

“I’m sorry,” He said after finishing the call, buttoning up his pants, “We have a photoshoot to do, and I had completely forgotten about it.”

“It’s fine,” You said, sitting up on the bed.

He paused for a moment, looking at you all naked and debauched on the bed, looking especially delicious. Sebastian wished at that moment he could have taken a picture to keep with him forever while you looked like a goddess. He just pecked your lips, deep and fast, before scurrying off. A stupid smile in both of your faces that you couldn’t see.

Weirdly enough, you didn’t talk about that again. It was like you were two different people in other settings, but back in the motorsport world, you had no opening or desire to be that two people that stole kisses in hotel rooms. But the silent glances were still there, a knowing look exchanged. You didn’t grow any closer out of those brief moments in space and time.

As the season progressed, you got a somewhat grip on the car, even reaching second place in the standings for the WDC.

Your encounters with Sebastian also kept happening, at least once a month. You didn’t talk much about the nature of your relationship, about what it meant, or why it kept happening. It felt like you two were always focused on making the most of the little time you had. One of you would always leave in the middle of the night or early in the morning, without waking up the other, like a silent agreement.

Still, you had a growing feeling that Sebastian didn’t like you outside those fleeting moments. And you knew that those things could happen, you could have great bed chemistry and still not be friends or not particularly be fond of someone. Just sex. It was what you told yourself every time you had to see him be cold and distant during race weeks. You couldn’t help but remember those few years back when he called you a perfect PR doll in a conversation. The harshness in his voice when he talked about you that day still haunted you sometimes.

It all came to a head after you won consecutively the three races in the triple header, and the media was eating that up. But unfortunately, Sebastian had two DNFs and a qualifying so awful that he only managed to finish the last race P8. During the following media day, which had both of you in the same panel, you were asked some questions regarding your recent wins and the perspective of the championship. After replying, there was a small scoff that Sebastian’s mic caught.

“Anything to add to her reply, Sebastian?” The journalist asked.

“No, nothing much…” Sebastian scoffed, “I mean, with Red Bull’s rocketship, winning is what’s expected of it, no?”

The words hit you like a punch, and it took a herculean effort to keep a straight face and seem unaffected. But the wave of silence and tension that followed was enough to show that everyone had caught that jab. Lewis even muttered a disappointed “man…” to Sebastian, away from the mic.

You didn’t look at Sebastian again during that conference, but at that point he could tell your real smile from the fake one. He could see the discreet clench of your jaw and he knew deep down that he had fucked up massively.

That’s why that weekend after the race, one you had placed P3, he went to your motorhome before leaving the paddock, knocking on the door quickly. He waited for you to open the door, hoping and praying you had not left yet. When you finally did, dressed in casual clothes, probably about to leave, he could see the surprise on your face that you had not expected to see him there. You looked around to check if anyone was seeing that before pulling him inside.

“What do you want? Be quick.” You said, finishing packing your bag and barely looking at him.

“I’m sorry about what I said during media day. That was fucked up.” He said, carefully.

“Oh, fuck off, Sebastian…” You scoffed, “we both know you just said what has always been on your mind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned.

“Don’t play dumb now, Sebastian. Everyone knows. I know and so do you.”

“Know what?” He frowned, taking a step closer.

“That you hate me!” You exploded, turning to face him.

“Is that what you think?!” He asked, offended, “You think I’d have sex with someone I hate?”

“It never stopped anyone before…” You said, rolling your eyes, “Let’s be honest here. All the secrecy, all the never talking about it, never calling or texting before or after… I’m just the ‘Perfect Fake PR doll’  that you don’t like.”

As soon as the words came out of your mouth, Sebastian frowned, but after a few seconds he remembered that he had said those exact words about you, with such annoyance and disgust. That was farthest from the truth, and he couldn’t dare to repeat those words now that he had seen so many raw, genuine parts of you.

“Listen, I just…” He sighed, “I just hate all this fakeness you sell. All this acting and playing a part.”

“It is survival!”

“Survival?” He scoffed, not buying your words, “you pretend to be someone you’re not to appease the world.”

“You wouldn’t ever know what this is about, Sebastian. You’re Formula One’s dream man. You’re the straight white guy they want, the perfect image for motorsports. Be fucking real with me. Do you think if I had half the attitude you do, I’d be treated like you? No, I’d be ostracized,” You said, eyes shining in defensiveness, like he was the enemy you had to pretend to, “I will do what I can to stay here. I do what I can to still have a seat and a career here. Everything I do, is to be perfect, to appease the audience, the sponsors, the FIA, everything, and I still have to deal with misogyny. I still have to hear people saying I should go back to the kitchen. So no, I won’t change.” It was like a dam had broken and you had to put out everything you felt, every pain you had regarding that.

Sebastian sighed, scratching his head. He had fucked up even more, because it had never gone through his head any of that. He had never thought of the backlash you must face, being a woman, about the difficulties to fit, to be accepted in an environment heavily made of older white men that liked things to stay the way they were.

“You got to see the real me, I let myself be vulnerable and genuine with you. God knows the reason why you have seen me more than anyone else has. And you get out there with your full chest implying that I’m winning because of the car, when you know the car has been unreliable and I’m bending over backwards to make this shitbox win races…” Your voice was shaken but you refused to let him see you cry again. That had become ammo in his arsenal one time, you wouldn’t repeat the same mistake again.

“I…” He stuttered like he had just been hit with that knowledge, ashamed that he had never stopped to think about any of that.

“You can hate me all you want, Sebastian. You can tell me you’d rather me be genuine, but I need to wear armor. Out there? I’ll still be the PR Doll you like to call me if it means I get to stay.”

“Principessa, I’m just so-” He started but you cut him off again.

“Just get out, Sebastian. This,” you pointed between you two, “was a mistake to begin with. We both know where we stand with each other.”

“I don’t hate you.” He said, suddenly.

“Right. You need to go.” You rolled your eyes.

“I need you to believe me in this. I don’t hate you.” He repeated, slowly, blue eyes pleading.

“Leave, Sebastian.” You said, not leaving room for argument. He took two steps back, knowing he wasn’t going to get through to you at that moment.

“I don’t hate you,” He said one last time, before turning around and leaving.

PART 2

Let me know in the comments if you wanna be tagged for part 2!

[abbysreal-wife]

Shes at your window pt.2

Stalker!Abby x Loser!Reader

But check your windows.. Shes at your window

—Tyler The Creator —She

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Summary:You decided to be brave and speak to her.. But God, Dina is always butting in.

Tags::squirt,oral/eating you out,praise kìñķ, yeah thats it..

A/n: Genuinely did not expect this to blow up… I love you guys tho😌💗

MEN & MINORS DNI

…..

It was so easy to catch her.

Abby didn’t even try to hide the fact that she put cameras in ur house. Well, yeah she did but she didn’t do a good job. Like, at all.

How did you find out? While you were getting for bed one day the corner of your room lit up, lit up red, like a little recording dot almost, ‘Was somebody watching you?’ ‘Out of all people, why you?’ ‘Maybe you were just seeing things, and nobody was watching you. Oh, or maybe it was spider with red eyes.’ Whatever this is stupid.

Then you fell asleep. The next day, you woke up, got dressed, put on your shoes and walked out. Sure, this day is like every other day, but God, it was eating you from the inside out, was somebody actually genuinely interested in watching YOU, out of the 9 billion people in the world. You?

You walked into your local coffee shop, like any other day, and asked for your normal order. You sat down at a table while waiting. A woman was sitting across from you wearing a black hat, tight fitted black shirt that fit her biceps like a match made in heaven, and sweatpants, oh yeah, oh yeah, and she was super hot. ‘Does she think she’s mysterious or something? Eh, whatever.’

You thought to yourself all other kinda stupid thoughts like;

‘ I wonder if she’s my age’

‘I should ask for her number’

‘She looks gay’

‘I’m gonna cry if she’s straight’

‘Its definitely pin-‘

“[ᝰ.ᐟ] come get your order.” You were way to distracted thinking about this random women to even hear the employee calling your name for your order— “Oh, sorry!” You walked up to the counter grabbing your drink.

@graciedollie creds to this lovely writer <3

“Err,”— the employee struggled, “Abby?” They said out a name. Pretty name. “Thanks.” she said with a slight smile on her face. She looked like an angel, did you just fall in love with a random stranger?

Abby walked up to the counter grabbing her things. While she was doing that she happen to set her phone down, you looked over at it glancing slightly, then her phone lit up with a notification; ‘Motion detected. 11:09 AM’

Oh, it’s nothing just her security system. Till she clicked on the notification, there it was, your bedroom. The camera pointing in just the right angle to get all the angles and portions of your bed room.

She could see. Everything.

She turned off her phone so quick that you could barely process what you just saw she slightly peeked at you through her lashes, then her face got pink and she looked away quick, like she knew you or something?

I mean, obviously she did, she was your biggest fan.

“Hey-” you tried to talk to her, but damn, she walked out so quick you couldn’t even get the chance to finish your sentence.

So that day you went home and searched up Abby, on TikTok, Instagram, Snapchat, and Facebook. Abby, Abby, Abby, Ab— there she was on Facebook— Abby Anderson.

Honestly, you got lucky, all her accounts are private and she doesn’t talk to anyone except her dog. Alice. That doesn’t matter though.

Now, looking at her up close, jeez, she was breathtakingly beautiful; pretty lips shaped in a Cupid shape, long blond hair pulled into a braid, hazel blueish eyes, and a soft smile. And also, shes built like a Greek goddess, like Aphrodite and Zeus had a love baby.

You felt like you’ve seen her before, numbers of times actually, almost like she was following you. If you were in grocery; store she was in the grocery store, if you’re going to sleep; shes watching you, if you were at a party; she was to.

How did she know you were doing this stuff? Well, she follows your instagram account where you post all your pictures stuff but you also post updates.

So, she knew if you were going somewhere. Oh yeah, she also put an AirTag in your car. So there’s no way you can escape her.

God, she was an obsessed loser. You were to.

Once you found her account you couldn’t stop looking at her. I mean honestly how could you. Your obsession had gotten so bad that you started moaning her name as you finished.

Oh, this was bad.

You wanted to talk to her, so bad. But you never got the chance too. She would always shy away from you.

It ends now.

So, you asked your friend Dina to throw a party with her girlfriend. A little get together almost, and invite Abby.

How? Well, you’re gonna post Dina’s party invitation, act all excited or whatever, and tag Abby in the post. You figured out her account pretty soon after you did your research.

“Party at Dina’s tonight! So excited.”

Was the caption you put for your post. You tagged Dina, Ellie, Jesse, blah blah blah, and of course— Abby.

Your hands shaked as you sent the post button.

»»

It’s been a few hours and you made it to the party, and Abby still hasn’t showed up.

‘I knew this was stupid anyways.’

You thought to yourself.

“Yo, [ᝰ.ᐟ]— jesse called out your name “come over here were playing spin the bottle.” you scoffed, “childish” you said walking over.

A couple minutes go by and this stupid fucking bottle hasn’t landed on you yet, and you were glad actually, ellie was your best friends; dina, girlfriend, jesse is a guy, and all the rest of these people who you didn’t know looked disgusting.

Then the front door opened.

“Hey guys sorry i’m late i had to do someth—“. there she was, Abby fucking Anderson. She paused after seeing you.

Dina yelled out “come on over it’s totally fine”she was hammered.

Abby looked around her eyes roaming carefully before pausing by the empty space by you. She walked over as you looked at her through your lashes, all dressed up and pretty. Just for her.

“C-can i sit right here?..” her voice made you wanna scream, God she was attractive.

you kinda half whispered “Sure.” She took a seat next to you on the floor, letting out a groan of relief. you examined her closely.

Black baggy jeans, low enough to see her boxer line; classic. White wife beater and a jean jacket to top it all off. Oh yeah, and her carabiner, duh.

“Alrightuhh— dina yelled out louder enough to snap you out your trance “spin the bott—“ she stopped suddenly and her half lidded eyes shot over to you and abby, shoulder to shoulder.

“You, abby switch with ellie” she slurred.

Oh god, ellie was right across from you. Dina smirked at you as abby and ellie stood up to switch pleaces, oh, she knew what she was doing.

“Alright, spin the bottle” Ellie said, her loud voice hurting your ears.

you watched it closely as it spun around fast, then it got slower, and slower, and slower the it stopped. Oh great just your luck. It landed right across in a straight line.

Which also meant it landed on you and abby.

“Ooooo— dina followed on, she was making this more embarrassing then it needed to be.

“You know what, i think you guys should do 7 minutes in heaven” dina said, not clearly, but she still said it.

Followed by that was an array of ‘Ooo’s across the room. “No, no guys, we barely even know each other” abby exclaimed.

You nodded your head in agreement, you were actually thanking dina in your head.

“nope no excuses—” ellie told you.

“fine” you sighed. you stood and grabbed abby’s hand helping her up. “Have funnn” Dina teased.

You guided abby’s hand to the guest bedroom closed the door and locked it. not like you guys were gonna be doing anything anyways, right?

The silence stood loud.

Awkward almost. God you can’t stand this feeling of awkward. “So.. Uhm..” you broke the silence.

Abby followed after you.. “We should probably just kiss just to you know.. make them happy.”

“Right.” you moved closer to her, you could feel her heart beating fast and the heat radiating off her body.

You slightly pecked her on the lips, she was so damn tall you had to get on your tippy toes.

Well, it was just supposed to be a peck, till she leaned in for more, she has been craving your taste since, God, she forgot.

The quick peck turned into a low slow make out her sweet taste covering your tongue and lips.

she whimpered and moaned into your mouth as her hands roamed your body, studying every curse.

“Mm— i’ve wanted you for so fucking long baby.” she said inbetween kisses. “Yeah?” you groaned.

Her knees just buckled.

She snuck her hand down slowly her fingers finding your jean waistband. She fidgeted with the button a bit before unzipping the zipper.

You moaned at the cold sensation hitting ur core “ah— abby” she kissed down your neck, to your chest, to your belly button, she inched lower and lower just to tease you.

“You’re such a tease” you giggled slightly, her brows furrowed, “i’ve been told.” she chuckled. she looked down, then back up, and down again at your zipper.

Your zipper read; ‘lucky you’. “Oh, very mature” she laughed.

“What ? What did i do?” you asked confused. “Lucky you?..” she said looking up at you. Oh, oops “I guess it was just a coincidence” you joked. “Yeah right” she laughed.

She pullled down your jeans and spread your legs out over the white sheets and blue sheets.

Her jaw slightly clinched at the sight of your soaked panties, now clinging to your folds. Her fingers grazed over it slightly, enough to send shivers down your spine.

You bit your lip and lifted ur hips indicating her to take off your panties, and jeez, she wasted zero time. “I’m sorry” was all you heard before the sound of cotton ripping filled the room. She just tore your panties off you in two seconds.

That got you even wetter.

Your drenched swollen cunt was right in abby’s face, and it was calling her name.

Next thing you know, your cunt feels warm, the warmness of abby’s wet tounge lapped over your cunt making almost pornograpic sounds.

“Oh— fuck abby, please” you moaned out. Her hands reached over your mouth, “shh, princess don’t want the others to hear, yeah?”

She continued to fuck your starving cunt with her tongue all while praising you with words like;

‘I know baby, I know.”

‘shh, shh, shh, it’s okay i got you’

‘ you’re doing so good princess’

‘Good girl your doing so well’

’Mhm, you taste so good’

It was heaven, suddenly the knot in your stomach ached closer indicating your gonna cum. “Mm- abby m’ gonna cum”

She chuckled sending vibrations through your cunt “Cum all over my face princess— show me in the only one who can make you feel this good.”

Then it happened, your eyes rolled back and ur voice cracked in attempt of trying to say her name all while the clear and white liquid gushed out of you. leaving a cast on her tongue.

She laughed and gave your cunt a few kisses before getting up and kissing you slightly with one hand on your throat subtly pushing down.

“Fuck, you taste amazing..” she sighed climbing next to you. “Did i make that mess?” you chuckle looking down. The previous blue and white sheets were now see through and stained. all with your arousal.

“Mhm” she smiled slightly.

You laughed, then stopped realizing that you didn’t do anything for her.

“Abby,— you said looking at her, her head snapped towards you “hm?”

“You didn’t get off did you?” you asked. “ I mean, no but it’s totally fine i don’t mi—” You cut her off “Nuh uh— i wanna make sure your okay too.” she smirked.

“Whatever your say goes” she chuckled leaning in for a kiss.

Funny how you guys went to stalking each other to fucking. isn’t it?

────୨ৎ────

A/n:: so sorry this took hella long to reslease. Also kinda rushed at the end. I have the flu and while I was writing this it really kicked me in the butt😭

────୨ৎ────

@graciedollie @liliofabby @mewl3tte @eddiesdrummergf @spirituallesbian @cloudyorgy @moonystoes

All my tags— so sorry if I forgot you💔

[dailyreverie]

Hiii!! First of all, sending hugs! I'm hoping it gets better for you ❤️

Now, for the prompt list, was hard to pick a prompt everything was so interesting...

May I tempt you with a: practice kiss to "make it look real" that doesn't stay platonic for Poe? Maybe friends to lovers? Or whatever dynamic you see fitting it's okay 🫶

A/N: Hi friend! Thank you so much for your lovely message, it's definitely all going better now 🩷 Thank you also for requesting, here's Poe having a crush and not knowing how to function (also I finished writing this at 11:40 pm so sorry if there are any mistakes).

Fools

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

A practice kiss to "make it look real" that doesn't stay platonic

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: Cursing (I think), it gets steamy, Poe has a crush.

It wasn’t hard to notice that, as soon as you got into the busy part of town, harsh eyes were on you instantly. Watching, observing, assessing. Looking for the potential threat you and Poe could represent. You were expecting it, which is why all symbols and nods that could give a hint of you being part of the Resistance were left back at Base. Still, it was like troopers and soldiers could sense it, somehow - or maybe, it was just the paranoia of existing during a war.

Either way, you had to blend into the crowd one way or the other, and keeping all those eyes away from you was going to be harder than you thought. So when the first solution popped into your brain, you went with it: you latched onto Poe’s hand, fingers interlaced, and began walking much closer to his side. A young couple in love, that’s all you two were, no need to keep monitoring.

Poe, on the other hand, was not expecting it. But he knew better than to act surprised when it came to your plans; after all you were the spy, the brains in this mission. So his hand squeezed yours, and his eyes turned to you, if only just to confirm you were not looking at his surprised, blushing face. “Do you think it will work, honey?” He whispered into your ear, the last bit of his question coming a little bit more airy than he expected. He hoped, again, you wouldn’t notice.

“It better,” You mastered your best loving gaze towards him, a fake dopey smile that would convince anyone you were oh-so-in-love with each other. “Sweetheart.”

The crowd at the inn you were staying at was no better than the company outside. With a tired sigh and a glance around the place you walked in together, Poe’s arm now around your shoulders protectively, when he felt all the very obvious undercover First Order guards looking towards the door. “I’ll go check in,” You announced to him with a loving smile and a kiss on his cheek, and with that, all eyes went away. It might actually work, Poe thought to himself, surprised at your quick thinking.

And that’s the thing about you, the thing that kept drawing him to you: always quick, always solving, always fearless - until it came to flying, which never failed to make him smile. He knew it was not personal, yet he always made sure to do a few harsh turns and stops whenever he was piloting, if only just to get you to cling to his arm as if that would prevent you from falling. He couldn’t help the smile creeping up his face at the thought of you with eyes closed and a thousand curse words leaving your lips by the minute, even then, looking at you blatantly lying to the woman about your “anniversary trip”.

“Well, you seem very much in love,” the woman beamed directly at him. It took him a beat to notice, too busy with the thought of how your hand felt around his as you walked.

“Yes,” He replied with a sigh, hoping it would stop the butterflies that flew around his stomach. “Very much so.”

**

“So, we are married.” He commented as he plopped onto the bed. “That was quick, considering we just held hands for the first time.”

“She kept looking funny at us, I had to distract her.” You defended, opening the windows to air the room. “You’re welcome, by the way. At least half of the people down there were ready to take out their blasters until I started with the whole romantic thing.”

“So that’s why we are celebrating our anniversary here?”

“Yes, because for all they know, we got married on a nearby waterfall, and we made the promise to come back here every year, because that’s the place where, also, you proposed.” You went through the same story that he clearly wasn’t listening to when you told it quite loudly to the woman who gave you the room key downstairs.

“I didn’t know there were waterfalls here,” Was his only reply, which was answered with you throwing a folder case towards him.

“Please read the intel on missions before missions, Commander.” You tried to be serious, but that went away when he repeated what you said with a high-pitched voice, making you snort. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot, though.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “We are married now.” 

“Is it that bad to be married to me? You keep repeating it-”

“No, no. It’s not. You just… you caught me off guard.” It was your turn to lift your eyebrows. “I can be caught off guard sometimes, you know?”

“Sure, Poe.” And that little look you gave him, the one that saw right through him, made his heart lose its rhythm. How he loved the way you said his name like that, exasperated and about to hit him on the head, yet with a lovely smile on your lips. 

“We’re going to have to practice, though.” That made you turn back to look at him, his turn to throw you off. “If we want them to believe we are in love, eventually, we are going to have to kiss.” You kept looking at him, no words on your mind to argue about that. Poe knew he had one shot, one chance to do this, and he was not letting it pass. “Couples kiss, right? And if we don’t make it look natural, real, they’re going to know something’s up.”

“Right,” You shook your head, as if it had gone somewhere else for a second during his explanation. “So… we practice, then.”

It all happened in what felt like three beats of his heart: he took a deep breath, he stood up, and he walked to stand in front of you. “A practice. Practice kiss.” He mumbled to himself, almost as if warming up. It made you smile a little, and stars, he knew right then he had fucked up.

“Just kiss me, Poe.” It was a different voice, a different way in which you said his name. Not reprimanding him for a bad turn, nor rolling your eyes at a bad joke, but… different. So he took a step closer, his hands slipping to hold your waist, and as softly as air, his lips met yours. He wasn’t going to rush it, he was just planning on getting used to the feeling of you being so close, but damn it, in all of his dreams, holding you never felt like this. Like all this electricity taking over his body when your hands reached to hold his arms, kissing him back as if you were not planning on letting go. 

The feeling of your body melting under his touch was enough to make him go crazy, he couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself to wrap his arms around you, his hands flat against your back, holding you closer to him as he felt the kiss lasting longer, getting deeper, your hands traveling up to the back of his neck…

And then you pushed each other away. Like it had been a mistake. Like it hadn’t just been the best kiss you’d ever had. Like you weren’t best friends.

