goldenjcink

[phagodyke]

I was on the wikipedia page for phobias just for fun but just discovered theres an actual word for a fear of being touched.. 🥹

[scribblesofagoonerr]

— Just know you're stronger than you think

⟫ Alphabet Challenge, J - Just know you're stronger than you think

Pairings: leah williamson x teen reader

There's a been a lot of tears writing this one, but it comes from the heart.

Shoutout to @alotofpockets for being one my biggest supports when writing and dealing with my rants and emotions, massively appreciate the virtual shoulder to lean on! 💗

"Why is it that the people we care about so much are also the ones' that hurt us the most?"

That particular question has been on your mind ever since it happened, two whole days ago.

"Did something happen?" The therapist, sitting opposite you questions, her voice full of concern.

Fumbling with the strings of your Leahs' hoodie that you are wearing, you slowly nod and look at the older woman, "My mum showed up, completely unannounced."

The memories of the past few days begin to replay in your head as you remember the conversation very clearly.

"Hi sweetheart," You're shocked to open the front door and come face to face with your mother, who you haven't even heard of in a few months, following the last conversation that you had with her.

Yet here she stood, smiling like there was nothing the matter. Had she forgotten what happened?

"Mom? Wha... What are you doing here?" You're confused to say the least and you couldn't understand why she was here, at your front door, after all of this time.

"I wanted to come and see you," The woman replied, still continuing to smile condescendingly at you.

Your eyes furrowed in confusion, "And you didn't think to let me know first?" You questioned her.

"I didn't think I would need to," Your mother was quick to respond, "And besides, I tried to call, but you've been avoiding me, haven't you?" She asked, knowingly.

"I've had stuff going on," You admitted to her quietly, shrugging your shoulders.

The older woman hummed in response, "I know, you were in the hospital, and guess where I had to find that out? The news, social media-- You didn't think to call your own mother?!" She barked at you, like it was her right to know about what's been going in your life.

She didn't deserve that right, not when shes' not bothered with you for as long as you can remember.

"I guess... I guess I forgot," You mumbled, feeling ten times smaller like your mother always has a way of making you feel like that.

It  was like a flip switched right there and then, your mother's smile changed to a scowl right in front of you.

"After everything I have done for you, and you just throw it back in my face, Y/N!" The women shouted angrily, her emotions completely changing in a blink.

The therapist sat opposite you, listening to you completely as you tell her about the conversation and relayed it back to her, "Okay, and how did that make you feel? How did you handle it?" She asks.

"The same way that I always did," You murmur, still fumbling with the hoodie strings, "I blew up."

"Mum, I haven't been well-- I tried to kill myself. I wanted to die, I... I tried to end my life because I didn't want to be here anymore!" You completely poured your emotional vulnerability out to the woman, hoping that she'd comfort you, something in which you deeply craved.

The woman literally scoffed and shook her head, "And you don't think that's incredibly selfish to do? What about me-- Wha... You can't leave me, Y/N!" She exclaimed in disbelief.

Your initial confusion turned to anger very quickly, how could she make it all about herself, even now?

"Mum, I'm the one that's been suffering and in pain, this whole damn time!" You didn't mean to yell at her, but something inside you snapped.

"You don't think I have? Y/N, I've been in pain for a lot longer than you have-- You don't know the half of it!" Your mother shouted right back at you, completely forgetting the fact you were both outside in broad daylight where anyone could hear the shouting back and forth.

The very sentence made you realise how inconsiderably selfish she has always been, and she will still continue to be.

"Why has it always got to be about you? I can't even talk to you because you're so wrapped up in yourself-- See this, this is the reason I didn't tell you because yet again, you just once again go and make it about yourself!" You were seething with anger, you didn't care at this point which neighbour did hear you, "I needed you, mum, I really... I really needed you and you weren't there." Your voice was vulnerable and raw, showing the true hurt you felt right there.

"Because you didn't tell me that you needed me, Y/N," Your mother threw it back in your face, having the audacity to even tut at you, "How could I when you don't keep in touch anymore?" She asked.