You just nodded, mumbled something about good practice, and went inside the washroom. Poe, in the meantime, realized two things: 1, this mission was going to be hard, because, 2, he was completely in love with you.

🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀🌟🚀

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed!

👉 For requests, check out this post.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 11

As soon as Alex and her family are safely in a car on the way to a hotel, Kara and Lena board Lena's jet back to the states. During the flight, Lena curls in on herself, picking nervously at her cuticles with a worried, guilty expression.

"Hey," Kara says, pulling Lena's gaze towards her. Her features remain heavy. "I'm not mad."

At that, Lena's face softens, but only enough to grimace with a soft huff. "You're not the one I'm worried about."

Kara must look confused, because Lena soon continues.

"As a rule, my mother knows who I spend my time with, and when." The guilt returns. "Except for you."

"So she didn't know I was in Capri with you..."

Lena confirms it with a shake of her head. "Nor why I went back to National City."

Well... this wouldn't be easy then. Dealing with a rabid press is one thing-- being at odds with one of the key players in keeping her family safe is another.

"I'm sorry," Lena murmurs. "I just... wanted to keep you mine. Just for a little while."

Kara shoots her a look. "I'm still not mad."

"You can be. If you want."

"I don't." She moves seats, switching to the bench Lena's on. She makes no attempt to still Lena's nervous picking, but simply spreads her legs enough for the outsides of their thighs to touch. Kara intends the physical contact to serve as reassurance, but she doesn't know if it works.

"I'm a big girl, Lena. I know I can back out whenever I want to. But I don't. Not yet."

A little bit of warmth cuts through Lena's anxious fog. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Kara's heart beats a little faster, when a small smile answers her. Impulsively, she leans over to kiss Lena's cheek. She feels... giddy? Far more exhilirated she has any right to feel at her age. "Bring it."

----

Lillian Luthor is a slender, austere woman. Kara clocks her the moment the plane lands on the tarmac, tall and styled in her designer clothes and looks that only money and astronomically good genes could provide.

Only Kara witnesses the short beat Lena takes before stepping out of the plane, bracing herself for whatever follows. Kara keeps pace with her once they descend the ladder in single file. She may not be driving this bus, but she is no shrinking flower. In this, she is Lena's equal.

Not that the look Lillian gives her would have anyone believe.

"In the car," the woman orders. "Now."

Lena obeys without a word. Kara is a little slower to fall in line, but ultimately follows Lena's lead. Lillian climbs in behind them, leaving Jess and a woman Kara doesn't recognize to scramble on board last.

"The family is checked into the Lariat. So far no indication that they've been identified, but its still early."

"What about Kara?"

"What about you??" Lillian demands, tone scathing in its heat. "What were you thinking?"

Kara sees Lena wilt, and anger bubbles up in her throat. "Don't talk to her like that--"

"You have zero business here," Lillian fires back with steel in her voice.

"Mom!" Lena exclaims in Kara's defense. "It's not that big a deal--"

Ice blue eyes turn on Lena, freezing her to the spot. "It's a big enough deal that you saw fit to sneak behind my back, with a woman twice your age no less--"

"Mom!"

"Timeline, now."

Lena's shoulders sag, but says nothing. Looking to divert some of Lillian's ire, Kara moves to speak up. "We--"

"She already knows," Lena rolls her eyes.

"I do," her mother confirms. "But I'll hear it from you nonetheless."

Lena huffs. "Night two of the National City stop. Her niece left her phone backstage, and we exhanged numbers."

"Then?"

"Texting."

The exhange sounds like a repeat of one they've had many times before. Neither Jess nor the other woman-- who Kara assumes is Lillian's own assistant-- look at all nervous at the rapidfire crossing of words.

"Texting?" Lillian demands. "Or sexting?"

Kara bristles. "I don't see how that's any of your--"

"*Texting*, Mom, god!" Lena seethes. Her cheeks are bright red, from anger or embarassment or both. "Will you just--"

"Just *what* Lena?"

Lillian's voice is so sharp Kara can see the moment it cuts Lena down. Her jaw tightens, and when Kara sublty shifts to take her hand, Lena shifts away.

Satisfied that her daughter is suitably in line, Lillian turns to her assistant. "Mercy, have PR prepare a statement. The photos were misconstrued, they simply capture a couple of friends taking in the sights."

"Mom, no," Lena croaks. "I don't want-- who cares if people know that I'm gay--?"

"You are not gay!"

Lena flinches, features blanching as though Lillian had landed a physical blow. Only then does Lillian seem to realize that she's talking to an actual person. Her tone doesn't soften, exactly, but it doesn't sharpen any further.

"Your *brand* isn't," she amends, likely the closest thing to thing to an apology Lena would get.

"I thought Lena is the brand," Kara interjects.

Lillian's frigid gaze snaps to her. "She is."

"Her fans are more open-minded than you think--"

"Her fans don't buy tickets," Lillian informs her coolly. "Their parents do. And *they* are far less forgiving."

Kara looks towards Lena, who meets her gaze with a helpless one of her own. It's not untrue-- Esme hadn't bought her tickets, after all.

"Then what do we do?" Kara allows finally.

"Cut ties. Immediately." Lillian looks down her nose at Kara, her regard as condescending as though she were speaking to a teenager, not a women merely ten years her junior.

"No."

To Kara's surprise, Lena's response is faster than her own, and carries only the barest of trembles.

"Don't be foolish..."

"I'm not--"

"Do you love her?"

Lena freezes. Her gaze flicks to Kara. "It's only been a few weeks..."

"Precisely. Cut ties now, before--"

"But I want to," Lena finishes. This time, her gaze lingers on Kara's, a small smile warming her eyes. "I want to love her."

Lillian scoffs low in her throat. "You're too old to be play the love sick teenager. Or have you forgotten what happened last time?"

Kara watches Lena hold her mother's gaze, something heavy passing between them, inscrutable to anyone else. But Lena holds her ground, and surprisingly, Lillian is the one to back down.

"Then what would you suggest?"

"Like you said-- we give them something else to talk about." Lena swallows, but forges ahead. "I have some new material, I can perform it live in Paris."

Lillian purses her lips, but doesn't smack down the idea. She considers it, her gaze calculating. "And you two?"

"We do what we want," Lena delivers firmly. "No statement, no confirmation or denial. Let people see interpret it however they want. However they need."

Kara thinks of the young fans, isolated in their orientations or identities, seeing themselves reflected in their favorite artist. The gift that would be, the vote of confidence needed to dream of a future where what Lena and Kara share might be theirs.

Lillian shoots Kara a hard glare. "And you? It's your family in the crossfire if this idea goes to shit."

"Then it goes to shit, and we deal with it."

It might be selfish of her, but in all of their conversations, neither Alex or Kelly have suggested backing off. They spoke only of adapting, of overcoming, and Kara knows she has their unspoken support. And even now, being talked down to and chided, she feels happier sitting next to Lena in this moment than she has in years.

Lillian barely contains her snort of derision.

"Very well," she concedes, with a sharp note of criticism. Then she turns from them entirely to speak with Mercy in low tones.

Kara takes advantage of the moment to lean closer to Lena, murmuring in her ear.

"I want to go to Paris with you."

Lena blinks at her. "You don't have to--"

"Would you feel better if I were there?" Kara asks bluntly. Lena deflates a little, but this time in relief rather than shame.

"Yeah."

"Then let me come." Kara gives Lena's hand a squeeze, and is rewarded with a tired smile. "You're not alone in this."

"Okay," Lena says, her smile deepening into a challenge. "Let's bring it."

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 11

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader warnings: language, alcohol, smut, dirty talk. okay y'all apologies I thought life was going upwards and it was going to be super easy to power through a ton of writing but when life throws one bad thing at you beware there will likely be two more coming with it. UGH. I'm going to try to focus on this series for the rest of the week, we'll see how that goes! Thank y'all for sticking around and being wonderful!

Emily was a firm believer in a few things, and putting in over a hundred percent effort when the world was aligning you with a crap day was one of them. If she came to work with a hangover, she worked hard and did her job even better, knowing it was self inflicted and her own fault. On days when she was feeling more run down, exhausted or if she was starting to get sick, she put more effort in. Spent a little bit more time on hair and make up, made sure to wear the right kind of clothes. As much as it would be nice to wear something cozy and lean into the exhaustion, it always made her feel worse. The ‘you look tired’ comments, her complaining about a headache or stuffy nose digging her further into the pity party hole. If she looked her best, she felt better about it, the compliments during the day would help boost her mood and by the time she was clocking out she was re energized.

It was partially that, and her wanting to keep up with the fiery spark that had been launched the previous weekend that led to her decision. Sharing Jackie with you, watching the pleasure you got out of giving another woman pleasure and in a situation where she could actually watch rather than be focused on trying to remember how to breathe. It was utterly enthralling and invigorating and she was more than ready to fully embrace that level of spiciness on a more regular basis. After all, that’s what this type of situation was for, you’d said it yourself, exploration and discovering new things was the highlight of having this dynamic.

So when Emily got dressed that evening, she opted for a more fitted pant suit, leaving just enough to imagination and then reached to the back of her closet. She’d worn the red bodice top a handful of times over the years and it was a trusted favourite, fitting her like a glove, semi sheer lace between the boning, and intricate patterns over her chest with the perfect amount of cleavage pushed up. Even slightly shielded by her blazer it was enough to make anyone take a second glance and the smirk was present on her lips when you all about lost your breath when you laid eyes on her that night, stumbling over your words as you tried to limit the amount of compliments you gave her before you were even seated.

Emily had chosen to mix things up a little bit tonight, enjoy some new scenery outside of the Waldorf, opting to have dinner around the corner at Mastro’s Steakhouse instead. In between moments of conversation and trying not to ogle Emily you had managed to order starter cocktails and get some recommendations from your server before finally willing yourself to look through the menu.

“How do they expect me to choose between the filet and the lamb?” You muttered, chewing on your lip as you read through the enticing descriptions.

“Just get both.” Emily suggested with a shrug and you glanced up to her with a crinkled brow.

“That’s so much food! Not to mention the cost.”

“Cost isn’t a concern.” She replied, a grin on her lips, “eat a bit of each and take the rest to go, quality leftovers.”

Your gaze drifted off to a nearby table, eyeing their plates while you thought it over, “they would be far superior to the leftover pizza in my fridge….”

“Then it’s settled.”

You let out a small breath, a smile creeping onto your cheeks, “do you know what you’re getting?”

“I was leaning toward the lobster tail.” She glanced over at you, “sides?”

“Mac and cheese or scalloped potatoes?”

“Both.”

“Don’t we need a vegetable in there?”

“Last time I checked potato was a vegetable.” Emily replied with a grin and you laughed before agreeing with her.

Meals were ordered and delivered before you knew it, too full from the rich foods you both opted out of dessert, only to be convinced by the server to take some to go. You took your time to finish your cocktails, Emily swiping the bill before you even had a chance to try and look at it. You said a quiet thank you to her, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek as you gathered your take out bags and made your way out of the restaurant. It was still warm enough outside that you hadn’t bothered with a jacket, summer still clinging to the city, the heat lingering in the night air when you stepped out into it.

Instinctively, your arm slid into Emily’s, her hand finding yours, intertwining your fingers as you made your way through the streets. She let out a soft hum, eyes flickering up to the skyline and part of her wished you could see more stars inside the city, she was lost in her thoughts a moment later, only faintly aware of your hand in hers as you guided her. If it wasn’t for the physical connection and sudden jolt when you stopped in your steps she easily would have walked into the road without looking.

“Hey…” you squeezed at her hand gently, “you alright tonight? You’ve been pretty quiet, kinda off…”

“Yeah.” Emily sighed softly, giving you a small smile as she shook out of it, “I’m just tired and it’s been a pretty long week. I think all this extra running around the city is taking it out of me a bit more than usual.” She didn’t really want to admit being worn down, she certainly hadn’t planned on it but she guessed her walls had slipped down more than she’d meant for them to and you picked up on it before she even realized.

You let out a small laugh, “you know the entire reason we went the direction we did with our agreement was to not have any extra stress or exhaustion, right? We didn’t want to make your to do list any longer or more tedious than it already was. These dates don’t have to be weekly either, remember, I’m not dependant on the money. If you ever want to cancel or skip a week or two I get it, you can stay home and veg out, taking time for yourself and resting is important.”

“I know,” she started, feeling a warmth moving through her knowing that you wanted to make sure she was taking care of herself, even if she wasn’t doing it on her own, “and it’s not just that, work exhaustion is different, I figured I still had enough energy leftover for dinner and I would hate to cancel.”

“Just know you’re allowed to, even last minute. If I already happen to be here I’ll order some room service on your account and call it a night.” You replied with a slight tease, nudging at her side when the light changed so you could cross the street.

“I was looking forward to it, honestly and I do really enjoy spending time with you. It’s such a huge relief to hang out with a fresh face, someone who isn’t part of my team yet still understands the politics of it all.” She let out a breath, nearly muttering the last part to herself, “I guess I kind of just miss my bed…”

You chuckled, “you’re telling me your bed is comfier than the Waldorf? What else have you been hiding from me Agent Prentiss?” You prodded at her side and she huffed, rolling her eyes, “I’m kidding. I get it. Especially with your job, you’re off travelling all week and when you finally do get home you just want to be surrounded by your own things. There’s a comfort and relief about being in your own home and safe space and there’s nothing else like it.”

Emily hummed in recognition, not entirely sure where to go from there or if the conversation was done entirely. She supposed it was, you’d simply asked if she was alright and she thought she’d given an adequate answer, though as you moved down the sidewalk it appeared it only sparked more questions in her brain.

“Can I ask something?”

“Of course.” You glanced to her, a welcoming smile on your face.

“Aside from like, the original safety thing, not wanting to let a near stranger know where you live… why hotels?” She watched for a moment as your head titled, your eyes narrowing as you thought and you shrugged.

“A lot of sugar….” You struggled to find the right phrase, “pairings have outside relationships, either one of them or both. A lot are married, open or not sometimes you never really know.”

“So it’s about the secrecy?”

“To a point.” You nodded, “most of the time having a sugar baby is their way to have a little secret life, it’s fulfilling a fantasy that they wouldn’t be able to achieve in any other way. Living the high life, fancy hotels, expensive dinners, lavish vacations, yacht parties, flying first class or private, it’s all about showing off. Hence why a lot of the babies embrace the look and personality of a hot young bimbo, that’s what the Wall Street guys want to show off to their so-called friends while railing lines of coke with a spare hundred dollar bill.”

“So-called friends?” She asked with a grin and you laughed.

“The ones who don’t care that you’re dangling along some barely self respecting girl to all the weekend parties when your wife is at home with the kids going to the country club with the friends of yours that would rat you out.”

“Ah.” She grimaced and you laughed again.

“They’re not all like that though, some of them just want to experience a little thrill, have a little fun on the weekends. They use hotels cause they’re attempting to create the life they wish they could live all the time; they’ve got a surplus of money because they live modestly otherwise. They might be living in a bare bones, affordable apartment where they cook the same dinner every night before repeating the mundane task of putting on an ill fitted suit and crunching numbers all day. They don’t want their sugar babies to see that because it kills the vibe, shatters the illusion if you will. It’s like.. the separation of fantasy and reality, ya know?”

“Makes sense.” She nodded, letting out a soft sigh as she stalled when you came to the entrance of the hotel. “Feel.. completely free to say no to this, because I know it might be awkward or off putting, but is there any chance you’d be comfortable just coming back to my place? Who cares about the fantasy?”

“You already mentioned waterfront views, I know your place has to be nice.” You teased and she nearly rolled her eyes, biting back a laugh.

“I’m just so sick of not sleeping in my bed right now and honestly,” her voice softened not wanting to be overheard, “lugging toys around the city has become a major pain in my ass. I almost grabbed the wrong go back for work this week and I don’t even want to think about what the ramifications of that would be.”

You let out a laugh, a smile taking over your cheeks as you shook your head at her before leaning in to peck her cheek, “I’m totally fine with that.”

Emily let out a breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding, looking up to you with an almost shy smile, “thanks. Did you want to leave your car here or follow me?”

“I actually took an Uber.”

“Perfect.” Squeezing at your hand softly she redirected the two of you away from the pedestrian entrance to the Waldorf, heading in the direction of the valet instead.

*

Emily unlocked the door to her apartment, guiding you into the entry way and telling you to make yourself comfortable while she locked the door behind herself. The small entry hall lead into a nice kitchen, island facing the open living and dining room combo complete with gorgeous hard wood flooring and stunning floor to ceiling windows.

You stepped out of your shoes, leaving them on the mat at the end of the short hallway, moving through the space as you admired it. There were a handful of case files on the dining table, Emily’s glasses sitting beside them, a blanket strewn over the back of the couch and multiple mugs scattered around the coffee table. Your hand absentmindedly trailed over the back of one of the living room chairs as the view out the windows truly caught your attention. It looked like there was a wraparound balcony, the perfect place to admire the skyline over the river and you could only imagine how stunning the sunsets must be.

Behind you, Emily had tucked the leftovers in the fridge, pulling down a couple of wine glasses after selecting a bottle from the rack. She was about to ask if you were okay with red or if you wanted something else when she glanced over her shoulder, eyes catching you peering out the windows. Something about the way the moonlight cast over your skin, catching the shiny decals in your dress made her completely forget the wine as she remembered her original intentions for tonight. The bottle left abandoned on the counter, she slipped her blazer off, draping it over the back of a chair, fully revealing the bodice as she padded through the room, approaching your back. A hand gently landed on your waist as the other brushed your hair off the back of your neck before Emily’s lips hit the tender skin.

“You like the view?” She murmured, smiling at the way your head easily lolled to the side to give her more access.

“It’s gorgeous.”

Her lips met your skin again, leaving a trail of kisses up it until she nipped at your earlobe, her hands squeezing around your waist. You relaxed into her, a small puff of breath leaving your lips when her teeth sunk into your neck.

“You know, for someone who wanted to skip the hotel, you certainly are eager to get to the bedroom…”

She chuckled against your skin, leaving kisses across the column of your neck and back of your shoulders in between her words when she spoke again.

“That was the plan…show off the place… get you comfortable… have a glass of wine or two… relax…” her teeth pulled at your earlobe again, “but now?” She nudged her nose into your cheek, turning your face back to the windows and with the low light from over the stove there was a faint reflection of both of you in the glass. “Seeing you in front of these windows… I kind of want to fuck you up against them. Let the whole city see how gorgeous you are when you come.”

You let out a quiet moan as her lips pressed into the crook of your neck, her fingers slipping under the straps of your dress, letting them fall over your shoulders. She grabbed your waist again, pulling you tightly flush to her and ground her hips into your ass. Your breath caught in your throat, a surprised gasp escaping your lips as your eyes flew open again, catching her gaze in the window.

“Have you been strapped this whole time?”

She kissed the back of your shoulder, lips twitching up into a grin, “I like to be prepared.” Emily’s finger curled under your chin, turning your face so she could press a kiss to your lips before guiding you to turn around fully to face her. Her hands found the hem of your dress, toying with it, “feel like we should get rid of this.” In one swift movement it was off over your head, dropped to the ground completely forgotten, leaving you in just a pair of barely there panties. “Now… how about you get on your knees for me, hmm?”

Emily reached behind her, grabbing a cushion from the couch to drop at her feet as you did as you were told, bracing your knees on the pillow as you gazed back up to her. Her fingers trailed down your face, cupping your cheek softly as her thumb traced the outline of your lips and you couldn’t help but part them. Her thumb easily slid into your mouth and you were quick to wrap your lips around it, sucking it deeper into your mouth.

“Good girl.” She praised, pulling it out, watching the way your eager eyes followed her hands to her belt, “I want you to touch yourself, get that pussy nice and wet for me while you suck my cock, alright?”

“Yes.” You nodded, bracing up on your knees while she undid her pants, opening them far enough to pull out the toy, stroking it a few times before guiding the tip of it toward your mouth.

Your lips wrapped around the head of her cock, slowly sinking down onto it until it had completely disappeared into your mouth. Your tongue swiveled around it, coating it with your saliva as you slowly pulled off of it, letting it pop out of your mouth and you glanced upwards to catch Emily’s eye. Tongue stuck out you licked her from base to tip, your hand wrapping around it, stroking it to smear the spit around, making sure it was covered in wetness. Your other hand came to rest on her thigh, creeping upwards and she tsk’d at you, her hand wrapping around your wrist.

“What did I say, princess?”

Your hand retreated back to your own body, sinking down it and slipping into your underwear, the tip of Emily’s cock resting on your stuck out tongue as you did so. When your fingers hit your clit you slowly began rubbing at it, a small moan leaving your lips as you eyes fluttered shut.

“That’s it.” She cooed, “that’s my good girl.”

Her hand wrapped around the base of the toy, pushing it deeper into your mouth while your lips wrapped around it again. Your body began rocking in tandem to the pace of her hips, grinding down onto your hand as you continued to sink her cock into the back of your throat. She could hear your whimpers and whines getting louder and more frequent, muffled by the toy in your mouth as you continued to play with your clit. Driving her cock deep into your mouth, she let out a soft groan as the base of the toy pressed against her, your breath hot on her skin.

“You take me so well.” She praised, her hand cupping the side of your face, thumb stroking at your cheek as you let her cock drop from your mouth with a gasp. Your body shuddered, thighs squeezing together as you let out a whimper and she chuckled. “I know princess, it’s hard to multitask, isn’t it?”

“Fuck…” you muttered, leaning toward her again but her finger tapped your chin, signalling to shut your mouth.

“How wet is that little pussy of yours? Let me see.”

You slid your fingertips through your folds, gathering up your juices before pulling your hand out of your panties and lifting it up. Emily’s hand wrapped around your wrist, examining the way your fingers glistened in the moonlight before tugging your arm gently and you nearly scrambled to your feet. Your eyes widened when her lips wrapped around your fingers, a moan coming from her throat as her eyes shut for a moment.

“Always so sweet.”

“Thank you.” You murmured, your chest practically heaving in anticipation, watching as a dark gleam took over Emily’s eyes.

“Turn around,” she twirled her fingers and you did as she asked, “brace yourself on the glass.”

Taking a couple of steps forward your hands met the cool glass, a shiver running through your body as you looked out over the city. Emily’s fingers tugged your thong down your legs and as you kicked it off you couldn’t help but shiver again, feeling entirely exposed. You knew no one could see you at this height, but the thrill of being completely bare pressed up against the glass while Emily was still dressed sent a thrill through you, your cunt pulsing already.

Behind you, Emily crouched down, her hands sliding up the back of your thighs, spreading your legs, thumbs sliding up your pussy, smearing your juices. She let out an appreciative hum before leaning in, tongue lapping through you and you gasped. Her mouth wrapped around you, sucking your juices, getting a better taste of you before standing upright again, an arm wrapping around your waist.

“You’re so wet you’re practically dripping down your thighs.” Her lips met the crook of your neck again, “you must really want to be stuffed with my cock, hm?”

“Oh god, please.”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing you’re so good to me princess.” Her hand wrapped around her cock, spanking it against your cunt and you shivered in her arms.

“Please Emily…” you whined, “please fuck me.”

The head of her cock nudged at your pussy, a shuddering breath escaping from your throat as she teased you for only a second before plunging it into your cunt. She sunk in halfway before pulling out and sinking back in the rest of the way until her hips met your ass. One of her hands stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you steady while the other braced herself on your hip.

“You like that?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded furiously as she picked up the pace, cock thrusting deeper into you with each push of her hips, “god.” Your hands scrunched against the glass, aching for something to grab onto, “so fucking deep.”

Emily gave you a particularly sharp thrust, the air in your lungs breaking free in a sudden gasp that morphed into a moan as she hit even deeper inside your pussy. Your body pressing up against the glass, a cold sensation taking over your chest, nipples rubbing the window as heat coiled within you, wafting off Emily’s body behind you. Your pussy was squeezing around her, you could feel and hear your wetness smearing around the toy, noises matching your moans as she fucked you. With each thrust your body rubbed against the glass, nipples hard swollen at the friction as your body ached for more.

“That’s my pretty girl.” Emily husked, her breath hot on your neck as her free hand slid up your back, tangling into your hair and she pulled.

You let out a gasp, nearly whining at the way her fingers tugged at your roots, pulling your head back so she could hear the way your panting was getting louder. Your back arched heavily, hips pushing back towards Emily with each powerful thrust of her hips, ass bouncing when she sank fully into you.

“F-fuuuck!” You cried out, pleasure shooting through your body, “m’close!”

“So fucking hot like this princess.” She groaned, the hand she had wrapped around your waist sunk south, playing with your throbbing clit and you whimpered, your hips faltering as she fucked into you faster. “Come for me, want you to squirt all over my cock.”

It was too hard to get anymore words out, strangled moans and whimpers were all that would leave your throat, your lips wide and eyes scrunched shut. Each time Emily’s cock dragged through you it hit your g-spot and when she pressed your clit harder, your body jumped, a loud cry leaving your lips as your orgasm burst through you. You could feel your pussy clenching down hard around the toy, a gush of juices bursting around it, dribbling down your thighs.

“That’s it baby…” Emily cooed, her hands running up and down your sides as her hips slowed, fucking you through your orgasm, “so fucking good for me.”

Your forehead gently dropped to the window, a small fog forming on the glass from your panting as you began to catch your breath, body still quaking with aftershocks. Emily slipped out of you and you could hear droplets of your juices hitting the floor, dripping from your cunt and her cock. A gentle kiss was placed between your shoulder blades, hands squeezing at your waist making sure you were okay before the warmth of her body briefly disappeared from behind you.

A dishtowel hit the floor and an arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you to collapse down on the couch. Somewhere in there a shirt was pulled over your head, a blanket pulled up around the two of you as Emily wrapped around your back. You could feel her now bare legs on yours, the lace of her bodice softly scratching at your skin.

Your eyes fluttered open, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you took in the skyscape outside the windows, glittering stars in the horizon. Emily’s arm loosely hung around your waist and your hand found hers, giving it a soft squeeze before tickling up and down her arm, tracing patterns on her soft skin. In return she left a kiss on the back of your shoulder. You weren’t sure just how long you stayed like that, watching the night sky before Emily finally spoke.

“Did you want to stay? Or should I call a car?”

You let out a happy sigh, rolling over to face her, “I’m pretty sure there’s dessert in those take out bags and I remember hearing something about a bottle of Bordeaux.”

She chuckled softly, happy to extend the night even further, “you’re not wrong on either of those accounts.”

__________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @Soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts @just-moondust @idkifimasub @gaydragonwitch @dowsedwithbleach @divergentalwaysandforever-blog

[sl-ut]

ceilings

PART TWO

GUYS I DONT THINK YOU UNDERSTAND HOW AMAZING THE RESPONSE TO THE FIRST PART OF THIS WAS!!!! IM ACTUALLY SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU ALL WAIT LIKE FIVE MONTHS FOR PT 2 BUT HERE IT IS!!! I REWROTE IT LIKE SEVEN TIMES SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT (its not exactly how i wanted it to be but its here so pls stop harassing me ab it lol) (jk i love being harassed by you guys) (love u all)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

description: ellie is put on the spot, but it seems that her choice has already been made.

warnings: MENTIONS AND (non-explicit) DEPICTIONS OF DOMESTIC AND CHILD ABUSE, swearing, allusions to nsfw situations, misogyny, alcohol consumption, mentions of guns, ellie is stupid af

words: 8.7K

date posted: 18/11/23

part one

From a very young age, Y/n had developed a deep understanding in regards to her place in the world. Girls like her did not ride out into the face of danger, nor did they scour the ruins of what was once a flourishing society for even the slightest chance of survival. Girls like her did not fight or talk back, instead they were quiet and followed orders so that someone might feel inclined to protect them. She had learned these lessons from no one other than her father. 

He had never been a kind man; the type that would send even the bravest of souls running the other way with his piercing stare and bulging muscles. He had started off with a considerably large group, only to find himself off on his own all thanks to his frighteningly short temper and his alcoholic tendencies. For a few years, he wandered through the woods on his own, tearing his way through small survivalist groups as if he, himself, had been infected, until he came across a young woman hiding out in an abandoned motel. Unlike usual, he hadn’t immediately reached for his blade at the sight of her, and instead found himself feeling in need of some human contact after so much time on his own, and offered her his protection for the nonrefundable price of her body. Scared, alone, and hungry, Y/n’s mother was quick to fall into routine with the man, finding comfort under his protection and returning it whenever he saw fit. 

Y/n often tried to imagine the man who had been so frightening to anyone who crossed his path; Almost as wide as he was tall, rippling muscles beneath weathered and scarred skin, a seemingly permanent sneer carved into his face. It was difficult to picture him as such, especially when he had been so unwell since they had arrived in Jackson. He’d been bitter since that very day, never wanting to feel like he might be indebted to somebody else, though Y/n’s mother had convinced him that neither of them would be able to survive the winter this year, especially considering that Y/n had contracted a terrible cough and was showing signs of oncoming pneumonia. To this day, he made it very clear that he only chose to stay because he knew that there was no chance of convincing Y/n’s mother to leave her behind. The years hadn’t been kind to him–the sudden transition from living on the run to such a comfortable life caused a dramatic physical transformation, and allowed his age to finally catch up to him. 

Her father was among the most humiliating parts of her life in Jackson, everyone recognising him immediately to be a raging old fool who was all-too reliant on the bottle to take away the pain of his aching bones. He’d also settled more comfortably into his role of a deadbeat husband and father, finding Y/n and her mother to be even more irritating now than when they relied on him for everything; they’d both been left to cover up bruises with clothing and excuses of clumsiness rather than admit where they’d really come from. 

Her relationship with her mother was almost more difficult to explain. 

From the time that Y/n was old enough to remember, her mother had been telling her that their lives were owed to her father in every sense of the matter. Y/n’s mother didn’t hate her, that much was clear, but it was also very plain to see that she considered her daughter to be quite a disruption of her life. Things had been much easier before she had been born–all that she needed to do to survive was to make herself available for his use and boost his ego, now she needed to not only fend for herself, but fend for her child as well. Y/n’s father had no emotional or moral obligations to her, and had even tried to leave her behind after they’d figured out that she’d been knocked up. After Y/n was born, he still considered dumping the two of them–what kind of use would a woman be if there was the chance of her getting pregnant again? It was only because of some kind of divine blessing that he found it within himself to keep them around. After coming to Jackson, her loyalty to him never strayed, and the slight resentment that she already harboured for her child grew.

Y/n fit into the everyday routine of Jackson residents almost too easily. She quickly came to enjoy the new aspects of her life in the commune such as school, taking part in daily chores, community events, and most of all, interacting with her peers. They were all so kind to her, praising her when she did well at something, and comforting her when she didn’t. People told her she was pretty and smart and funny, all of the things that her parents did not. She did not need to resort to loaning out her body for a meal, nor did she need to cower in the face of safety. At school, boys flocked to her every whim, because they genuinely wanted her, not because she was playing into their sick mind games in hopes of survival. Things such as praise, safety, and happiness were handed to Y/n so easily, while her mother had to fight tooth and nail for them. The complex relationship between Y/n and her family could not easily be explained, but those native to the commune had quickly come to their own conclusions about the trio.

Things did not remain as easy for Y/n as she had once seen them as. Those unfiltered adoring comments of pretty and smart, quickly led down a dark path and became dumb and slut and fat. There was a pattern in her life, all of those who started with the kind words would always end up saying the others at some point, though it wasn’t until Dina began saying them that it truly bothered her.  

Everything that Y/n was to the people in Jackson, Dina was too, only better. She was the kind of girl who couldn’t be stopped when she put her mind to something, and was loyal to the very end, which is what made it so difficult when she turned her back on Y/n. 

There were very few limits that Y/n had when it came to the brunette girl. She was the type of person whose laughter could warm the soul, and whose praise was comparable to a badge of honour. Y/n would take up new hobbies or interests, even some things that she never really even liked in order to have more things in common with her, and at one point, would have considered her to be her closest friend; Each time a new boy broke her heart, Dina was there to comfort her; Each time her father grabbed her a little too tightly, Dina would force her to spend the night and help her ice her bruises. There was quite literally nothing in the world that Y/n wouldn’t do for her, something she had never felt for anyone, ever, until Jesse came into the picture. 

He was the first guy their age who hadn’t shown an immediate interest in Y/n, which was quite refreshing, so she made no opposition when Dina suggested that they invite him to hang out. The first pinch of regret came a few weeks later when her friend finally confessed her feelings for Jesse. With every guy that had ever been around her, she’d never felt an ounce of jealousy when it came to other girls.

Until then. 

***

Ellie has never felt longing like this before. Of course, she had experienced the embarrassingly naïveness that came along with having a crush on someone before, both with Cat and briefly with Dina, but she had never genuinely felt what it was like to want someone in the soul-crushing way that came with the early stages of love, let alone with someone who made it quite clear that they wanted nothing to do with Ellie. Her bed felt much colder than it ever had before, and nights seemed to drag on rather than how she used to pray for just a few extra minutes. She couldn’t help but wonder how she had managed to fuck up everything up so badly that withing a few days, she had gone from wanting to keep her relationship a secret to wondering if she even was in a relationship anymore.

Well, to be completely fair, Ellie had made it quite clear to Y/n time and time again that they were most certainly not girlfriends. They were just two girls who had romantic interest in one another who spent most of their time together doing things that girlfriends might do with one another. But they definitely weren’t dating, so it really shouldn’t have bothered her when she began to notice the attention that Y/n had been receiving from the new girl. 

It was rare for Ellie to see either of them apart from one another. In fact, Y/n seemed to have made a genuine and successful effort in avoiding Ellie as much as possible in the days that had passed since they had last spoken at the Tipsy Bison. She would spot her from afar sometimes, walking in stride with her seemingly new best friend, and would watch her from a distance until her figure disappeared out of sight. On the odd occasion where Y/n’s shift in the stables lined up with Ellie’s patrol, Shimmer’s reins would be silently handed over to her, accompanied only with a blank stare and deaf ears when Ellie attempted any sort of small talk. When this happened, Ellie’s pale cheeks flushed red and her shoulders slumped in embarrassment as she tried to ignore Jesse’s awkward chuckling. 

The only thing that made it worse was the undeniable fact that Erin had publicly staked some sort of claim over Y/n. In public, she was unashamed to be near her, to touch her, and to speak to her. She didn’t feel the need to pull her into dark corners just to utter a few words, and she didn’t seem put off by any sort of reputation or rumours being spread about herself just from being seen with her. Ellie felt almost territorial when it came to Y/n, in a way she truly never had before. Any time that she noticed one or both or Erin’s hands to slip across Y/n’s waist or lower back, the auburn haired girl had to rely on her last shred of sanity not to rush over and beat her to a pulp or tear her hand right off. For the unforeseeable future, Ellie decided that her best course of action would be to become as much of a hermit as possible, even thinking as far as asking Jesse to bring her dinner every night to avoid the dining hall, though she knew better; Her friends would be utterly useless in helping her in this situation, as Dina didn’t even know what was going on and Jesse, well…

The boy had been fairly understanding of Ellie’s feelings on the situation. He knew firsthand how his own girlfriend felt about Y/n, even more in detail than Ellie did. He admitted to her that he genuinely liked Y/n, but chose to avoid her purely out of respect for Dina, though made sure to tell her what an idiot Ellie had been if she actually had feelings for her. He had successfully perfected the art of tough love, and made sure that Ellie felt every bit of it.

She truly hadn’t been looking forward to her patrol shift with Jesse, knowing that it would be nothing more than yet another therapy session; what Dina was mad at him for this week, the crazy dream he had last night, the weird bump on his ass… Only this time, there was a much larger issue at hand that turned the need for therapy to Ellie rather than him, and she knew that there was practically nothing that could have prevented Doctor Jesse, LMHC from joining her that morning. 

“You know, I really don’t think it’s as big of a deal as you think it is.”

Ellie shook her head, “Says you. You see Y/n walking your way and you run the other direction.” 

“Well, you know how Dina is.”

She sent him a pointed glare.

“For me, that is.” He continued, “I’m her boyfriend.”

“And I’m her best friend.”

Jesse tilted his head with raised brows, “Meaning that you are irreplaceable. Me, on the other hand, could be replaced by anyone given the chance that Dina’s standards suddenly go up. Will she be pissed? Definitely, but there’s no way that she would ever wanna stop being friends with you over this.”

Ellie wasn’t sure whether this was the most intelligent or idiotic thing that Jesse had ever said. She certainly hoped that her relationship with Dina was strong enough that anyone that she would be looking to pursue romantically would not be too much of an issue, though the dark-haired girl tended to be quite unpredictable and Ellie couldn’t rely on hope. Dina was the first friend that she had made in Jackson, the first person who didn’t treat her like a wild animal who’d been spooked, the first person who actually accepted her into the community. How could she risk losing her?

“And not to light a fire under your ass or anything,” he sent her a pointed look, “But word on the street is that she and Erin are getting pretty close, if you know what I mean.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes at him, “Oh, fuck you. ‘Word on the street,’ my ass. As far as everyone else knows, she doesn’t even like girls. By next week, the rumours will start and then everything will be back to normal. I guess it’s my own fault for thinking that–” She coughed and cut herself off.

“For thinking that she actually liked you?” Jesse finished for her, smirking at the dangerous glare that wordlessly confirmed his thoughts. “Have you ever considered that maybe she feels the same way?” There was a beat of silence before he continued, “Think about it, every guy in Jackson told her the same things you probably did, and the second they got what they wanted…”

“No, I’m not like those fuckers. I never told anyone anything about what happened between us. Those guys, she told me that half of the stuff they say about her isn’t even true.”

“So is spreading rumours really that much more hurtful than being too embarrassed that you were even together?”

Was it? This whole time, she had been consoling herself with the idea that she would be better than the others–all of those guys who called her a slut behind her back, all of those guys who used her for her body, the guys who stole away pieces of her until she genuinely had very little respect for herself to prevent anyone from hurting her like that again, Ellie included. Especially when, during the last few days, Ellie had been no better, wondering how much Y/n could’ve liked her at all if she was moving on so fast, wondering if all of those rumours might have had some kind of truth to them at all. There she was, throwing herself a pity party over her unrequited feelings, when she had been the one who had been emotionally unavailable, not Y/n. 

“Am I good, or what?” Jesse laughed, “Seriously, do you think Maria would be open to starting a therapy business in Jackson?” 

“Or what,” Ellie responded a moment later, “But she might, God knows I’ll need a session after this.”

***

Y/n had always had it in the back of her mind that everything happened for a reason. Every bruise was a fight that she survived, every sickness was a reminder that she was still alive, and every heartbreak was a love that simply wasn’t meant to be–a sign that the one was still out there. A large part of her wanted it to be Ellie, even more so than how she wanted it to be every guy that came before her. Y/n thought that Ellie was different than the others, she didn’t just smile charmingly as whisper pretty words before going off on her merry way, instead preferring to stay in bed for a while after they would sleep together, actually listening to what she had to say and responding in a way that let her know that she was genuinely interested. 

But alas, Ellie had been no better than the rest. Of course, Y/n had been used to this kind of thing, so there was a bit of a routine that she’d gotten used to. It was worse this time, though, even worse than the very first–but the routine was strict, and didn’t allow her to shed any more tears than she could help, and so the cycle began again. 

Y/n wasn’t stupid, despite what the others said, and she could very easily see what Erin wanted from her, though she was determined to make this time different. If she was fated to undergo the same heartache time and time again, she would hold it off as long as she possibly could. Any attempt made by the blonde to take their relationship further than a friendship would be ignored until Y/n decides that she was ready for it, though the ease that she found when it came to swerving her advances began to bring up another question in her mind; Was she really that interested in Erin? Or was she really that desperate for attention that she was willing to jump to the next person who even glanced in her direction? 

The question gnawed on her for days. Everytime Erin touched her, it felt as if someone had brought flame to her flesh, and not even in the same way that it had been with Ellie, nor any of the others that came before. Perhaps she was simply just more aware of the issue at hand than she had been before–that much was undeniable at this point. She made a real effort to put a bit of distance between Erin and herself, deciding that, if something were to happen between them, it wouldn’t be quite so easy as it had been in the past. She could tell that this bothered Erin to some degree; Her pink lips always turned into a scowl when she wouldn’t receive any more than a peck, and her wandering hands often caused the girl to stiffen, but she had yet to say anything about it, instead putting on a sickeningly sweet smile and changing the subject to something much more lighthearted. 

It would seem that Erin was less discreet about their relationship with other Jackson residents than she was around Y/n. Apparently, it was a hot bit of gossip around Jackson, considering that the girl who had a pretty scandalous reputation when it comes to men seemingly had switched teams. Her sexuality wasn’t exactly a new discovery for herself, but she’d never actually been with another girl until Ellie, and no one even knew about that. Generally, Y/n wasn’t concerned about what other people her age thought of her, as there was very little that they hadn’t already said about her, but the way that she was viewed by the older generations of Jackson residents was something that she was very conscious of. 

She’d had quite a close relationship with Maria for quite some time now, and in turn, Tommy as well. The married couple were the unofficial leaders of Jackson, and often took it upon themselves to check in on those around town that may need a bit of extra help or care. They both viewed her as someone who has overcome quite a lot in the short time that she’d been on Earth, and yet, she was miraculously able to fit into the status quo quite easily. 

A few years after he arrived in Jackson, Tommy’s brother, Joel, took up another caring role within her life, just as he had done with several other Jackson residents who were around her age or younger. Y/n quite liked Joel, and not only because of his close relation to Ellie. In fact, Y/n had somewhat of a friendship started with Joel long before she had even spoken to Ellie for the first time, finding some comfort in his unshakeable fatherly instincts; Offering her a small cup of precious coffee or another sweater when he noticed a tremble in the cold, or a gentle reminder that she could tell him about anybody giving her a hard time. He once told her that she reminded him of a stray cat, constantly showing up on his doorstep time and time again after he’d given her a scrap of food once, and now he was forced to practically adopt her as a consequence of his actions. There was hardly anything that she wouldn’t tell him, which was why she was quite excited when Tommy suggested that she start out her paired patrolling duties with him at her side. 

Joel was mostly quiet on patrols, usually offering small grunts in response her pestering questions or a stifled laugh, doing his best to seem unimpressed with her foolishness, but unable to hide the admiration he seemed to have for the young girl who seemed so unfazed by the things she had been forced to face in this world. He always made sure to ask her about her own wellbeing, usually when they would stop to pick at the sandwiches that Maria had packed for them.

“Anyone givin’ you any trouble?” He would always ask, quickly followed up by, “Aside from what you go lookin’ for, that is.”

At this, she would usually give him a little explanation of her personal life; Who she had spoken to the day before, who she thought was nice and who wasn’t… Joel wasn’t usually one for gossip, but he didn’t mind having to listen to her drone on about what the Jackson youths were up to lately, especially when it may or may not concern Ellie. 

“And your daddy?” He always asked her this at some point or another. It was no secret around Jackson that her father wasn’t exactly the nicest guy around, especially towards his daughter, nor was her mother doing much to look out for her. “He treating you and your momma alright?”

Her lips tightened into a grimace, stuffing a large bite of her sandwich into her mouth, “Same as always.”

“He hurtin’ you at all? You know if he is–”

“He isn’t. Not since last time.” She affirmed, peering intently down at the half-mauled sandwich in her lap, “Besides, you’ve got bigger fish to fry; Don’t think I haven’t heard about Miss Gonzalez bringing you that apple pie last week.”

“It was pecan, actually.” Joel groaned, shaking his head and hiding his smirk, “You’re talkin’ to me about my love life?”

Y/n chewed her bottom lip, “Didn’t take you as the type to listen to rumours, Miller.”

“‘M not talkin’ about any rumours.” He gave her a firm look, one that knew far more than she had expected. “A girl as smart as you can’t’ve forgotten whose backyard you’ve been sleeping over in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolled his eyes, “‘M not tryin’ to pry, I only mean…fuck. All ‘m tryin’ to say is that I think you make her happy. I know she and I aren’t exactly in the best place, but that’s all I want for her. Startin’ to think she makes you pretty happy, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Y/n scoffed, trying to reign in any bitterness she felt towards the girl, “Not happy enough.” She forced the remainder of her sandwich into her mouth, her words coming out muffled, “Let’s get moving, it’s gonna be dark soon.”

***

Y/n had always had it in the back of her mind that everything meant something. Every bruise was a fight that she survived, every sickness was a reminder that she was still alive, and every heartbreak was a love that simply wasn’t meant to be–a sign that the one was still out there. A large part of her wanted it to be Ellie, even more so than how she wanted it to be every guy that came before her. Y/n thought that Ellie was different than the others, she didn’t just smile charmingly as whisper pretty words before going off on her merry way, instead preferring to stay in bed for a while after they would sleep together, actually listening to what she had to say and responding in a way that let her know that she was genuinely interested. 

But alas, Ellie had been no better than the rest. Of course, Y/n had been used to this kind of thing, so there was a bit of a routine that she’d gotten used to. It was worse this time, though, even worse than the very first–but the routine was strict, and didn’t allow her to shed any more tears than she could help, and so the cycle began again. 

Y/n wasn’t stupid, despite what the others said, and she could very easily see what Erin wanted from her, though she was determined to make this time different. If she was fated to undergo the same heartache time and time again, she would hold it off as long as she possibly could. Any attempt made by the blonde to take their relationship further than a friendship would be ignored until Y/n decides that she was ready for it, though the ease that she found when it came to swerving her advances began to bring up another question in her mind; Was she really that interested in Erin? Or was she really that desperate for attention that she was willing to jump to the next person who even glanced in her direction? 

The question gnawed at her silently as she waited patiently for Erin to return with her second drink. She hadn’t really been in the mood to drink that night, but it was either that or be left alone with her thoughts, and they had been less than kind towards her lately. But going to the Tipsy Bison also heightened her chances of coming face to face with Ellie again, and she wasn’t entirely sure of how to act if she were to confront her again, just as she had last time. 

Her fingers scraped at the sticky residue that had been smeared across the tabletop, shoulders hunched and eyes cast downwards to avoid drawing any additional attention to herself. Her mind felt hazy, likely a combination of the little food she’d consumed that day and the drink that she’d already finished, leaving her blissfully unaware of the attention that she actually was receiving. It was different from the way that people normally looked at her, either in awe or resentment, instead proving a general concern for the girl who would normally be jumping to be in the middle of the dance floor or joining the few musicians in Jackson on stage for a song or two. This girl was very different from the latter, the charming smile that she would normally wear had turned into a small pout, and her normally wide and wondrous eyes were dull and bored. 

A hand touched her shoulder, drawing her out of the daze that she hadn’t even realised that she’d been in. Maria appeared at her side, a warm smile on her lips as she scanned the surprised expression of the younger woman, soon followed by her husband.

“Oh,” Y/n shook her head slightly as her posture straightened, “Hey, Maria, Tommy.” 

“Y/n,” Tommy nodded at her, “How you doin’ tonight?”

She shrugged in response, “Good.”

Maria squeezed her shoulder, “You sure? Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale.”

Y/n suppressed the minor tug of annoyance at their persistence, “Fine. Just a little tired.” 

The couple shared a knowing glance. Y/n was not the first girl in Jackson to hold the kind of reputation that she did, though very few others had their entire lives put out on display for the rest of town to judge. People talk, and between their words and the physical state that she was in, there was nothing that she could do or say to make them believe her. 

Tommy cleared his throat, “Heard you did well out on patrol today. Joel’s thinkin’ that a little while longer ‘n you’ll be on your way to doin’ it full time. That sound good?”

Y/n didn’t go on patrol often, but anyone who was physically capable of going was put on the schedule at least once a rotation. Having not been out too many times, she tended to get paired up with others who truly knew what they were doing, though Joel Miller seemed to be her main partner, which was an especially bizarre situation considering that Ellie was practically his daughter, no matter how impossibly strained their relationship may have been. Joel had always been nice to her, never too harsh when she made mistakes, nor was he a major softie who let her away with shit. Things had been a bit tense one morning when they had run into one another before their patrol in his backyard, where she had been sneaking out of Ellie’s garage-turned home in the early hours of the morning. It was a bit of an unspoken understanding of each other–both had fallen into the bittersweet situation of caring just a little too much about Ellie Williams. 

It made her chest swell knowing that he’d been praising her to his brother, but if he’d truly been bringing up the little bit of good that she’d done, he’d surely growled about how clumsy she’d been after their converstation, falling off her horse, losing the map to the wind…Hell, she’d almost shot him on accident from sneezing! Of course, even Joel Miller would be talking poorly about her behind her back, just like everyone else.

“That all he said?” She asked, tired eyes turning to the man.

He shrugged, adjusting his belt buckle uncomfortably as he shifted his weight, “That’s the gist of it, anyways. Say, you wouldn’t mind filling in on the late morning shift tomorrow, would ya? Eugene’s got a stomach bug and can’t seem to go more than twenty minutes without…well, you know.”

She tilted her head, glancing between the married couple in confusion. She’d never been asked to take on a patrol shift more than once every three weeks, let alone twice within a few days of each other. 

“I know you aren’t normally on the schedule this regularly, and I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t in such a bind.”

“I mean, I don’t really mind, but I’m supposed to work in the stables tomorrow.”

Another figure appeared before anyone else could speak, the loud clink of two glasses hitting the table as Erin’s smiling face filled Y/n’s vision. 

“What’d I miss?” She asked, eyes shifting between the couple and the girl she’d walked away from only minutes earlier. She slid a glass across the table to Y/n, who eagerly accepted it and took a large gulp. 

“Not much, Tommy was just telling us about how great Y/n was on patrol yesterday.” Maria smiled, patting her shoulder gently. 

Erin turned to Y/n with an amused grin, “Oh yeah?”

“So great that she’s even taking over Eugene’s shift tomorrow. I’d say she’s on her way to becoming a big hot shot around here,” Maria grinned, “Everyone will be talking about you soon enough.”

“More than they already do, you mean,” Erin chuckled, completely ignorant to the glance that both Tommy and Maria sent her as she turned to Y/n with furrowed brows, “And here I was all excited to work together in the stables tomorrow morning.”

Y/n glanced down at the amber liquid in her glass before downing it all in one gulp, cheeks beaming with embarrassment, “I mean, it’s an emergency. I really don’t mind, and I don’t think the horses will miss me too much.”

Tommy nodded, thanking Y/n once more before guiding Maria away with a hand on her lower back, departing from the pair with a farewell before disappearing into the crowd. Y/n’s eyes followed them until they couldn’t anymore, then found themselves locked onto an eerily familiar gaze. Ellie leaned against the opposite side of the bar, clad in her favourite black flannel and nursing her own drink as she blatantly ignored Jesse and Dina as they bickered playfully next to her. She seemed a bit surprised when their eyes met, but offered her a small nod as a greeting. Y/n’s brain scanned through all of her options; She could have run over to her, jumped into her arms and announced her love, she could have turned to Erin and chose to make Ellie jealous, but instead, she simply looked away.

“You okay?” Erin’s hand graced the small of her back, her body suddenly closer than she had previously been. “Shit, you feel kinda warm. You’re not sick, are you?”

Y/n shook her head, finally glancing back to the blonde girl at her side, “I’m fine, just tired. Maybe a little tipsy.”

Erin’s laugh sounded like wind chimes as it fell from her lips, “A little? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you down two drinks so quickly.” Her eyes fluttered, hooded eyelids drooping as she lowered her voice, “If you’re not having fun, we can always leave early.” 

The game she was playing was a dangerous one. She’d been down this road before, leaving early and spending the next few hours wrapped up in their sheets. Not this time, though, she decided as she nodded, allowing Erin to lead her out of the bar and into the empty, dimly lit streets. The walk was quiet, their fingers laced together to keep each other grounded, and Y/n didn’t miss the sideways glances being sent her way. Her doorstep finally came into view, and she knew that she needed to come up with a plan.

“This is me,” she sighed, moving to unlace their fingers and make a quick escape before her back was pressed firmly against the railing of the doorstep, “Thanks for walking me.”

“Hey,” Erin’s fingers latched onto her chin, turning her gaze up to meet her own, “Can I come in? We can just… I don’t know, hang out?”

Y/n’s cheeks warmed at her sly grin, and the alcohol was telling her to agree, “I don’t know, my parents are here.”

“We could go to my place?” The blonde suggested hopefully, “My brother won’t be home till later, and I really don’t wanna say goodbye yet.”

“Erin–”

“You look so pretty tonight,” she continued, her thumb rising to trace over Y/n’s bottom lip lightly. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the curve of her lips intently before she finally lurched forward and connected them to her own. 

For a moment, Y/n let it happen. This was her safe place, her routine, and it was difficult for her to deny herself of it regardless of what she felt towards Erin. Finally, she leaned her head back, parting from her with a wet noise and a sniffle. Her eyes burned with the oncoming tears, tears that she couldn’t even begin to explain or understand.

“Come back with me,” Erin whispered.

“I just–I’m really tired.”

“We can go to bed,” Erin smirked.

“Seriously, Erin. I’m like, really, really tired.”

An annoyed expression cracked across her features quicker than Y/n was even able to comprehend, as if she had been masking it the whole time, “Really? You’re still playing this little game of yours?”

Y/n tilted her head in confusion, “What?”

“Don’t act so innocent,” The blonde sneered, taking a step back and placing her hands firmly on her hips, “You’ve been stringing me along this whole time. I don’t know who told you that this little innocent act was cute, because it’s really not, nor is it very convincing. I mean, what’s keeping you from putting out like you’ve done with everyone else?”

“Excuse me?” A tear slid down Y/n’s cheek.

Erin shook her head, scoffing at her as she turned around, stalking off into the night without another word, leaving behind a trembling figure in the darkness as the creaking of the front door echoed in the silence.

“You got something you wanna tell me?”

***

Ellie couldn’t figure out which was worse, the blistering heat inside the bar or the bitter winter air that flooded her veins the moment that she stepped out into the street. For a split second, she almost followed the instinct to retreat back inside and find refuge in the warmth before remembering exactly what had brought her out into the cold to begin with.

The Tipsy Bison was busy that night, bodies colliding as drunken Jackson residents laughed and partied amongst one another. Ellie found herself in need of a drink, preferably in the largest glass she could find after the week she’d had. Jesse hadn’t given up on his desire to be her personal therapist, even though she’d been entirely unwilling to give him any more information on her love life than she already had, and had been prompting her to go off and find Y/n all evening. 

Find her, was a poor choice of words, considering that Ellie had clocked her the second that she had set foot into the pub. More accurately, Jesse was eager to see her march over and confess her undying love in front of the whole of Jackson–Dina included. 

There were times throughout the evening where she thought that their eyes might actually meet. The idea should have scared her, considering that she had absolutely no clue what she might do if she ever came face to face with Y/n again, and yet she found herself moving around as subtly as possible in hopes of catching her attention. Ellie’s mind kept drifting off to the constant question of whether or not Y/n had mourned what they had, or perhaps what could have been. She had moved on rather quickly, always being found with Erin not too far behind, though her appearance was not what it usually was; her normally tamed and styled hair was quite messy, and she wore muted colours in comparison to the bright, eye-catching shades of her favourite shirts. 

She watched in silence over the entire evening, making sure to offer the occasional laugh or jab at Jesse’s expense to avoid being called out, though it would be impossible to avoid the all-knowing expanse of Dina’s watchful eye.

“Who’re you looking at?”

Ellie’s head snapped to the side, finding her friend leaning across to get a better look. The auburn haired girl shook her head, pushing her back gently, “Nothing. No one.”

Dina scoffed, “Oh please, you’ve got some kind of look going on right now. Who is it? Please don’t say it’s Cat.”

“God, no, it’s not Cat.” Ellie glanced down at her drink.

Dina leaned across Ellie’s body again to get a better look, eyes falling on the slouched figure that sat directly in her line of sight, “Then who–oh. Please don’t tell me you’re looking at who I think you’re looking at.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “Jesus, what does it matter?”

“Ellie,” her tone mimicked a young mother who had just caught her child red-handed, “You know what it matters. Don’t do it.”

“I’m literally not doing anything.”

“No, but you’re thinking about it.”

“About what?” Ellie’s tone had a sharp edge to it as annoyance twisted her stomach. On top of the other shit that she was dealing with this week, she was not exactly in the mood to deal with Dina’s judgement. 

Dina stared at her in disbelief, emotions running across her face quicker than the speed of light–confusion, annoyance, and then finally, anger. She shook her head, taking a long swig out of her glass before speaking, “About seeing if the rumours are true, going where literally every other guy has gone before.”

Jesse coughed, inserting himself into the tense conversation between his best friend and girlfriend, “Not every guy.”

Both females sent him a silencing glare before turning back to one another.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic, still freaking out about something that happened years ago?” Ellie insisted, “If it’s so bad, then why doesn’t anybody talk about it? Jesus, even she wouldn’t tell me.”

“Oh, so you’ve been talking to her?” Dina scowled. 

“Am I not allowed to?” Ellie challenged, knees wobbling underneath her as she pushed herself off of the bartop behind her. Of course, the drinks she had would make themselves known now of all times, when she needed to at least be sober enough that she wouldn’t end up saying something to her friend that she didn’t really mean. 

The raven haired girl pursed her lips, hands resting on her hips, “I can’t make you do anything, Ellie, but I figured that it’s common decency to not sleep around with people that your best friend hates.”

“I’m not–” Ellie paused, exhaling slowly through her nose as she caught herself from raising her voice any more than she had to, “I’m not just sleeping around with her.”

“But you are sleeping with her?” Dina caught on, “Jesus, Ellie, don’t tell me you fell into her little trap. I figured you’d be smarter than that.”

“Why–don’t change the subject. If you don’t want me hanging around with her, tell me why. If she really did something that horrible to you, I’ll let it go.”

“I shouldn’t have to,” Dina fumed, “You’re my friend, I shouldn’t have to beg you to not hang out with the people I hate. But if it really means that much to you, she convinced me to ask Jesse out, and then tried to steal him from me.”

Jesse blushed sheepishly from behind her, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, “I don’t think she really tried to–”

“So what would you call it then?” She turned sharply towards him, “She told you I didn’t like you, knowing fully well that I did. Why else would she do that?” 

Jesse paused, almost as if he were about to come up with an answer before slowly shrugging, “I don’t know, but I guess you really didn’t get the full story.”

“Why are you defending her now?” She sneered.

“I’m not, I just,” Jesse rushed, seemingly unsure of how to undig the hole he’d gotten himself into, “I don’t think this is something that’s worth fighting over, right? I mean, if Ellie has feelings for someone, shouldn’t we, as her best friends, support her?”

“Feelings?” 

Ellie groaned, glaring at Jesse. Leave it to him to spill every secret she’d ever told him. She downed the remaining whiskey in her glass, wincing at the delicious burn as it slid down her throat before starting marching away from the pair, “I’m not dealing with this shit right now.”

***

Y/n’s cheeks burned under the harsh coldness of the wind. Instantly upon stepping out of her house, she felt a deep mourning for the warmth of her bed and even considered scaling the side of the two story home to sneak in through the window, that way she could have a comfortable and warm place to sleep, but would still need to stay half awake out of fear of being found by her father. Instead, she took quick steps in the opposite direction, barely catching herself as she slipped on the nearly invisible ice that covered the ground.

When she finally stepped into the warmth of the stables, she leaned against the heavy wooden door as it sealed shut behind her and finally let the tears that had been burning her waterline drip down her cheeks. Her breath left her lips in heaving clouds, the air considerably warmer inside the barn than it had been outdoors, but still quite cold. Still, she would likely sleep sounder in the pile of hay in the corner than she would in her own bed.

“Hey, are you–shit, what the fuck happened?”

The last thing that Y/n had expected to happen was to find somebody else in the stables this late at night, let alone to find Ellie there. She had, of course, come around the corner from Shimmer’s stall, having come to find some comfort in her chosen steed after her falling out with Dina. 

“Ellie–”

“Who did this to you?” Her cold fingertips slapped Y/n’s own palms away from her swollen jaw, lightly pressing them into the purple flesh and tilting her head back to examine the dark collar that had begun to bloom around her throat. Y/n’s silence seemed to draw an emotional response from the auburn-haired girl, “Fuck, who did this? Was it Erin?”

“No,” Y/n finally uttered, “Not her.”

“Jesus, come here,” Ellie spoke as if she were giving the girl any option other than to follow her commands, leading her further into the dimly-lit barn to see the full extent of her injuries. 

Y/n felt a deep, uncomfortable sense of insecurity beginning to eat away at any form of confidence she may have had left. Throughout every conversation and intimate moment they’d shared, Y/n had never felt quite as vulnerable as she had when Ellie was able to see through every barrier that had been erected between them. She sat in silence as Ellie poked and prodded at her, digging through the emergency first aid kit to clean the cuts that had splintered the delicate skin of her cheek.

“My dad,” Her voice cracked as she finally broke the silence, “It was my dad.”

Ellie paused her movement for a brief moment before continuing to dab at the broken skin, “Why?”

Y/n cleared her throat, eyes darting around to look at anything Ellie’s piercing mossy stare, “He saw Erin kiss me. Turns out, he’d rather go back to have a shameless skank as a daughter than a…” 

Ellie cursed under her breath, chucking the dirty cotton pads off to the side. She tried to shake the jealousy that coursed through her veins, more focused on the girl’s physical wellbeing than their recent romantic falling out, “Why’d you come here? I mean, I get not wanting to be at home after this… but why not go to Erin?”

Y/n snorted, “Why’d you come here? Last I saw, you were having a grand time with your friends. You’re sure you aren’t afraid they’re gonna come looking for you and find us together?”

Ellie didn’t respond, taken aback at the response, but not at all angry or frustrating with the girl’s rightful feelings towards her. 

Y/n finally sighed, “Sorry.”

“No, I–uh, I think that was deserving.” She paused for a moment, “I’m sorry too, if that means anything to you. I was so, so shitty towards you.”

A small chuckle fell from her lips, “Yeah, you were. Somehow, you still treated me better than anyone else that I’ve been with.”

Ellie pursed her lips, thinking back on her conversation with Jesse and Dina earlier on, “Hey, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t wanna, but can I ask what happened with you and Dina?”

Y/n stiffened, “You mean she hasn’t told you? You’ve been going along with her hatred for me and you don’t even know why?”

“I know why on her part,” Ellie explained, “but I have a feeling your side of the story is gonna be a little different. Did you really try to steal Jesse from her?”

A scoff escaped her, disbelief escaping her features as an expression of guilt took its place, “Yes… and no.”

“Gonna need more than that.”

“I may have told Jesse that Dina wasn’t as into him as he was into her,” Y/n admitted, shoulders slumping as she stared down at her intertwined fingers, “But it wasn’t because I liked Jesse.”

“You like Dina,” Ellie concluded, a look of surprise on her face.

“Liked, past tense,” Y/n corrected, “There’s only so much a girl can take before any kind of positive feelings go away.”

“Does she know?”

Y/n shook her head, “At the time, it made more sense for her to hate me over Jesse than for her to hate me over this. It really wasn’t until you came to town and started dating Cat that I realised that I’d made a mistake, but it was too late.” A whimper fell from her lips as more tears began to trickle down her cheeks, “I’m sorry Ellie, for everything. I’m not mad anymore, I’d be pretty fucking embarrassed to be seen with me, too.”

Ellie lurched forward, grasping either of her cheeks in her cool palms, “No baby, no. I’m not embarrassed. I just, I was scared, and I didn’t understand. I could never be embarrassed to be seen with you. Shit, you probably wouldn’t even believe how fucking much it hurt, having to see you with her.”

Y/n stared up at her, eyes glassy in the dim lighting as Ellie continued to ramble, seemingly completely unaware of what she was actually saying, considering that Ellie Williams was one of the second most emotionally constipated people she had ever met, second only to Joel. 

“And you wouldn’t believe the kind of shit I’ve been getting from Jesse the last few days over this. I’m starting to think he might have been some kind of therapist in a past life or something, telling me how stupid I am and analysing my feelings. God–”

She was cut off as Y/n leaned forward, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss on her lips before pulling away, as if she had never done it in the first place. Both girls stared at each other with wide eyes, trying their best to read the expression of the other for a moment before Ellie grasped the back of Y/n’s neck and pulled her into a much firmer and much longer kiss. 

Y/n was pliant under her touch, allowing Ellie to mould her in whatever way she wanted. It was surprising to her that it was able to make her feel this good only a short while after her altercation with Erin, and how different it felt. With Erin, things felt forced, almost as if she wasn’t holding back as much as she initially thought she had been, but with Ellie, it was literally impossible to melt in her warm embrace. 

Y/n was the one who pulled away, forehead topped forward to meet Ellie’s as she inhaled heavily, forcing some fresh air through her puffy, spit-slick lips, “Ellie, I–”

“I know.”

“No, I can’t go back to how things were. I can’t have only half of you.”

“You won’t.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, “What about Dina?”

“She knows. Sort of. I guess it was too much to ask that Jesse keep his mouth shut.” Ellie snorted, her hand moving back to stroke the girl’s swollen cheek. “I don’t care what she thinks. She’ll be mad for a while, but she’ll come around.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Ellie sighed, pressing one more sweet kiss to her lips, “Then I guess it’s just you and me against the world, huh?”

tags: @xmycxx @ellieseyesonly @lissanovak @erikaar @gold-dustwomxn @viswifetotallyreal @kerst666 @uraesthete @hellokitty3821 @stxrluvr @pampeop @ximtiredx @3lliesrifle @ellieslittlegf @chiao1209 @mimsiemoo @scarletnighttt @waiting-till-im-okay @salitosblog @eleactric @pedrosballsack @yourgirlcin @catostrophiclesbian @lazyotakuofficial @smelliebellie @slaysksmska @pretty-prrincess-13

[cjrae]

Tragedy of the Jade Nightingale. Or: My thoughts on Vol. 11 of the Apothecary Diaries.

Given that this volume just came out in English a few days ago, spoilers under the cut!

I usually think of the Apothecary Diaries volumes as pairs - usually two volumes make up an arc. If so, Volume 11 will be the first half of the arc with 12, but it also functions beautifully as a tragedy in it's own right.

** I will be only discussing information appearing officially through Vol. 11. Yes, I have read the fan translations of the web novels, but given that details can change, until it appears in official English translation, I won't yet be including it here.

The Hero

Gyoku-ou. Talk about someone who thinks he's smarter than he actually is. We knew this guy was a threat all the way back in Vol. 8, with how Gyokuyou reacted to her brother's letter and his veiled insult of sending a younger version of herself to catch either her husband's attention or the Imperial Brother's. Now we get to see him in action and he's scary - right up until he's not.

This man is charismatic as anything - he understands what makes people tick on both an individual level as well as a social level. His ability to wield a mob effectively makes him extremely dangerous, but I'm oddly put in mind of Lakan's initial impression of Fengxian. "This woman is strong, but she only knows how to fight in her own, small world."

The world Gyoku-ou inhabits is a very small, petty one. You can see it in his conspiracy theory about Jinshi's birth.

Jinshi is one of two people Gyoku-ou fails to read. When he brings Lakan and Jinshi to his puppet council to gauge support for attacking Shaoh, he thinks he's got a young malcontent in his hands, someone who wants power and is prone to the flashes of temper and insult that often drive young men. Someone who is easily manipulated. Instead, Jinshi mops the floor with him in that meeting, cutting Lakan's support out from under Gyoku-ou and making it clear that his priority is peace above war.

This doesn't take away from Gyoku-ou's political genius - this meeting teaches him that Jinshi has to be maneuvered around, rather than maneuvered directly. If the Imperial Brother doesn't want to play his part, then too bad. Gyoku-ou will see to it that Jinshi is hedged in all directions except where he wants him to go - which is to war. And even then, he's got a fight on his hands as Jinshi fully takes advantage of Empress Gyokuyou's information to undercut Gyoku-ou's support within his own family.

It's a mark of Jinshi's political skill that Gyoku-ou's move in that family council is to flirt with treason. If he can't maneuver the Imperial family through Jinshi, then he shifts tactics to turn Jinshi (and the rest of the Imperial Family) into the villain of his piece - a prince born and raised into utter depravity.

Let's just sit with what Gyoku-ou suggests to the rest of his siblings (minus the Empress) in that meeting. He implies that the Emperor impregnated his own mother in order to produce an heir. A son that he loves so dearly (and unnaturally) that he would willingly look the other way while Jinshi murders his other children in order to make sure that his brother-son-lover succeeds the throne.

This is a brilliant examination of how the bare facts of the situation can be construed by people with very different motivations to fit whatever worldview is most convenient for them. I'm a fan of the palace politics in this series because they feel very real.

Gyoku-ou doesn't lie once. But boy does he create a narrative that suits his purposes and dares anyone (namely Rikuson) to tell Jinshi. He is escalating the situation and he's doing it fast, while also challenging the legitimacy of the Imperial Family. A fact which, if it does get back to Jinshi (or the Emperor), could get the entire new You Clan wiped out just as fast as the Yi Clan was. This scene functions as a microcosm of Gyoku-ou's two fundamental character flaws; his short term thinking and his utter self-absorption.

Becoming The Wind

Since Rikuson was introduced in Vol. 5, he's been a mirror for Jinshi. He's a "pretty boy," calm under pressure, fundamentally kind and decent to other people while also being extremely competent at his job. Unlike Jinshi, he's also a bit older and more mature. He also clearly admires Maomao and sees the qualities that make her exceptional, despite her various masks.

As it turns out, Rikuson mirrors Jinshi in another important sense too - he also has a secret identity. The Yi Clan were the de facto royalty of the Western Capital and Rikuson is one of the direct survivors of the clan. He was never in the line of succession given the Yi Clan's matrilineal structure. But they were quick enough to save some of the children, namely Rikuson and Empress Gyokuyou's three ladies in waiting, Haku'u, Koku'u and Seki'u.

Rikuson, who was Gyoku-ou's excuse to trick His Former Majesty into giving him the authorization to destroy the Yi Clan. Rather than truly being an bastard Imperial prince, he's a young pawn in Gyoku-ou's hands to whip up an armed mob to hunt Rikuson down - and his mother and sister give their lives to ensure his survival - not for vengeance, but so that the Yi Clan's mission of protecting the west will live on even if the named clan itself dies. So, like Jinshi, he is dedicated to the welfare of the people above all else.

The trouble with relying on an unruly mob is that it's sloppy. Gyoku-ou left multiple survivors and they have absolutely no love for him. He's left weapons at his back.

Rikuson is the other person Gyoku-ou utterly fails to read. He spends well over a year back in his homeland, working for Gyoku-ou as an aide ostensibly from the central region, patiently waiting for an opening - even as Gyoku-ou, who knows that Rikuson has to be assigned to the west with some kind of ulterior motive, is so blind that he thinks he must be a secret member of the La Clan, rather than the Yi boy he tried to kill seventeen years earlier.

Rikuson represents the culmination Gyoku-ou's short term thinking in that he doesn't bother to think about the threat of any surviving Yi clan might pose to him.

He will not insult his mother's memory, or his sister's. But if his mission of protecting the west coincides with vengeance for his family? Sure enough, Gyoku-ou's insistence on going to war (and dragging the Imperial family's legitimacy into his motivations) gives Rikuson his opening; especially because he isn't a vigilante.

He is acting under orders.

The New You

Rikuson's point about Gyoku-ou's life being a tragedy hits home when you consider Gyokuyou's thoughts of how she knows her father loves her - but would also abandon her in a heartbeat if she is no longer valuable to him. Unlike her older brother, she has a very clear-eyed view of how their father operates and focuses on making sure that her value never drops in his eyes.

Gyoku-ou's value to Gyoku'en plummeted the day he destroyed the Yi Clan - Gyoku'en's family. He was given a second chance to show that he could still perform the single function of the men of the Yi Clan - to protect the west. When he endangered it instead, Gyoku'en sent the weapon he'd spent seventeen years preparing (Rikuson) with an execution order.

By first destroying the Yi Clan and then following it up with a proposed invasion of Shaoh, Gyoku-ou proved to Gyoku'en that he was no son of his. Given how desperate he was to be his father's son, this whole book is a tragedy in the classic sense. The Jade Nightingale was so desperate to reinvent himself as a Jade Eagle that he destroyed himself in pursuit of the one thing he never lost - his father's love. But, to be his father's heir, what he needed was Gyoku'en's trust and respect, not his love.

And he killed that seventeen years ago along with the Yi Clan.

Ironically, the foreign born girl that he despised and attempted to undermine at every opportunity, emerges as their father's true heir and mother of the nation, with the rest of the surviving Yi clan as part of her loyal retinue.

In her triumph, the Yi Clan is reborn as the You Clan as Gyoku'en, a Yi man, is given a clan name on the strength of Gyokuyou's role as Empress. So much of their history has been lost, down to the matrilineal succession and family records, but their mission lives on through the Yi men who will continue to protect the west, no matter the personal cost to themselves. There is no room for self-absorption here, therefore Gyoku-ou has no place in their new clan.

Also, a parallel to pay attention to is how the destruction of the Yi Clan and the Shi Clan are mirroring each other with the children being saved. The Yi Clan is reborn with a new name, which leads one to wonder what the consequences of saving those Shi children will be long term.

A Dagger In The Dark

Gyoku-ou sucks up a lot of air in Vol. 11 because he is driving the action - Jinshi, Maomao and their party are all stuck reacting to him, except for one character; Chue.

We see Chue attach herself to Maomao starting with the ship and it's not difficult to guess that just as Lihaku is serving as a discreet bodyguard for Maomao on Jinshi's orders, Chue is also there as protection. Chue doesn't try to conceal that she is clearly trained in espionage either.

Rikuson's proposal to Maomao is not a serious bid for her hand, but nor is it a joke - it's a message to Chue that Jinshi needs to tighten security around Maomao. As he puts it, he knows the "hyper protective" elements around her will close ranks. Because he's foreseen a strategy that may not have yet occurred to Gyoku-ou (who tends not to pay attention to the bit parts of the play), but if it does would almost certainly push the country into war.

Maomao is the lever that could move both Lakan and Jinshi.

All he has to do is kill her and make it look like a foreign attack. Lakan's instinctive ability to read a situation and Jinshi's formidable investigative skills would likely be dulled in the face of their rage and grief. Especially since they are technically Gyoku-ou's guests and don't have freedom of movement to push the issue.

Rikuson seizes his opportunity before Gyoku-ou can continue to escalate, but he realizes quickly that Chue arranged the stage and was there as both spy and backup assassin. (I think it's safe to say that Gyoku-ou's conspiracy theory AND that Yi family ledger will be reported, given that we know there were ladies-in-waiting at the meeting and that's how Chue was disguised - and she didn't actually promise to dispose of it).

Gyoku-ou doesn't bother to think that while the Emperor may be far away and the Imperial Brother is a manageable threat, that the people surrounding Jinshi may not be bound by his strictures. Hence, Chue was on standby. No matter what, Gyoku-ou was never going to make it to that ritual. He was never smart enough to realize that his crossing the line would be never be forgiven.

While Jinshi would order an execution if necessary (and has in the past), he would never order an assassination. Therefore, it's evident that Chue reports to someone else. Who that someone is, we don't know, but there's only one person further up the Imperial tree than Jinshi, so it would be reasonable for Rikuson to assume that the Emperor has placed additional protection around not just Jinshi, but Maomao.

Exclusive: Baby Swap!

Jinshi's birth is not a secret to the audience and while Maomao doesn't have confirmation, she's pretty certain of her suspicion. This volume made it patently obvious that there are others out there who are perfectly capable of putting the pieces together, even if the details are twisted.

Let's return to Gyoku-ou's conspiracy theory.

He's put together all the correct pieces. The Emperor's attitude toward Jinshi makes no sense in a traditional palace setting - a much younger, handsome, charismatic and competent brother? That's a threat to the Emperor and his direct line. But Jinshi is never treated that way - instead he's indulged on many fronts.

He's allowed to duck most of his official duties as Ka Zuigetsu (except for a few he can't, where he appears masked).

He's allowed to pretend to be a eunuch for six years and run the Rear Palace.

When he finally reveals himself to the court to put down the Shi Rebellion, he's described as "hale" and "just as proficient in the military arts as the administrative." (More proof that Jinshi is NOT the best judge of his own abilities). He emerges fully formed into court politics - a perfectly trained Crown Prince - only to have a newborn given the title instead.

Gyoku-ou deliberately put the worst possible spin on these facts. I suspect the rest of the You siblings are going to keep their mouths shut about Gyoku-ou's ugly theory, but if he could think of it, if Maomao could think of it with just seeing Jinshi standing next to Lady Ah-Duo, then so can others.

Maomao can be mad about Jinshi branding himself all she wants, but it's currently looking like an absolutely BRILLIANT move on Jinshi's part. Whatever doubts Gyoku-ou managed to plant about Jinshi and the Emperor's motives with the rest of the You clan siblings, Empress Gyokuyou is not likely to entertain it.

Also, it got the Emperor to essentially "banish" Jinshi to the edges of the Empire shortly after his new Crown Prince was born, which makes it look to other members of the court like the Emperor is taking steps to rein in his younger brother and balances the factions that have to be forming back in the capital.

This is not a secret that can be kept forever. No matter how careful Ah-Duo and Anshi were, the information is starting to leak out around the edges, as we see that the Empress' ladies in waiting that were dismissed clearly had eyes and ears - and in at least one case, a loose tongue.

The next arc is being seeded and Jinshi is inching closer and closer to that throne. He ran the Rear Palace for years (essentially managing the nation in microcosm) and as of the end of Vol. 11, he's now stepping up to govern a province and gain actual ruling experience while also having suppressed a war.

I've said before that Jinshi ascending the throne is the bad ending - if there is a single person who is more trapped by the palace than the prince, it's the emperor. We'll see what happens!

[mariacallous]

Jules Gill-Peterson is speaking to me from the future. She’s 11 hours ahead of me when I reach her over Zoom. While I’m sniffling and congested on a rainy Wednesday evening on my side of the screen in Brooklyn, Jules is welcoming the sun on a beautiful Thursday morning, the bright blue sky of Bangkok peeking in from the window behind her.

The Baltimore-based trans studies scholar is known for her work on the history of medical transition, specifically the history of how trans kids have attempted to access such forms of health care. In 2018, a time when US lawmakers were only just beginning to target gender-affirming care for minors—that is, puberty blockers, hormones, and surgery—she published her first book on the subject, Histories of the Transgender Child, a groundbreaking work that presaged the wave of health care bans that roughly two dozen states have since signed into law, not to mention President Trump’s various executive orders that have sought to further undermine access to such care at the national level.

Seven years later, the fight over access to these treatments has reached the Supreme Court with United States v. Skrmetti, a challenge to a Tennessee ban on health care for transgender youth, the ruling for which is expected to be issued later this month. Gill-Peterson, along with several other experts in the field, coauthored an amicus brief for the court explaining how trans kids have existed long before contemporary medical science and that they’ve been transitioning, medically or otherwise, far longer than the “irreversible damages” crowd would claim. Whether or not the justices heed their expertise, the Supreme Court decision will have a major impact on the future of not only youth access to gender-affirming care in the US but trans American life writ large.

Beyond the legal brief, when she’s just speaking to me one-on-one, Gill-Peterson admits that she doesn’t personally love the term “gender-affirming care,” as she finds the neologism to be too euphemistic. She prefers instead to speak plainly about what’s actually at stake: hormones and surgery, not something abstract or intangible like affirmation or validation. She’s similarly specific when she explains why she’s in Thailand: She’s recovering from a “sex-change surgery,” a vaginoplasty to be exact, one that has neither “affirmed” her gender nor even “confirmed” it. Her linguistic tastes are not merely a matter of aesthetics but a choice that reflects her politics, which prioritize addressing and meeting trans people’s material needs, especially in this moment when we’re increasingly under attack.

“We don’t need any more disgusting ‘trans joy,’” Gill-Peterson says. “We don’t need any more ‘gender euphoria.’ Let’s just get rid of all that and spend our time delivering real things that matter to people, things like hormones and sex changes and surgeries.”

It’s fitting, I tell her, that a trans historian like herself would now be traveling around the world for a surgical procedure, given the rich history of transsexual medical tourism that dates back generations. Entertainer and World War II veteran Christine Jorgensen was quite famously cornered into becoming a public figure after the New York Daily News made tabloid fodder out of her early 1950s sojourn to Copenhagen; Janet Mock recounted her own journey to Bangkok in 2014’s best-selling Redefining Realness. “Every single woman that made her whole life about getting this surgery by any means necessary,” Gill-Peterson says, “those women are absolutely my heroes. I feel lucky in some sense, if only sentimentally, to be retracing their itineraries.”

Gill-Peterson’s experience in Bangkok has also proven instructive. An associate professor in the Department of History at Johns Hopkins University since 2021 and the author of two books, most recently 2024’s A Short History of Trans Misogyny, she spent five years trying “relentlessly” to obtain this particular surgery before being told last fall that she’d have to wait at least another year. “Despite having a PhD for studying this stuff, I’ve repeatedly failed to obtain this surgery myself,” she says. Changing jobs, switching insurance plans, moving between states—something always held up the process, even when she had explicit legal protections against health care discrimination based on where she lived and was working for an employer that “would’ve paid for something like 95 percent of the cost.”

“I just couldn’t deal with the American system of ‘gender-affirming care,’ even when it was nominally working for me at its absolute, pinnacle best,” she continues. “It’s one of my immediate takeaways after having surgery in Bangkok. Having a good surgeon with a positive experience—like, wow! If only we put the resources behind it so it could be like this for everyone.”

Instead, the Canadian academic’s adoptive home has done the opposite, passing health care bans in just about one out of every two states that prohibit minors from medically transitioning through all but underground means. Meanwhile, lawmakers at the national level are taking steps to prevent Medicaid recipients of any age—a quarter-million of whom are trans, according to a 2022 report from the Williams Institute—from using their insurance to cover puberty blockers, hormones, or surgery, as they are currently permitted to do in much of the country. Trump’s “One Big, Beautiful Bill Act,” which would do precisely that, has already passed the House and, as of this writing, is on its way to the Republican-controlled Senate. Should it succeed there as well, all it would need to then become law would be a signature from the president.

Given the situation, Gill-Peterson yearns for a reality check among the “Love Is Love” platitude-spouters, should they ever hope to pose any sort of meaningful challenge.

“All of these push factors are impolite to acknowledge in progressive liberal circles,” Gill-Peterson says. “They’d rather plug their ears than admit that health care is a material need. It’s not a slogan. It’s not, like, a thing you support in your heart. It’s an urgent, lifesaving need,” one that’s never been totally secure, though Gill-Peterson is taking action to change that.

Having grown up in Vancouver, British Columbia, Gill-Peterson’s academic trajectory took her from the University of Ottawa to Rutgers University, where she received her PhD in American Studies in 2015. Later that year, she accepted a teaching position at the University of Pittsburgh, where she began work on what would later become Histories of the Transgender Child, which won the Lambda Literary Award for best transgender nonfiction book in 2019.

A response, in part, to the post–“Tipping Point” narrative that would frame transness as a novel phenomenon (“Trans people are in a constant state of being discovered,” as filmmaker and historian Morgan M. Page once wrote), Gill-Peterson’s book examined how youth have medically altered their sex as far back as the early 20th century, decades before most of the loudest anti-trans mouthpieces in Congress were even born. As lawmakers have banned trans health care for minors, even criminalized its provision in a handful of states, often on the grounds of its being “experimental,” as Missouri attorney general Andrew Bailey claimed in 2023, the research undergirding Histories of the Transgender Child has only proven more vital, and its thesis more eerily prescient.

“While most academics aim to make small discursive interventions, Jules Gill-Peterson has paradigm-shifted the field of trans studies multiple times,” says Charlie Markbreiter, an academic and organizer with Writers Against the War on Gaza whose next book, Rapid Onset, will examine how trans people became a political scapegoat. Histories of the Transgender Child “destroyed the myth that trans kids were ‘just invented,’” he adds, noting that her scholarship is “historically grounded, accessible to nonacademic audiences, and useful to movement struggles. [She’s] easily the most important trans studies scholar working today. It’s not even close.”

Not long after publishing her first book, Gill-Peterson began dating Kadji Amin, author of 2017’s Disturbing Attachments and an associate professor of Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at Emory University. “My thinking owes a lot to our relationship,” she says of her boyfriend, who accompanied her to Bangkok and has been caring for her during her recovery.

As Gill-Peterson has achieved recognition for her work, to a degree “unprecedented for a transsexual woman of color in the academy,” she says that she has also experienced harassment and bigotry, even from her colleagues. “Kadji’s unabashed insistence on the importance of loving and caring for me, which includes standing up for me in our profession and telling the truth about how transsexual women are treated by people who claim to be their allies, has been instrumental to me carrying on with my research and work as the political situation worsens in this country.”

Having gotten together at the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, the two found themselves alone and isolated at home like so many other new couples at the time. But instead of passing the hours by making sourdough starters or going full Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? on each other and imploding by summer’s end, the pair developed a collaborative working relationship, one that helped them clarify their political aims and creative ambitions.

“We got to spend a lot of time together, working from home and contemplating the practical value of academic research and writing in crisis,” Gill-Peterson continues. “For us, the bottom line was that we had to learn how to tell urgent and basic truths that academics are loath to admit. We spent a lot of time exploring the condescending elitism, anti-transsexualism, and misogyny of middle-class transgender thought and politics, which we both had sensed internally for years but had been strongly discouraged from critiquing.”

These lines of critique are blisteringly evident in her second book, A Short History of Trans Misogyny, which Verso published last year. A vital new contribution to a lineage of transfeminist scholarship that includes the work of Julia Serano and Viviane K. Namaste, among others, the text interrogates how seemingly progressive neoliberal politics make trans people into assimilable subjects only through the exclusion of transsexual women, particularly those who are poor, Black, brown, sex workers, or immigrants.

No moment encapsulates this dynamic to me as clearly as when Jennicet Gutiérrez, a longtime organizer for queer and trans immigrants’ rights, staged a protest at a White House Pride Month reception in 2015, two days before the Supreme Court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage. Gutiérrez was there to demand that President Obama stop the abuse of trans people in Immigration and Customs detention centers and release all LGBTQ+ detainees. Attendees—themselves a mix of activists, journalists, and other leaders from within the community—shushed her as she spoke, cheered loudly when Obama upbraided Gutiérrez for interrupting him, and booed as she continued to speak, eventually breaking out into applause after she was escorted out.

Additionally, Gill-Peterson’s book charts how this dynamic of transsexual exclusion stems from centuries of Euro-American colonial violence, spanning centuries and continents—and an expansive bibliography—while remaining succinct and unthinkably readable.

“I’ve found Jules to have an essential perspective and one that challenges me and how I do this work of ‘trans activism,’” Gillian Branstetter says via email. Branstetter is a communications strategist at the American Civil Liberties Union, the legal nonprofit helping to represent the trans teenagers and their families in the Skrmetti case.

Gill-Peterson’s work has illustrated for Branstetter the narrowing effect that identity-first politics can have at a time when “we need solidarity across difference,” she says. “Not just because my day job is almost by definition identity-first, but also because, as Jules’ work shows, identity itself is something we are often forced to shape for ourselves from what violent systems have left for us.”

Over the years, Gill-Peterson’s work—which, in addition to both of her books, also includes her editorial duties at Trans Studies Quarterly and her cohosting duties on the Death Panel podcast—has shifted focus toward constructing trans histories that lie beyond the research of American medical institutions. Her next book, Transgender Liberalism, forthcoming from Harvard University Press, will further shift that focus, presenting a “history of class differences between trans people and the ways in which the state and, by extension, medical institutions have served to not only delineate but intensify those differences,” she says.

The project began as a history of DIY transition, medical or otherwise, but reoriented over the course of her research as she realized how divergent our histories of the subject are. “Trans women and trans men’s transition practices are basically completely separate until the last 40 or so years,” Gill-Peterson says, adding that the latter group has historically experienced upward mobility even without hormones while the former group has not.

One of Transgender Liberalism’s main arguments, she tells me, is that trans health care in the US was formed to specifically address one group of people: poor trans women, who, despite sometimes being fixtures of certain queer neighborhoods, had become largely locked out of the labor market by the middle of the 20th century, with their lives and livelihoods criminalized and policed.

“The entertainers, the sex workers, the girls on the stroll—they were important culturally but living in extreme poverty for the era, not experiencing the same rise in income and wealth that others, specifically white Americans, were experiencing after World War II,” Gill-Peterson says. “The gender clinic was created to coercively rehabilitate them,” or at least some of them, “into working women and get them back into the economy.”

This month, the Supreme Court is expected to issue its ruling in United States v. Skrmetti, a landmark case examining the constitutionality of Tennessee’s ban on gender-affirming care for trans youth. It’s possible that the court will strike it down on the grounds that it’s discriminatory on the basis of sex, thereby giving the ACLU the legal precedent it needs to challenge similar laws in more than 20 other states, or at least the ability to return to the lower court that upheld Tennessee’s ban in the first place.

Such victories are unlikely, however, given the bench’s conservative majority. As to what the worst-case scenario might look like, “the worst-case scenario would be that things stay the same,” as Branstetter told me in a recent interview for Dazed. For the trans kids and their families who live in those states that have restricted youth access to lifesaving health care, “the world has already ended.”

Still, as Gill-Peterson makes sure to note, the mere existence of a law that grants people “the right to change sex,” as the Pulitzer Prize–winning critic Andrea Long Chu once termed it, does not in and of itself make it possible for a person to do so. Therefore, she says, fighting for the freedom to medically transition demands a more comprehensive strategy than focusing on one single court ruling. “It demands a bread-and-butter approach,” one that prioritizes economic security and adequate resources for all, she says.

“One of the big findings I’ve taken away from this research [for Transgender Liberalism] is just how much the cost of medical transition has skyrocketed since the 1960s” when “transsexual women faced an average cost of $3,500 total for psychiatric evaluation, ancillary care, and surgeries at a gender clinic,” which translates to about $35,000 today. By the 1990s, that amount had doubled. A trans man’s phalloplasty, on the other hand, nearly quadrupled in price over that same time frame, totaling just over $200,000 by century’s end, when adjusted for inflation, which is “out of reach on a practical level for most people,” says Gill-Peterson, stating the obvious.

In this sense, she continues—if you remove all of the various health care reforms that have greatly expanded coverage options for trans people in the US over the past two decades, as countless lawmakers are hell-bent on doing—it is empirically harder to medically transition now than it was in the 1960s. This, she believes, “is the real political crisis—the real panic when it comes to transition, not the moral panic that we’re told exists.” The American health care system hasn’t made it too easy to transition; it has made it too hard, and she has the data to prove it.

When Gill-Peterson was invited to coauthor an amicus brief for the Skrmetti case, she was ready. For years, she’d anticipated that the Supreme Court would rule on precisely this subject—trans kids’ access to health care—and, as not only one of the very few trans historians in the academy but a leading researcher on the history of children seeking medical transition, she knew she’d eventually get the call to share her expertise.

“Around 2019, I started keeping a separate file for evidence I’d found over the course of my research that demonstrated the longevity, the reality, and the banality of medical transition in this country,” she says. “All good historians are just kind of pack rats.” Tennessee’s law and the arguments in favor of it allege that the basic forms of what we call gender-affirming care—that is, blockers, hormones, and surgery—are “novel” and “experimental” and therefore too dangerous to be made accessible to minors. Gill-Peterson’s brief debunks those claims, detailing at length that “gender dysphoria and these treatments” are deeply historically rooted.

“I’m not a lawyer,” she continues. “I’m not a legal scholar. But I am an empiricist,” which essentially makes her a textual originalist’s worst nightmare, textual originalism being the right’s legal analytical framework of choice that has proven quite strategic in their war on civil rights and abortion access. “This is an important moment for historians to weigh in,” she adds. “The Skrmetti case frames this kind of care in an ahistorical, even anti-historical, kind of way.”

Like the legal experts I’ve interviewed in the past, Gill-Peterson didn’t express any great optimism as to the impending Supreme Court decision. Nevertheless, she is no defeatist. Every case spawns new opportunities in and out of the courtroom, she tells me. “Rather than viewing this as proof that the tide has risen too high and we’re about to be overwhelmed, we have to have clarity about the wide array of places where politics can be done and material change is possible,” from state and local elections to workplace organizing, from the building of mutual aid networks to things I can’t legally advocate in writing. Regardless of how Skrmetti shakes out, Gill-Peterson believes that what happens after the ruling matters more than the ruling itself.

“When the battle’s playing out on a hundred fronts at once, we have to remember that there’s no single court ruling, no existential moment, no single referendum on ‘transgender rights’ that’ll decide how this struggle will go,” she says. “There has to be a constant sense that we’re building momentum for those of us seeking wonderful things. Things like unrestricted medical transition, sex changes, surgery—”

She reaches offscreen to grab her drink.

“—and iced coffee in Thailand! The girls love it.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Beauty And The Beast - Chapter 6 - Loki Odinson X Female Reader

Title: The West Wing

Loki Odinson X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Natasha, Clint, Mrs. Potts, and Alpine (Mentioned)

Beauty And The Beast Retelling Fanfic

Chap 1 | Chap 2 | Chap 3 | Chap 4 | Chap 5 | You Are Here | Chap 7 | Chap 8 | Chap 9 | Chap 10 | Chap 11 | Chap 12 | Chap 13 | Chap 14 | Chap 15 | Chap 16 END |

WC: 1,280

Warnings: Imprisonment, rude Loki, italics, banter, nicknames, yelling, wolves, fighting, mentions of injuries, slight angst, and fluff?

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her expression clearly displaying worry as she crossed her arms. “If his Highness finds out you violated his orders and fed her, he will blame me!” Her voice was sharp, exasperation dripping from every word.

Clint, leaning against the doorway, gave her a playful smirk. “Yes, I will make sure of it,” He responded cockily, almost as if daring her to fight back.

“Oh, I’m planning my sweet, sweet revenge,” Natasha muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips before she focused back on the conversation. “But did you see her stand up to him?” Natasha added, her voice dropping to a whisper, and ensuring you were far enough behind to not overhear.

Clint rose a candle into the air, “I am telling you, this woman is the one.”

You, however, were too distracted to even hear their little whispers, your eyes wandering around the halls as you trailed further behind, admiring the strange, yet elegant decor. Rather lost in thought.

“They must fall in love if we are to be human again,” Mrs. Potts whispered with urgency, glancing at Clint and Natasha. “And how can they fall in love if she stays locked away in her room?”

Confused by their kindness, you quickened your steps to catch up, furrowing your brow. “I don't understand why you're all being so kind to me,” You said, your voice soft but filled with curiosity. “Surely, you're as trapped here as I am. Don’t you ever want to escape?”

Mrs. Potts’ face softened with a mixture of warmth and sadness. She glanced at you, then ahead, her voice gentle but firm. “His Highness is not as terrible as he appears. Somewhere deep in his soul, there's a fellow who’s just waiting to be set free of his burdens and just wants to be happy. To be understood.”

As they led you to the kitchen, the smell of rich, savory food filled the air. Before you knew it, you were seated in front of a meal fit for royalty: turkey smothered in thick gravy, a mountain of mashed potatoes, and a sparkling goblet of ginger beer. You dug into the feast, overwhelmed but grateful, savoring each bite, though the weight of your situation still lingered.

Soon after, Clint and Natasha excused themselves, leaving you with Mrs. Potts, who kindly offered to walk you back to your room. As you strolled through the winding halls, you hesitated, your curiosity bubbling to the surface. “Clint mentioned something about the west wing…” You asked, clasping your hands nervously, hoping to learn more.

Mrs. Potts paused briefly, then waved her spout dismissively. “Never mind about that. Off to bed with you, my girl,” She instructed with a firm yet gentle tone, ushering you toward the door to your new room.

“Good night,” You said, though your mind was far from resting.

“Nighty-night. Straight to bed,” Mrs. Potts echoed softly, giving you a nod before disappearing around the corner with a gentle hop.

The moment she was gone, you felt your pulse quicken with a surge of rebellious energy. This was your chance. Heart pounding, you quietly crept down the staircase, turning toward the west wing. Each step seemed to echo in the eerie silence, but your curiosity propelled you forward.

Entering the forbidden wing, the darkness seemed to swallow you whole, the air thick with mystery. Your eyes adjusted, and you gasped at the sight of the broken furniture, torn tapestries, and shattered chandeliers scattered across the room. It was a place of forgotten beauty, left to decay in its loneliness.

Your fingers grazed one of the broken portraits on the wall, curiosity overwhelming you as you lifted the torn canvas flap. A royal family was revealed beneath the damage - two regal parents with their two sons. The father, dressed in golden robes with an eyepatch, had a commanding presence, while the mother, with her gentle smile, stood tall and serene. But it was the sons who captured your attention. The blonde one, with his bright blue eyes, seemed to emanate strength, while the dark-haired son, with his mischievous green eyes, drew you in. Those eyes held something deeper - something alluring, maybe even dangerous.

A flicker of red caught your eye, pulling your focus from the painting. You turned slowly, eyes widening at the sight of the beautiful red rose floating delicately inside its glass case. Its soft glow lit up the dark room, enchanting you with its impossible beauty.

You stepped toward it, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the glass cover. The air around you felt charged, like you were touching something sacred, something forbidden. The moment your fingers brushed the glass, a voice boomed from behind, freezing you in place.

“What are you doing here!?” The Beast’s thunderous roar echoed through the room, and you spun around to see him storming toward you, his eyes wide with panic and fury. You stumbled back, heart racing, as he rushed to the rose, his massive frame blocking your view. “What did you do to it?” He demanded, his voice a dangerous growl. His claws gripped the glass case, covering the rose protectively, as if he feared it might vanish.

“N- Nothing!” You stammered, taking a shaky step back, your voice barely steady as you tried to explain. “I didn’t touch it.”

His breath came heavy, his anger barely contained. “Do you realize what you could have done?” He snapped, his gaze piercing through you. “You could have doomed us all! Get out of here! Go!” His voice reached a fever pitch, sending you stumbling toward the door in a panic.

Without another word, you fled, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as you burst through the main double doors and into the icy, unforgiving night.

Outside, the snowfall came down hard, biting into your skin. Desperation took hold as you raced toward Alpine, who was waiting nervously by the barn. With a quick, frantic movement, you mounted the horse, urging her forward into the thick forest. Snow whipped across your face, obscuring your vision as you rode, the trees blurring together in the storm.

A low, menacing howl cut through the night air, sending chills down your spine. For a moment, you thought it was the Beast, but no… It sounded like a wolf. Alpine reared back, spooked, and in one swift motion, you were thrown from the saddle. You hit the ground hard, gasping as the breath was knocked from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, looking around frantically. Shadows shifted in the darkness - the wolves were closing in.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you searched for something, anything, to defend yourself with, but the wolves were too close. Their black forms stalked forward, their eyes glowing in the dim light. One of them pounced, and just as you braced yourself, the Beast lunged from out of the shadows, tackling the wolf to the ground.

The fight was brutal; savage. The Beast tore through the pack with raw strength, tossing wolves aside as they lunged at him. Finally, the last of the wolves retreated, their howls fading into the distance as they disappeared into the woods.

The Beast collapsed into the snow, his breath ragged, his body trembling from the effort. You hesitated for a moment, then cautiously approached him, kneeling beside his hulking form. His fur was matted with blood and snow. He was hurt…

Gently, you helped him onto Alpine, his weight nearly overwhelming, but were able to guide the horse back to the castle; the cold biting at your skin with every step.

~~~

@meganlpie @lokixryss @violethaze @johnmurphys-sass @greep215 @giona45-5 @wolfsmom1 @vioplay19

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

~~~

Main Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist

[my-mt-heart]

Dissecting Zabel's Inappropriate Comments

I shared my initial reaction to the Games Radar article, but now that the original SFX article is also out, I want to dive a little deeper into what David Zabel said. From one source to another, the meaning doesn't change.

Regarding Daryl's and Carol's relationship, he says...

Whereas with Daryl and Isabelle, he insists...

Zabel thinks he's shedding light on his male hero's two most prominent relationships [with women], when in actuality he exposes a lot more about himself and what kind of showrunner he is.

He has no interest in the flagship show nor its acclaim.

Had he actually watched TWD in its entirety, tracked the progression of Daryl's and Carol's relationship from S1 to S11, and researched their fanbase as well as their media coverage from over the years instead of just pretending to, he'd see that nothing about their relationship is "obvious" or "easy." Trauma and self-esteem issues hardly ever explored in TV couples—let alone TV couples in their 50’s—have always complicated things, creating obstacles for them to take their relationship beyond intense feelings and helping them grow closer together, feel safer, understood, and loved to a degree nobody else can measure. There are 12 years and 11 seasons of sexual tension, smoldering looks, vulnerable moments, meaningful conversations, and romantic subtext at Zabel's disposal. The natural thing for him to do, the only thing that furthers the narrative already being told is to confirm that they're "in love" and make them "a couple."

If he wants to talk about a "TV book of tricks," he should re-evaluate the tricks he uses to justify a romantic connection between a well-established, unconventional, fiercely loyal man with intimacy issues and a blonde nun who’s only been around for a few months (and 6 episodes from an audience POV). Zabel tries to project what draws Daryl to Carol—broken until the world ended—onto Isabelle. He forces Daryl and Isabelle into intimate situations straight out of fanfiction—bathtubs, bed-sharing, cleaning wounds in hard-to-reach places—and uses other supporting characters like Losang to tell Daryl and the audience that it's romantic. That's not "seeing what happens," that's repeatedly trying to fit a square peg into a round hole and expecting everybody to think he's a genius. On the contrary...

He's completely tone deaf.

If he's calling Daryl's and Isabelle's relationship "mature," then he clearly doesn't realize how deeply problematic it is for a character to gaslight and lie to another character with a history of childhood abuse in order to get something from him, whether it's to help her find their new home or father a boy he just met. It's also triggering for fans who have survived abuse in their own lives to watch their hero fall back into the cycle without it being acknowledged or resolved in a way that helps him (and the fans) heal from it.

A dynamic between Daryl and a nun definitely could've been an "intriguing" dynamic to explore since they're both supposed to be emotionally unavailable. We'd get to see that Daryl's heart belongs to Carol and Isabelle is "married" to God. We'd get to see them bond over the idea of loving someone and/or something so infinitely and unconditionally that it's frightening to feel disconnected from them, whether physically or spiritually, and we'd get to see them help each other keep their faith, whatever that means to them. That's interesting. That's fresh. A romance between Daryl and a nun, regardless of whether or not she dresses like one, is not interesting. Not intriguing. Not edgy. Not sexy. It's disrespectful on multiple levels.

He calls Daryl and Carol coming back together only to realize that they've "changed" the more interesting story to tell? I call it sad. Sad and out of character for Daryl to feel anything other than elated to realize that the woman who represented everything good to him for over a decade crossed a damn ocean to find him. Sad that after "everything she's done" to find him, she finds that he's replaced her and their family back home.

He views the female perspective as irrelevant.

Saying he "respects" Caryl shippers only to invalidate them and then pour salt on the wound shows an air of superiority that is very typical of white male showrunners and executives. Granted, plenty of men ship Daryl and Carol, but it is also true that the majority of their fanbase is female and because of that, Zabel thinks he can mansplain the relationship to us. He tells us that what we want is cute, but he’s the one with the skillset to write a "good" story for the characters. He either doesn't care about our viewership because other men like him are his "real" audience or he assumes we'll come to our senses because he's right and we're wrong.

It isn't about shipping or romance at all though. If it was, he wouldn't just kill Isabelle off after insisting on this wild chemistry nobody sees but him (and Greg Nicotero). It isn't that Carol can't be a love interest either. It's about catering to the male gaze. Carol can't be the love interest for the white male hero that Zabel wants the fanboys to identify with and glorify. She doesn't fit their biases. Not young enough, not blonde enough, so on and so forth. Ignorance like that is generations-long and it doesn't just go away the more time he spends with Daryl and Carol. It only gets worse. Caryl may go to Spain alone, but there's plenty of new shipbait over there for him to introduce.

In what Zabel is actually quoted as saying about romance, which is all that counts, he only vaguely brings up a conversation with Norman, one I suspect is a lot more nuanced than he wants us to believe, but that's beside the point. He doesn't say "Melissa and I talked about Caryl's relationship" or "Clemence and I talked about Daryl's and Isabelle's relationship." Why not? Would the former disapprove of being treated like a sexless intruder in her "friend's" nuclear family? Would the latter hate to feel like a plot device for the brooding hero's manpain? What do the women have to say about their side of this oh so "interesting" emotional arc, Zabel? It's a rhetorical question obviously because if I really wanted to ask, I'd ask the women directly. The only thing is, they aren’t allowed to talk about it so openly and honestly, are they, Zabel? And you took advantage of that, right?

He's vindictive.

He may treat us like a bug on his windshield, but he isn't unaware that Caryl/McReedus have an active fanbase. He isn't unaware that AMC's promo strategy has centered on Caryl/McReedus. He's competing with it. He's aggressive in these articles because he wants to tell a particular kind of story that AMC, plus all of us unhinged shippers, won't let him. Taking a firm stance is how he takes control again (or so he thinks). The way he positions Carol as an intruder in "Daryl's" story, despite a sorry attempt to put a band-aid on it later, also presents itself in the SDCC trailer where everything, including Carol, has to revolve around the main hook: Daryl making a new family in France. For Zabel, it's true to life because he had to fit unconventional Melissa into his outdated "interesting" formula when that wasn’t what he was hired to do. To paraphrase what Melissa said, she was the newcomer who had to be careful not to disrupt a system already put in place before she arrived. What, or who, made her feel that way when she had already been playing Carol for over a decade?

To watch or not to watch

That is not the question. You can choose not to give AMC your money for Zabel's bullshit or you can choose to help the ratings go up for Melissa/Carol. Both are the right choice. The real question is, how will AMC know to blame Zabel and not Melissa if the ratings drop? How will they know that Carylers still need canon and...wait for it...good storytelling if they watched just to remind them how valuable Melissa is to the franchise? I know I sound like a broken record here, but this is why it's so important to be vocal. Use whatever platform you have (and are comfortable with) to specify what's bothering you whether it's the shipbaiting or Daryl's suspenders. Say what you love (Melissa is the correct answer) and what you want more of or what you want to change in regards to performances, relationships, and storylines. For me, I wanted to see both Daryl and Carol make every effort to get back to each other. I wanted to get the payoff I've been waiting for after a god-awful S11 that kept them separated and angry at each other the whole time. I wanted the story to center on Daryl's and Carol's relationship while everything else revolved around them. "To find home is to find each other." Where did that story go? I want it back.

No matter what we say, egomaniacs like David Zabel, Greg Nicotero, and Scott Gimple will spit on us, punch us in the gut, and kick us while we're down (though I guess only the first one is stupid enough to be so literal). If Zabel understood the first thing about Carol or Caryl, then maybe he would've realized that their fans know how to push back.

As for AMC, they don't care about the characters or the relationship or our feelings either, but they do care about their bottom line and these articles threaten that. Keep reminding them.

[tatzelwyrm]

Highlights from episodes 16 to 18:

Ep 16/Incident of the Misplaced Indians: The characters find 3 dead guys outside of a woman's home in the middle of nowhere, no wounds on them. The woman was making candy and the characters keep looking back at the candy as they debate what could have killed the men.

Me, seeing Pete take some of the candy when the woman isn't looking, guessing that he correctly suspects she poisoned those poor fellas: Oh, he's a smart one, he must have figured out they're poisoned, thank god!

Me, a few minutes later, watching Pete eat the candy:

I thought he was smart. Turns out he just has a sweet-tooth. 😭

Also, this is the second episode in a row in which Rowdy falls for a murderer prettending to be a poor, little innocent woman.

I wonder what the reasoning was behind airing the Incident of the Widowed dove (ep 4) before either of these 2. If the order of episodes had been reversed, and the audience (me) was already aware of how prone Rowdy is for falling for pretty murderes, Favor’s reaction to Rowdy trying to help Clovis in the Widowed Dove would have seemed less unhinged. And the twist of that episode – i. e. Clovis actually being an innocent woman in need of help while Favor's meddling is what actually puts Rowdy in danger – would have been even funnier.

But then, I feel like the fact that I'm slightly terrified of Favor after Incident of the Executioner and Incident of the Widowed Dove has actually enhanced my viewing experience. If Favor threatens a character, I believe him. And I believe he's gonna make it slow and painful.

Ep 17/Incident of Fear in the Streets: Speaking of Favor threatening people: I'm ace, but Favor growling "If you hit him again, I'll kill you" in that voice did things to me. I had to rewind that part to make sure it was him. He's never used that voice before. Some intense acting from Eric Fleming.

I'm also beginning to see why I've seen people on here call Rowdy the Saing of Head Injuries. It's a mystery how he's still alive.

This is also the second episode in a row in which Pete is dying. It's like the writers finally realised they had a third main character they could torture.

Shout-out to the Suspiciously Frayed Bit of Rope for being the true star of this episode and a hysterical example of economical storytelling.

No one truly cared about the guy in the well. He was just a means for making the plot happen. Might as well kill him off quickly and get back to our main characters. (Also, there is no way Favor didn't notice the rope was about to break. He knew the guy was never going to get out of that well. You can't convince me otherwise. This is fine though. It fits with my impression of Favor as entertainingly shady.)

Ep 18/Incident Below the Brazos: This is another favourite. Lovely episode. Good central conflict, great character moments for Favor and Rowdy.

Love how we got a reversal of their dynamic from ep 11/Incident of the Coyote Weed, in which Rowdy saved the herd by following Favor's orders even though it almost got Favor killed. This time Rowdy goes against Favor's orders and ends up saving Favor's life (by threatening the antagonist and everything he holds dear with death by cattle. You can tell he's learned so much from his boss ❤️.)

Love how they didn't need to show the mangled body of the trampled farmer to convey the horror of the manner of his death. If this were a contemporary show (thinking of Godless here in particular) there would have been. so. much. gore. And it would have been so unnecessary. Everything you need to know about the state of this poor man's body is conveyed by dialogue and the actors' expressions.

[beyondthesefourwalls]

This Love Came Back to Me (12)

Summary: You and Bradley hadn’t ended on bad terms; really, you stopped before the two of you could even truly begin. Still, in the last seven months, you had never completely left his mind. So when you suddenly appeared in front of him at the bar, asking for a favor and pulling him into a kiss, he thought maybe it was the perfect opportunity to see if this time, things could be different. But what neither of you realized was that there’s more going on than just rekindling a lost romance, and it might not be as easy as simply just wanting it. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: second chance romance, language, smut and allusions of smut, stalking, breaking and entering, unhealthy obsessions, delusions of feelings, unwanted attention.

Part Twelve Word Count: 6K

Part Eleven :: Series Masterlist

----

----

You felt almost hungover waking up on Monday morning, but you supposed that was to be expected after a week away. The relaxation you felt in the mountains was slowly but surely coiling back up to a thick cord of tension, made only easier by the man beside you. You were meeting Sadie for coffee near her office that morning, and he held your hand in his the entire drive, singing along to his 80’s playlist softly under his breath. 

The tall, dark haired woman greeted you both warmly with a vibrant pink folder in her hand. You tried not to be annoyed at how your name was written on the label. Your whole life and this whole situation was shrunk down to what would fit on a few pieces of 8.5 x 11 inch paper. It was a strange, unsettling feeling. 

Bradley let you do most of the talking, a supportive hand on your knee. The woman his best friend was besotted with read through the texts he had saved and all that had come in yesterday with a critical eye. 

“Well,” she said, a touch of sarcasm etched in her tone, “he’s certainly not doing himself any favors, is he?” Sadie flipped through the folder, pausing to jot down notes on one of the blank forms. She set her pen down when she was done, leaning back in her chair and sipping on her coffee. "If we can prove that he's been harassing you, I think we have a shot at the restraining order. I know it was disappointing not to get the emergency order, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get it when we go to court, okay?" 

You nodded slowly, trying to grasp onto the hope she was dangling in front of you. “Do we know when that is?” 

“We should hear something this week about a date, and he’ll be served the papers once a date is set.” 

Your breath hitched slightly at the thought of that happening, and Bradley must have caught it, because he squeezed your knee in reassurance before he started talking. “So what does she do between now and then?”

From across the table, Sadie shrugged and gave you a smile you knew was meant to be reassuring. She addressed you directly in her answer. “If he continues to reach out to you, document it all, but don’t respond to him. If you see him, try not to engage. Don’t give him a reason to think any of it is consensual or that you’re encouraging it. And I know it may be hard, but other than that…just try and live your life as normally as you can. I’ll handle the legal stuff. You focus on you.” 

You snapped the hair tie on your wrist once you were back in the passenger seat of the Bronco. You stared out the window as Bradley drove through mid-morning San Diego traffic toward one of the retail districts nearby, mulling over everything Sadie had said. She had been so insistent that this wasn’t your fault, and that you had a solid case, despite the judge’s first glance at your application not being enough. It felt good knowing you had someone in your corner like her, who knew the ins and outs of this kind of process. 

But your eyebrows furrowed as you thought about what she said about documenting every time he reached out to you and how it could ultimately help. You glanced down at the phone sitting in the cupholder. You had blocked every number Paul had contacted you from. You had even taken the initiative in blocking his email account, too. You were en route to get a new phone number. Now, though, you were wondering if you had jumped the gun in all of that. 

You liked to believe that getting a brand new number would mean that Paul wouldn’t be able to reach you. But if him reaching you could ultimately help you, to provide you with something tangible to use to take action against him….

You took a deep breath. You couldn’t believe it had gotten to the point where you were really considering letting this happen. 

Bradley reached across the seat to squeeze your hand, startling you. You were so lost in thought that you hardly noticed that he had pulled into a parking space in front of the cell phone carrier store. He must have clocked the change in your expression when you turned to look at him by the way his changed, too. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You tried to figure out how to articulate what it was that you were feeling without making it seem like you had lost it completely. 

“Is this the best idea?” you finally settled on, and when your boyfriend asked you what you meant, you pushed forward. “Sadie said that anything he does can be used against him, to help prove he’s been…” you cut yourself off as the word popped in your head. It had been said earlier, and you knew deep down that’s exactly what it was. But saying that S word made it that much realer to you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet. “To help prove he’s been doing everything he has. And if..If I disconnect my number, isn’t that almost like, I don’t know, getting rid of an opportunity?” 

He didn’t respond right away, but his grip on your hand tightened just the tiniest bit, and the thumb on his other hand tapped a quick rhythm against the steering wheel he was still holding. Those thick eyebrows of his that you loved so much furrowed together as he processed your jumbled explanation of feelings. Finally, he let go of your hand and reached to take the keys out of the ignition, killing the engine. He nodded toward the store in front of you.

“Let’s go inside. I have an idea.” 

He was out of the Bronco before you could protest, and you hurried after him, confused. He held his hand out to you from the sidewalk. 

“Bradley, what are we doing?” you asked, tugging him to a stop before you could get to the door of the store. He looked at you with what you could only describe as a determined look, touched with something close to desperation. 

“Just trust me, okay? And please don’t say no.”

His words left you even more confused, but there was something about his eyes and the feeling he was emanating that you couldn’t help but nod. 

He held the door open for you and you were approached by a salesman almost immediately, and before you could say anything when he asked if there was something he could help you with, Bradley was speaking up. 

“I was hoping to add a new phone and number to my plan.” 

“Of course. What’d you have in mind?”

He looked down to you with that same determined look on his face, but it was softer now. His smile was small but reassuring, and he squeezed the hand still held in his. 

“Pick out what you want.”

“B….”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you could hear the words he spoke into your hair, only for you. “This way you can keep the other one on but not have to worry about dealing with it. Because you’re right, it could be useful. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you put up with the stress of seeing it everyday. Please, Bug. Let me do this for you.” 

You knew how much Bradley cared for you, but this was a big gesture. You had never been one to accept help easily, especially not financially, and part of you felt that getting a new phone on his plan would be too much. It took you a moment, but eventually, you swallowed the protest that was ready on your lips. When you nodded, you both felt and heard the sigh of relief that he let out. 

You knew how supportive of your independence he was, but you wondered if sometimes what he needed was for you to let him do things like this. 

Picking something out was fairly simple, just going with an upgraded version of what you already had. You stood together at the counter as everything was set up and added, Bradley signing the necessary paperwork. You wrapped both your arms around one of his, pressing a kiss into his clothed bicep. You let your eyes flutter closed and breathed in the scent of him. He always had a way of calming your nerves and making you feel safe, even in the midst of chaos. You weren’t really sure what you did to deserve him, but you wanted to hold onto him forever.  

____

Sadie called you on Thursday, about an hour before you were scheduled for a phone interview for the job you were crossing your fingers for, to let you know that your court date had been set for 3 weeks out. You spent the next thirty minutes trying to breathe through the panic that settled on your chest like a semi-truck. Tears stung in your eyes, wondering how the hell your life had gotten to this point. Then your phone buzzed with a text from Bradley, and you couldn’t help the watery laugh that escaped you. 

Bradley🐓✈️❤️: You got this, baby! Proud of you. Have a great interview.

He always had a way of knowing exactly when you needed him, even if he didn’t realize it. You wanted to tell him about the court date, to seek that additional comfort that you knew he would provide you without question. But you remembered what both he and Sadie had told you earlier in the week, about living as normally as possible, and you knew they were right. You couldn’t let this ruin the possibilities in front of you. You wouldn’t. 

You typed out a response as you forced some of the anxiety out, taking exaggerated breaths to combat it until eventually, it worked. 

I love you, B.  

Bradley🐓✈️❤️: Love you, Bug. Go get ‘em. 

Despite the feelings that had threatened to overwhelm you right before the interview, you did go get ‘em, just like Bradley had said. You got an email about coming in for an in person interview less than two hours after you had hung up the phone, and it was the following Friday that found you sitting on the couch, waiting for Bradley to get home. You were practically vibrating with excitement by the time he finally walked through the door. He didn’t even get a chance to take his keys out of the lock before you were jumping up. 

“I got the job!” you blurted out. 

Bradley looked startled for a second, no doubt at how sudden and loud you spoke, and his forehead crinkled like he wondered what you were talking about before it clicked. His dark eyes widened and a grin started making its way onto his face as he dropped his bag and hurried to where you were standing in the living room of the apartment. “You got it?” 

You nodded rapidly, your giddy smile so large that it was making your cheeks hurt. “I got it.” 

Bradley yelled your name in excitement right before he swept you off your feet. You giggled as he spun you around, feeling weightless in his strong arms. “I knew you could do it!” Eventually, he set you down, but he didn’t let you go far. He pulled you flush against him in a tight embrace. 

"I'm so proud of you, Bug," he said, his voice conveying just how truthful he was being. “You deserve this.” 

You leaned into him, feeling safe and loved and happy in his arms. "Thank you,” you murmured, accepting the kiss that he placed on your lips. 

“We should celebrate,” he said. “Order in something delicious? Open another bottle of wine we got in San Bernardino?” 

That sounded lovely, and you absolutely wanted to do that. But aside from the meeting with Sadie almost two weeks ago and the in person interview that you had two days prior, you hadn’t left Bradley’s apartment since you got back from the cabin. You were hiding away, whether you admitted it or not. You didn’t want to do that anymore. 

“Let’s go out.” 

If Bradley was surprised, he didn’t show it. He didn’t ask if you were sure, or if you thought it was a good idea. He searched your eyes for nothing more than a moment before he was squeezing your hip and nodding. 

He trusted you enough to know that if you said it’s what you wanted, you meant it. And that meant more than you could ever say. 

You enjoyed dinner out at one of your favorite Mexican restaurants, sipping a margarita and eating your weight in chips and queso and spicy tacos. Bradley sat close to you in the booth, finishing off your plate when you couldn’t eat anymore, and you spent the entire meal laughing and flirting with one another like a regular date should be. And when you were done, you made your way to the Hard Deck. You had shot off a text to some of your friends while Bradley did the same to his before dinner, and you were ecstatic when you spotted Anna already amongst the rest of the aviators. You met her with a hug, and when she introduced you to her boyfriend, you were pleasantly surprised when Bradley already seemed to know him. 

“We’ve been deployed together before. He’s a good guy,” he told you once the two had made their way over to the bar for refills, and you couldn’t help the smile on your face at how things seemed to be falling into place. 

You greeted the rest of Bradley’s friends with the same enthusiasm, genuinely glad to see them.You hugged Jake and Javy a little harder, whispering a soft thank you to them. You had never gotten the opportunity to do so after they had went and got your car out of that parking lot all those weeks ago, but both of them just shrugged it off like it was nothing. You knew that everyone probably was aware of what was going on with you, at least to a certain extent, but you appreciated so much how they didn’t seem to look or treat you any differently than they had before. 

Bradley slipped a drink into your hand as you mingled with both of your friends. He was a warm presence at your back, his arm wrapped around you with one of his fingers hooked into the belt loop at the front of your jeans. You tilted your head back to look at him with a smile, and he clinked the rim of his beer bottle against the side of your glass. “Here’s to you, baby,” he murmured into your ear, and you couldn’t stop the shiver that went through your body. When Jake and Bob roped him into a game of pool at the tables not too far away a few minutes later, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before walking off. 

You spent some time with Anna and her boyfriend, and talked with Mickey about the latest true crime documentary that you both had watched. It was after your dart had literally embedded itself into the wall when you were playing with Javy that you said you needed a break. There were tears in your eyes from how hard you were laughing, and your cheeks were starting to hurt from the permanent smile that had been on your face all night. Bradley was still enthralled at the pool table, so with a look in his direction, you headed to the bar by yourself for another refill. It wasn’t long before a shoulder was bumping into yours. When you looked over, you smiled in recognition at the dark haired woman beside you. You had greeted her earlier, but hadn’t really had the time for conversation before you were both pulled in opposite directions. 

“How are you?” Sadie asked. You thought about your day for a moment, how light and at ease you felt. 

“I’m good,” you answered honestly, “It’s been a really great day.” 

“I heard Bradley tell Natasha that you got that new job you were vying for - congratulations! You deserve it.” 

You felt the excitement hit you all over again at her words, and you knew your smile must look ridiculous at this point as you thanked her. 

“I’m glad to finally have something else, you know? This new place genuinely seems great, and it comes with a lot of opportunity.”

“Better than the toxic mess you’re at now?” 

You snorted, and it said a lot that not even the mention of your current job brought down your mood. Instead you tilted the freshly refilled glass in your hand in her direction. She set a hand on your wrist for a moment, and you could sense by the look in her eye that she was going to bring up something else about that situation before she even spoke. 

“Paul was successfully served his papers about you petitioning for a restraining order,” she told you, and you felt your breath hitch. She heard it too and shook her head. “This is a good thing. It means we’re one step closer to stopping him for good. That’s something to celebrate, too.”

You considered her words for a moment, and you weren’t sure if it was the drinks or just the energy of the night, but you found that part of you actually agreed with her. The mention of his name didn’t immediately make you feel like you were going to spiral, or stir up the same helpless feelings it normally did. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel much of anything at all. You were indifferent in a way that you hadn’t been before. So when Penny slid Sadie her own new drink, you raised your glass to hers, and you toasted to getting this whole thing over with. 

Not too much later, you wandered out through the side doors. It was getting hot inside the bar, and the cool night air was blissfully refreshing against your skin. It was surprisingly empty out on the deck, and you appreciated the solitude as you leant against the railing, looking out at the ocean. It was dark, but you could see the dark water and hear it crashing in the distance. You could still hear all the chatter and the juke box from inside the bar floating out, but it was muted, a reminder of where you were while still allowing you the peace and quiet. 

The door opened behind you a minute later, and a smile tugged at your lips as Bradley’s deep, raspy voice filled your ears, alerting you to his presence.

“Hey, you. What are you doing out here?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you from behind once he made it to where you were standing. A content noise escaped your throat as you settled back into his chest and laid your own hands over his at your waist. “You doin’ okay?” 

“I’m good,” you promised, “Just wanted some air. Was getting hot in there with all of those people.” 

You knew he’d know enough to guess that meant it was both the physical temperature, as well as your tendency to need a break from large crowds. It got too much for you sometimes, and on occasion, you just needed a few minutes by yourself to recenter and finish out the night. He hummed in response, and you knew he understood. 

You stood there together for a few long moments, not saying anything. You weren’t sure if it was a conscious movement, but he swayed your bodies slightly to the music floating out from inside the bar, some oldies tune that you weren’t sure the name of but you thought you had heard before - probably with him, no doubt. You relished just being in his arms like this. Eventually, though, he broke the peaceful silence. 

“Sadie told me something earlier,” he said, and you could hear the hesitancy in his voice, like he wasn’t sure if he should have brought it up before. You made a hum of recognition, nodding your head without looking at him. 

“Yeah, she told me too. About the papers.” 

Bradley paused as he seemed to gather what it was he wanted to say, so you continued on before he stressed over it too much, squeezing his forearm. “It’s okay. Surprisingly, I felt nothing when she told me. She said it’s something to celebrate because we’re one step closer to getting all of this over with, and I think I agree with her. That has to count as progress, right?” 

There was a beat of quiet as your words hung in the air before Bradley murmured your name softly. “Look at me?” he asked. 

At his request, you turned to face him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and toyed with the hair on the back of his head like you loved to do. He looked at you with a soft smile, his eyes shining.

“I’m really proud of you, you know that?” he spoke gently, tucking some of your hair behind your ear and trailing his finger down your face. You could feel the heat of affection creep up at his words. You weren’t really sure how to respond. His pride meant a lot to you. Truthfully, everything he did meant a lot. He had always been there for you, even that first night when he had no idea what was going on. He was unwavering in his support and you knew you would be in a completely different situation right now if he wasn’t by your side. You needed him, more than you ever thought possible. 

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol lowering your inhibitions or the emotions hitting you all of a sudden, or maybe a combination of both, but you found yourself feeling bold, craving him in a way that made your heart race.

"Bradley," you whispered, almost like you wanted to share a secret with him. "Can I tell you something?" 

"You can tell me anything," he replied, one hand slipping down your back and into the back pocket of your jeans as the other stayed on your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek softly. 

"I love you so much," you said, feeling the words spill out of your mouth without thinking.

Bradley's smile grew wider, pink dusting his cheeks.  "I love you too, Bug. More than anything."

Feeling emboldened by his words, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, but quickly became more passionate as the heat between you intensified. You couldn't get enough of him, and it seemed like he felt the same way. His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer before he backed the both of you up into the railing behind you. You moaned into his mouth, feeling your body react. It was like your nerve endings were on fire. 

He pulled away, his breaths coming out in ragged pants as he looked down at you. His brown eyes were darkened with what was so blatantly desire, and you loved that he didn’t try to shy away from it. 

“Bug…” 

“I think I’d like to go home now,” you told him, your mind already made up. You pressed kisses into his jaw and down his neck as he groaned into the open night air. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, squeezing your butt through your pants before lifting you into his arms. You squealed as your legs wrapped around his waist and he started toward the parking lot. You didn’t even think about needing to go and say goodbye to all of your friends. “Home sounds like a good idea.” 

___

You weren’t slated to start at your new job until the following month, but Bradley convinced you that it wasn’t worth having any ties to the company that had caused all of the strife currently in your life for any longer. Your PTO was going to run out in the middle of the following week, and it was decided that you wouldn’t be going back at all. Not submitting a full two week notice was normally something that would make you feel guilty, but after the way they all treated you, you found you didn’t care all that much about how they would react. They were lucky you were going to do it in person to begin with. 

“I still think you should just send an email,” Bradley told you, his voice ringing through your car’s bluetooth as you drove toward your soon to be old office. It was late on a Wednesday afternoon, so traffic was light. 

“Dropping off my laptop and badge in person means I cut ties quicker,” you rebutted, just like you had done since you told him your plan. You had logged onto your work email last night just to put a meeting on Gretchen’s calendar for this afternoon, for the sole purpose of handing in your things and telling her you quit in person. You got a shot of amusement at imagining what her face was going to look like when you did. 

Bradley had wanted to accompany you for all of it, had hated the idea of you going to the office without him, in fact, but he hadn’t been able to slip away from his own work. He had tried to get you to wait until the next day, but you were stubborn. You wanted to get this over with. 

Bradley sighed on the other end, and you knew that was his concession. “Call me when you’re done?” 

“Of course, B.” 

Nerves twisted in your stomach as you made your way inside the building and pressed the button for the correct floor in the elevator. You took a deep, slow breath when the doors shut, trying to calm your beating heart. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, but you supposed it was normal. 

“You can do this,” you whispered to yourself. You cracked your neck and pushed your shoulders back when the elevator doors slid open, revealing the lobby you had become familiar with for the last year. You walked down the hallway with purpose, and you could feel stares as you did. You knew the majority of your team - Paul included - were in a meeting right now, based on the shared calendars you had taken a look at. But that didn’t mean others wouldn’t look just as hard. You knocked on Gretchen’s door with a firm fist, and she had barely started saying “come in” when you were twisting the knob and opening the door. 

She sat behind her desk, her blonde hair as pinstraight as always, and a perfectly manicured nail tapped against her crossed arms. A single eyebrow was raised, and her face just screamed condescension. Any guilt you may have harbored left you as soon as you saw her, and you set your laptop and your badge on her desk with a clank. 

“I quit.” 

The unpleasant, sour look that Gretchen’s face twisted into stayed with you as you made your way from her office and over to HR, and then all the way back to the elevator, too. You were practically floating at how satisfied you felt. You were so proud of yourself, and so damn relieved for finally being done with this place. You had said your peace and then some, and now you were done. It was a long overdue feeling. 

You pulled your phone out once you were in the elevator, and your grin was so persistently large that you thought it’d get stuck there. Bradley picked up almost immediately, and you were sure he had been waiting for your call. 

“How’d it go?” 

“Gretchen looked like a Warhead got stuck in her throat, and I have never felt so satisfied about causing those feelings in someone.” 

Your boyfriend barked out a laugh on the other end, and the sound just made you smile wider. “She deserves it. I’m proud of you, baby.” 

You didn’t think you would ever get tired of hearing his praise. It caused a warmth to spread through your whole entire body, and you were already ready to be back in his presence again. You got your keys out of your bag as you walked out of the building and into the parking lot. “Thanks, B. Are you still meeting me at the house?” 

That had been the other part of your plan today. You were going to kill two birds with one stone and go to the house and pack up more of your stuff, as the end of your lease was rapidly approaching. Since he hadn’t been able to come with you, instead, you had agreed that he would meet you at the house after you left the office to help. You knew, also, that he didn’t like the idea of you being there on your own. Truthfully, you didn’t either, so you were glad for his insistence. 

“I’m packing up to leave and head in that direction in the next five minutes.” 

“Alright. I’m going to go to the store and grab some boxes and tape and stuff, and then I’ll head that way. You might beat me there.” 

“That’s fine,” he assured you, and with how quick he said it, you were sure that was actually his preference. You felt yourself soften a little bit. You knew he hated not being with you right now.

“I’ll text you when I leave the store,” you promised him as you unlocked your car. “Hey, B?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” 

You pulled out of the parking lot once you had hung up with him, and you were so focused on the elation you had been feeling and what you needed to do that night, that you hadn’t even seen who else had been in the parking lot with you. 

___

You didn’t spend any more time than necessary in the store, simply running in and grabbing what you needed. Your trunk and backseat were full of boxes and packing supplies, and you shot a text off to Bradley as you had promised once you slid into the front seat. He called you when you were pulling into the neighborhood. 

“There was an accident or something on the freeway,” he told you, and you could hear the frustration in his voice. “Traffic’s backed up, so I’m still like 15 minutes out.” 

“No worries,” you reassured him, “I’m almost there. I can get started.” 

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and Bradley sounded hesitant when he finally spoke again. “Bug…wait for me to go inside, please.” 

“B…” 

He must have heard the argument in your voice, because he was quick to continue, the words rushing out. “I know I’m probably just being paranoid and overprotective. But humor me, please? Just wait for me. I should be there soon.” 

You pulled into the driveway that wouldn’t be yours for much longer and put the car in park. You knew where he was coming from. Truly, you did. You knew that he had every right to feel that way, and you felt warm at him wanting to protect you. 

Bradley let out a sigh of relief when you finally murmured your agreement to stay put. “Thank you, baby. I’ll be there soon okay? I love you.” 

“I love you too. See you in a few.” 

You hung up the phone and rested your head back against the seat, figuring you might as well get comfortable. You scrolled through your social media aimlessly for a few minutes, but the longer you sat there, the more restless you became. You were eager to get inside and start packing. The quicker you did that, the quicker you would be able to get out of this place for good. A quick glance at your clock said that it was nearing 5pm now, and you knew that there was always a team meeting at this time that Paul would be in. There was no chance. 

From when you hung up with him, you figured Bradley would be there in five, ten minutes, tops. 

It would be fine. 

With that in mind, you grabbed your keys and got out of the car. You grabbed some of the boxes from the trunk and made your way to the front door. You felt the familiar anxiety settle over you as you fumbled with the lock, but you figured it was normal - expected, really, all things considered. 

It would be fine. 

It was quiet when you walked inside. The air felt almost stale inside, stifling, and there was a weird smell that made your nose scrunch. The eerie quiet sent a shiver down your spine. The first order of business would be hooking your phone up to the bluetooth speaker to surround you with noise instead of this, and maybe lighting a candle. 

You dropped your keys into the bowl at the door and set the boxes down against the back of the couch. You had only taken a few steps in when you stopped in your tracks. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, and it felt like your heart stopped before it started beating again at a rapid pace. 

Your kitchen counter was littered with flowers. Many of them were dead, stems bent and empty, the petals having wilted and fallen from them, the water inside of the vases murky and old. Some were in a weird inbetween stage, a few petals missing but hanging onto some color. And there, front and center, was the biggest vase out of the bunch. The followers were clearly fresh, so much so that you could almost smell them, if it weren’t for the sour odor of the old ones. Your brain itched with recognition, and you let out a shaky breath when you realized this bouquet was identical to the ones Bradley had delivered to your office months ago, when you first got back together. Identical to the ones that Paul had then gotten you the next day. 

There was a folded piece of paper leaning against that vase with your name scrawled across it. Alarm bells were ringing in your head, but you swallowed thickly and took slow, tentative steps.  When you got close enough, you could see how there were insects crawling amongst the dead arrangements covering your counter. Your hands were shaking as you reached for the note. 

You let out a sound that you could only describe as horrified when you read the words. 

Welcome home - I’ve been waiting for you. 

You stumbled over your own feet as you took startled steps back.Your vision blurred with tears and panic was settled so heavily on your chest that you couldn’t breathe. You needed to leave. You needed to go back out the door you just came through and wait for Bradley. You had to get away. You needed to get out. 

You whipped around, ready to run for the front door, but you didn’t even get a step in before a scream ripped from your throat. 

“You’re finally here.” 

Paul was standing right there in front of you, between you and the front door.  

You were hit with a gut wrenching, terrifying, twisted and sinking realization that you were alone with him. 

You were alone with him, and you had nowhere to go. 

------------------

Part Thirteen :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: YIKES, BUG!! WHY'D YOU HAVE TO GO INSIDE?! Sorry for the wait on this one, and for being so delayed with responses to the previous part! Life is lifeing, folks. We're almost at the end! Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement for posting more🖤

Thank you to Mak and Em for all of your help making this story come to life. And thanks to Mak for the AMAZING banner!

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[cryingpariah]

OC Ask Game!!! (Aka my personal questions)

The rules are you need to answer the questions concisely but with detail.

1. Out of your OCs, which one do you like writing for the most? And which one wracks your brain trying to think of?

2. Is your style to give your OCs just a funny little haha thing or are you serious about them? (Or how about both like me?)

3. What were some original names for Jackie?

4. What were some original names for Urpi?

5. If you could canonize 1 which one would you want to be real?

6. What were the inspirations for Jackie?

7. What were the inspirations for Urpi?

8. Who’s the best cook of your OC’s?

9. How thought out is your Pantheon of OP Gods and Goddesses?

10. If Urpi had a Pokémon team, what would they be?

11. If Jackie had a Pokémon team, what would they be?

HEHE OK LET'S GO!!

1. All of them have their difficulties but Jackie is by far the easiest since she’s the most relaxed and casual of the bunch so her lines come out a lot easier. Duelua is probs the hardest because she speaks the most formally and haughty and I have to search up a lot of word synonyms for her dialogue 😭😭!

2. Middle but leaning more towards silly. I’m more of a silly person by nature so most of their stuff is at least 35% silly at all times!

3. You may not have figured this out but I’m not great with names (I completely stole her name from her main inspo but we'll get to that). I knew I wanted a more nickname-y name if that makes sense so ones like Andy were in my head a lot.

4. I did not name Urpi, all credit to that goes to Taurus, but the idea of Mother of Dragon/Wife of Garp rattled around in my head loooong before I started yapping on Tumblr.com. I toyed around with a lot of Latin names based off Dragon's influences and Luffy's real world ethnicity. Names like Lucia and Helena for example. Urpi fits her best though!! I would change nothing about that lovely dovely lady!

5. DINO WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THIS?? I CAN'T PICK BETWEEN MY GIRLS LIKE THAT 😭😭😭! If I must pick I’d say Urpi or Jackie since they’re the most fleshed out?? Maybe ultimately Jackie since she’s my baby…

6. Jackie inspos - Hermes (generally like the idea of hermes, the messenger that also works for the underworld), Jack Kelly from Newsies (stole his name, stole his job, stole his songs for the Jackie playlist I’m still making, highway robbery atp), Katherine Plumber from Newsies (journalist who has an asshole of a journalist father hmmmm), Princess Bubblegum from AT (Girls who try their hardest to find better means to ends, also a little evil), Young Queen Charlotte from Queen Charlotte (She’s also sorta a voice claim. Jackie is British reminder jumpscare).

7. Urpi Inspirations - My actual mother (gotta think like the mom to write the mom), Kate Sharma from Bridgerton (a younger Urpi's lethal face claim), Wonder Woman (the gal of all time), the Unicorn from the Last Unicorn (mmm angst), Captain America (yes I’m mixing Marvel and DC, no I don’t care).

8. Mimi would happily take the crown…and give it to Urpi. She knows when she’s been beat. In order from best to worst it goes Urpi -> Mimi -> Jackie -> Duelua (moon lady does not understand cooking food. New races sure but dishes don’t compute in her head).

9. They have names…I should really iron them down but Due has all my focus on that front lol. I come back to them eventually (I say, thinking of a new OC completely).

10. Her team is varied but she’s a Flying, Fighting and Metal type of gal! She’s got a Metagross, Scizor, Lucario, Altraia and an Ho-oh!

11. Again, varied team but she def has a preference, for Jackie that’s Flying and Physic! She has a Delibird, Decidueye, Pidgeot, Reuniclus, and a Lugia!

[vithir]

Su- what kind of flowers?

Chapter 11 of Bright Water by AstronomyAddict on ao3

Regulus lifted his glass towards James. “Shall we toast?”

James reached out and clinked his glass against Regulus’s. “To what?” he asked with a crooked smile.

“I don’t know yet,” Regulus said with a twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps to understanding each other a little better.”

James smiled back, still nervous, but oddly calm in his company. “Was that an invitation to get to know you better? I’ll take it that way, so okay, I have at least 100 questions for you. Where do I start?”

Regulus chuckled and took a sip of his wine. He fit in so well here; in a fancy restaurant with fine food. “Start with the easy questions, please.”

James thought carefully. He wanted to know so many different things, and he didn’t know where to begin. Regulus had said easy, so that’s what he would try.

“What change would you like to see in the world?” James asked eagerly, and Reg laughed again. “I said easy! That was not an easy question.”

James didn’t have to think long before he had an easier, yet not boring question. “What music do you listen to?”

“Classical.”

James nodded slowly. That actually made quite a bit of sense when he thought about it

“Do you play music then?”

“Yes, I play the piano, and I’ve been doing it since I was four,” James was lost for words. Could this man be any more attractive? “I also compose my own music.” Yes, he certainly could. Regulus played and composed music! James didn’t know what to say, but he realised that his silence was starting to stretch on too long.

"Wow, that's wonderful! We should do something together one day." He flashed a crooked smile at Regulus, still trying to take in the new information. He composed music? Of course he did!

"Next question!" Regulus ordered.

James massaged his temples in a thoughtful gesture, even though he already knew what to ask. He had so many questions and wanted to fire them all off at once—

"What's your favourite place to take a nap?"

"The floor."

"How often do you dance?"

"Never."

"Which workers have the worst job?"

"Nursery teachers."

"Favourite scent?"

"Cinnamon."

"Food?"

"Snails."

"Favourite flower?"

"Su—you're absolutely not getting that out of me!" Regulus glared across the table. James couldn't help but laugh. That glare was so adorable, filling every corner of his heart.

"Why won't you say it? I'll figure it out anyway. Whether I get it out of you, or I have to bring you different flowers every time we hang out, that's up to you."

Regulus glared even harder, leaning over the table toward James.

"Oh, is that what you think? I can tell you right now that—"

"Dinner's ready." Regulus was cut off by a short-haired woman who entered with two delicious-smelling plates. Regulus leaned back as she placed one plate in front of him and the other in front of James. She stood beside the table, looking expectantly at Regulus. He said nothing. With a small sigh, she left, and James couldn't help but laugh. Regulus had just brushed her off, which meant he wasn’t interested in her. James picked up his cutlery and began cutting into a potato. He had never been that keen on squid. It was a bit rubbery, and the taste was something he'd never quite gotten used to. He couldn’t understand why Regulus appreciated it. With his French background, it made sense that he was used to eating odd things—snails, frog legs, and yes, squid.

"So," James said after the silence had stretched on for a bit too long. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "The favourite flower. I’m serious. I’ll figure it out, sooner or later."

Regulus slowly looked up from his plate, his eyes glinting with both irritation and amusement. "Are you seriously bringing up flowers right now? In the middle of dinner?"

James laughed and nodded. "Yeah, why not? Flowers are interesting! They say a lot about a person."

Regulus rolled his eyes and took a bite of his food, but James could see he wasn’t planning to answer immediately. Instead, he took his time, chewing slowly, as if weighing his next move.

"Alright, let’s say I give you my answer," Regulus finally said, his voice low and almost secretive. "What are you going to do with that information? Buy me flowers all the time?"

James blinked dramatically, pretending to think deeply about the question. "Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just use it against you every time I need to make you smile."

Regulus snorted and shook his head, but there was a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You’re an idiot."

James laughed again and shrugged. "Maybe, but I’m your idiot."

There was a brief silence where Regulus just looked at him. "I don’t have a favourite flower," he said suddenly, but James could hear the doubt in his voice.

"I don’t believe you," James said. "Everyone has a favourite flower, even if they won’t admit it. But fine, I’ll figure it out. You won’t be able to hide it forever."

Regulus simply gave him a sceptical look but dropped the subject. Instead, he took a sip of his wine, as if he had won the battle—but James knew better. He had all the time in the world to crack Regulus’ shell. "Wait and see," he muttered to himself with a satisfied smile.

[azucarmorena97]

Money Ties (Jungkook Love Story || Pt.12

Pt.11 ||

Your parents have worked hard to get to the top and have made sure to teach you everything you need to know to be successful in this business: from tough but lucrative financial decisions, down to the right ball gown for any given banquet. A promising and extravagant future awaits you- that is, if you agree to one teensy detail...

Son of Mr.Jeon Sr. and heir to June Company, Jeon Jungkook is an immature playboy with nothing to offer a woman but good looks and a crap ton of money, and he stands to inherit much MUCH more, so long as you both enter into the arranged marriage contract that was drawn up before the pair of you were even born.

You're more than willing to try, but you're not sure you'll be able to stand each other long enough to inherit a single penny...

Chapter Warning: SMUT! Dom Jungkook <3

Recap: You stand in silence for a bit, basking in each other's presence; the first time you've been alone as husband and wife. It feels the same...and yet different. Jungkook's called you his wife twice tonight. Both times, it made your heart stir in your chest. You're his wife..."You're my husband now," You say shyly, putting your hands behind your back and looking down, your smile practically cramping up your cheeks, "I am," He chuckles, staring at you.

When you look at the time on your phone, you're surprised to see it's already 2 in the morning. Time spent with him is fleeting and never enough...will it always feel this wonderful to love?

To love...? Is that what this is?

"I should probably get you back to the hotel now," Jungkook says, a soft smile on his face, "We have to be on a plane in...like 10 hours. You should sleep."

You sigh, "I should...but I'm not even tired yet." "Me either," He replies, stroking his chin as he drives in the direction of his hotel, lost in thought.

"Do you...want to just watch a movie and order some room service?" He asks; his tone is hesitant, and you know exactly why. You both know the implications of a wedding night. "You definitely don't have to say yes. I know that just because we're...married now, doesn't mean there should be any pressure to- to-" He's digging himself a hole and all you can do is laugh. "A movie sounds perfect," You assure him, patting his knee.

He seems to relax, a sheepish laugh escaping him, "Okay, great."

When you get to the hotel, you immediately beeline it for the elevator, not wanting to be bombarded by anyone who might recognize either of you, especially not after having seen all those paparazzi earlier.

"Ugh, this dress is so heavy," You groan, picking up the skirt. "I have some clothes put away that you can put on when we get up there, if you want." "Oh, that would be great."

He takes you to the same suite you'd...spent time together in last time. Once you get in, he goes to the bedroom for a moment and then comes back out with the clothes. "It's a tee-shirt and sweats. I also have some socks in the night stand," He says, handing it all to you.

"Thanks," You say, grabbing it and rushing past him into the bedroom to change, closing the double doors behind you. You take a moment to look in the big mirror, just analyzing yourself. While the dress wasn't what you originally wanted, it's still a beautiful gown and fits you so well. Of course, the bottom is already a bit dirty as you've had an eventful night. You don't even know what's going on with your hair- all out of place and deflated and nothing like during the ceremony. You decide to start there, taking the millions of bobby pins out and placing them all on the dresser, sighing in relief at the instant release of tension in your head.

"Now, this beast," You say, referring to the dress. You reach to the top of the dress, expecting to feel the zipper, but then you remember that it's all buttons along the back. "Dammit, how am I gonna do this?" You try and try to contort your body, but it's useless.

I'm gonna have to ask him to help me...

You give your reflection a glance and notice yourself blushing at the thought of asking him.

"It's fine, Y/n. He's literally your husband now. It's not like you're throwing yourself at him. It's just buttons," You whisper to yourself.

You position yourself in front of the double doors, taking a deep breath and trying to relax your face. Once you do, you "calmly" open the doors and walk out.

"Everything okay?" He asks when he realizes you're not dressed. "Yeah, uhm- I'm actually gonna need a little help with the buttons."

"Oh-" He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, though he instantly tries to hide it, "Of course. No problem."

"Thanks," You say, avoiding his eyes. He walks over and you turn around.

He sweeps your hair off of your neck and over your shoulder, his gentle touch sending goosebumps across your skin. Your eyes widen slightly, not having expected such a sensation. "Sorry, did it tickle?" He asks. "A-A little...it's okay."

He begins to undo the top button, then the next, then the next, swallowing hard once he reaches the band of your bra, "Uh- do you want me to do the rest? Or you got it?"

"I can't reach..." You say, not even making an attempt to do it yourself. Without another word, he undoes the buttons down the rest of your back, hesitating only slightly when he gets to the three left at the bottom. Your breathing is picking up, excitement building in you- though you don't dare show it.

One button. Your back dimples are on display for his hungry eyes. Two buttons. The waistband of your lacy underwear peeks out at him. Three buttons. He's able to see the way your ample backside swallows up the delicate lace thong.

You can feel his eyes on you and it's enough to dampen the little piece of fabric between your thighs. You want more.

"There..." He whispers, letting go of the fabric of your dress. You know what he's doing. If you want it, you'll have to ask for it.

You turn around to face him, eyes foxlike and full of lust as you drop your dress, fully exposing yourself, "Thanks."

His eyes are equally dark, the corners of his mouth turned upward. Truthfully, he's been wanting you since you left- but he's been thinking about this moment from the second he walked in on you crying earlier today. Something about the way your makeup ran down your face, lipstick ruined, doe eyes looking up at him as he towered over you-

It aroused something completely primal within him that made him so incredibly hard.

He walks backward and sits down on the couch- the one you both sat in last time for your first kiss. He leans backward, legs spread, one arm resting on the top of the backrest, the other resting on his groin. He's waiting for you to start the show you seem so eager to put on for him- and show, you will.

He has only a moment to admire the way your breasts look, all pushed up and perfectly round due to that pretty, white bra with lace detail, before you're reaching behind yourself to unclasp it. Your cleavage relaxes a bit due to the lack of tension, "You want me to take it off?" You ask, your previous shyness having dissipated completely.

"Do you want to?" He raises an eyebrow, his coy tone turning you on even more.

You don't break eye contact with him, just let the bra slide off of your arms and into the pool of white cloth already at your feet. You step out of the pile of clothing, letting your bare feet carry you the few steps of the way to him.

Now, you're the one towering over him, glorious boobs unhindered by any barrier. He finds himself licking his licks in anticipation. He could absolutely devour you.

He adjusts himself even more so that there's less tension on the crotch of his pants, his dick already wanting desperately to be released from its restraints.

You reach down and grab his hand, bringing it up to cup your breast, to which he responds by taking your nipple in between his fingers, "You are so fucking gorgeous," He praises.

You don't respond, just drop his hand and then proceed to climb onto him, each leg on either side of his. You can feel how hard he is through the fabric of your panties.

"Mm..." He moans as you begin grinding down onto the mound- but you're not doing this for him. You're doing this for you. You've only ever had him once and have been longing for a second taste ever since.

"You wanna know a secret...?" You say softly, not stopping the motion of your hips against him. "Y-yeah." "All that time I was back home hating you..." You lean down and put your lips to his ear, "I was touching myself thinking about you."

His eyes widen, "You-" You don't wanna talk.

You crash your lips onto his, grinding down harder. He has his hands on your hips, guiding them forward and backward- but it's not enough. You need more.

"I wanna try something," You say, getting off of him. "O-okay," He nods breathlessly.

You take down your thong and toss it aside, now fully nude, and then carefully set yourself down on his thigh. "Fuck," You hiss, practically feeling your pupils dilate at the direct pressure. "How's that, beautiful?" He asks, studying the pleasure in your face.

Your mouth falls agape as you move forward, backward, forward, and backward. He can feel the spot on his thigh getting wetter and wetter, his cock wanting to spring forward.

He can't stand such a perfect sight, he leans forward and wraps one arm around your waste, the other reach down to help guide your pelvis, his mouth lowering to take your nipple between his teeth. "Ah....fuck," Your head falls back, your body anxiously striving for that orgasm, "Kook, fuck- I think I'm gonna cum soon," You hiss. "Cum on my leg, princess. Come on..." He coaxes, running his tongue on the circumference of your breast.

Your eyes roll back and soon, you're releasing yourself on his perfectly muscular thigh. "Ah!" You slump forward, your grinding slowing down significantly while you recover for a moment.

"I think you can give me more than that, can't you, Beautiful?" He whispers in your ear, the hairs on your neck standing on end as the next wave of arousal starts growing within you. "I can..." You pant, though you don't move. "Come on," He somehow manages to grab onto you and stand up, effortlessly picking you up as well, his strong legs carrying the both of you to the bedroom where he tosses you on the bed.

You land on your back, hair sprawled out against the crisp, white sheet, your legs bent together to cover your freshly wet pussy.

He puts his hands on your knees and pries them open, his eyes devouring the site of you before lowering himself down lick every drop of your cum up.

"You taste so fucking good," He moans into your heat, sending butterflies darting in all directions in your stomach.

He stands up again and proceeds to unbutton his pants and the hole in his boxers, grabbing his dick and pulling it out.

You're excited at the sight; there's something so exhileratingly vulnerable about the only one completely naked.

"What do you want me to do?" He asks.

"Fuck me," You don't even hesitate. You want it. You want it again and again and again.

"Say it again," He hisses, taking his dick in his hands and tapping it against your delicate mound.

"Fuck me, please," You beg.

He seems satisfied enough, firmly pinching the lips of your perfectly puffy pussy and slowly guiding himself into you.

He goes slack jawed for a moment, just letting the overwhelming warmth consume him. The grooves inside you stroking his cock with every thrust- If it wasn't because he so desperately wants to savor this moment, he'd pump wildly into you until he's spilling every drop of seed inside of you.

"You're so fucking big," You whimper, still adjusting to his size- it's only your second time, afterall.

"No, you're just so fucking tight," He breathes out, delighting in the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours.

You try to reach down and rub your clit but he throws your hand off, "Allow me," He positions his hand so it's flat against your pussy, applying an unexpected- yet so welcomed- amount of pressure as he quickly rubs back and forth.

"That's so good, that's so good," You moan over and over, barely able to believe how quickly you're coming to your next climax. "Come on, baby. Give me another one. You can do it, come on princess," The gentleness in his voice juxtaposed with how fucking hard he's rubbing you- it's the perfect recipe to send you over the edge once more, "Oh God!" Your hips jut upwards, legs contorting involuntarily, your breathing so rapid that you think you might pass out.

Euphoria.

"J-Jungkook," You breathe, "Fuck, that was so good."

He leans forward to kiss you deeply, then pulls away only inches from your face, "You think you can give me just one more...?" He says, his voice dark and low.

You nod, a smile creeping up on your face at the idea of fucked to absolute shreds. Without another word, he quickly grabs hold of your waist and manages to flip you around so that you're on your stomach, "Get on your knees," He commands,

You muster up the strength to get on your hands and knees on the bed, though you still feel your arms wobble a bit. He runs one hand half way down your back and then pushes you down so that your torso is flat on the bed and your ass up in the air, "Just like that," He mutters.

You crane your neck too see behind you; the glorious view as he yanks the bow tie off of himself and undoes the first button on his dress shirt, it motivates you to stick that ass out just a little bit more.

He puts his hands on either sides of your hips, gripping on you firmly, "Ready, princess?" "Y-" You don't even finish your sentence before he's thrusting into you again, causing you to gasp.

Your eyes close as you relish the feeling of his cock engulfed in your walls. Your pussy's getting used to him finally, but the harsh sensation is still enough to make you grip the sheets.

"Mm," He moans, ramming into your backside, the red spot on your ass growing more and more angry- He loves the view.

He grabs one of your arms and holds it behind you, the tension just enough to restrict you without hurting you. The first time you made love, it was tender and sweet- this time, you're both ravaging one another like hungry wolves- "Fuck," You whine.

"Touch yourself, princess. Come on, give me one more."

You don't hesitate to obey, reaching your free arm down between your legs; you're still so sensitive from your last round, you're not sure if you can finish this time. "Here, let me," He says, noticing your struggle.

There's something about Jungkook's touch; in a matter of seconds, between fucking you and rubbing your swollen clit, he's found the perfect rhythm. "Come on, baby," He says through his teeth, sounding just as close as you are.

This last orgasm- goodness, it's different. It's stronger- like a mix of cumming and simultaneously needing to pee; "Jungkook, I- I think I'm gonna pee," You warn, though you really don't want him to stop.

Without acknowledging what you're saying, he rubs harder and faster, followed by rapid thrusts, "Fuuuuuuck," You whimper, finally feeling it all flow out- clear fluid bursts out of your pussy and Jungkook pulls out of you to watch it all, stroking his cock to the sight until he is also bursting with cum, a few drops landing on your ass and some on the floor, his head falls back as his stroking slows, though he quickly recovers and gets on his knees to lap up all the wetness from your pussy, dragging his tongue along your freshly fucked hole.

Jungkook is a fucking freak.

You collapse onto the bed, heaving with exhaustion and a surge of dopamine/endorphins/ketamine/heroin- whatever the fuck your body releases after a good lay.

He stays on his knees, though he slumps backward a bit, a big smile on his face as he pants heavily, "That was the best sex I've ever had."

"Oh shut up," You roll your eyes, turning over so you're on your back. "I'm serious," He says, struggling slightly to get up, though when he does, he walks over to the bathroom and then comes back with two towels in hand.

He walks over to the end of the bed, tosses one of the towels next to you on the bed, and then opens your legs just as he did earlier, but this time he's gentle again. He dabs at your pretty pussy, cleaning every visible inch. He then takes another part of the towel to clean off his dick before tossing it to the side on the floor somewhere out of view. "Scoot up a little bit," He says, gently patting your outer thigh. You scoot up and he carefully lays the other towel flat on the bed, "There." He comes around to the side of the bed so he can jump in with you, not bothering to cover up with a sheet or anything, as you're both still sweaty and hot as hell.

"You're really sweet..." You smile. "Aren't I?" He says smugly, reaching over and moving a piece of your hair to the side. "And so humble," You add sarcastically, making him laugh. His smile fades a bit and he just looks at you for a moment before saying, "I won't wake up to an empty bed tomorrow morning, right?"

You shake your head, "Never again."

His smile returns and he leans in to give you one more kiss before settling in next to you and, Before you know it, you're both drifting off to sleep.

Sorry this one took me a while to upload! Lemme know what you think about the spice >:)

Tag List <3: @ttanniett