You really did need your mum, but once again, she was nowhere to be seen when you did.

"She doesn't get it, she never has. Shes' always been this selfish and I've never realised..." You speak directly to your therapist, once again showing your vulnerability as the tears continue to spill down your cheeks.

Your therapist nods and continues to listen, shifting the paper in her hands completely aside, "Did you tell her how you felt?" She wonders.

"I did," You nod in response, "It was hard, but... I did it."

"I deserve to know if theres' something wrong with you, Y/N,'' Your mother stated, like it was her god-given right to know.

Was it really?

"I'm telling you now, aren't I, mum?" You responded, quietly.

Your mother exhaled a sigh and shook her head, "Were you alone in the hospital?" She questioned.

"No, I had Leah--" You were cut off before you could finish that sentence.

Your mother had the audacity to scoff, "Leah is not your mother, Y/N. I am!" She stated, firmly.

"Yeah, well shes' been there a lot more than you have in the last few years!" You confessed your inner thoughts, you were damn right about that statement.

Leahs' been there a lot more than your mum ever has been.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Your mother questioned in disbelief.

"It means... It means I'm done, mum. I'm done with always having to be second best-- I'm done with you and your selfishness! I'm just... I'm done now!" You told her, not having the energy to keep up this argument with her as you deflated your shoulders.

Your mother had the nerve to look at you hurt and it made you feel instant guilt about what you said, "All that I have done for you, and this is how I am treated? By my own daughter!" She said quietly, barely louder than a whisper.

"Mum, I'm sorry... But I can't, I can't do this anymore," Your telling her nothing but the truth, your tired of the bickering, your so tired of it and its' draining you both mentally and physically, "I love you because your my mum, but I'm done, I can't... I think its' best that you go."

"I'm the one whos' always been there, Y/N. I am the one... I am the one whos' been there when that deadbeat of a father walked out on us. He walked and I stayed, I didn't have too. I could have given you up but I stayed and this is what I get?" Your mothers' words hurt, they're gaslighting and manipulative, but you know this is exactly what she is like.

You have to try and remain strong in this decision.

"I think you should go now, mum. I... I don't want you here anymore," You told her, quietly as you avoided looking at her, "Please, just go."

"Y/N, you can't just push me away. I don't deserve to be treated like this," The women continued to gaslight you, showing the toxic traits of her personality.

Shaking your head, you remained firm on your decision, "It's always the same thing with you, mum. Just... Just fuckin' go!" You exclaimed, trying to keep your tears at bay until she left.

You watched as your mothers' face turned to look like complete thunder, "Don't you swear  at me, young lady!" She shouted, enraged.

This time, you couldn't help but scoff, "Please, you can't tell me what to do. Just leave and never come back!" You demanded.

"Y/N," Your mother pleaded, but you didn't want to hear it.

Your therapist leant forward to pass you the box of tissues and looked at you in great sympathy, "And then what happened?" She asks.

"Leah showed up," You tell her, giving her a brief smile while trying to harshly wipe the tears away.

"I think you should do what she says. She's asked you to leave and you're not welcome here," Leah appeared behind your mother, coming back from a quick trip to the shops to pick up some much needed essentials and was shocked to see the women on her doorstep after all this time.

"You!" Your Mother turned round to see the voice behind her as she glared, "You've poisined my own daughter against me!"

"Me?" Leah scoffed in response before she shook her head, "That wasn't me, I think you'll find that was all done by you. So you can see Y/N is upset, so please Y/M/N, just go because like I said before, you're not welcome here." Her words were firm and it made you smile slightly with the way that the blonde fought in your corner.

"So, she left?" Your therapist questions, curiously.

You nod in agreement and use your sleeves to wipe your face, "She left, I felt... I guess I felt relieved, free almost? I... I just wish that things could be different, you know?" You tell her, confused about the feelings you have.

Your therapist smiled at you sympathetically, "You don't deserve to be treated like this, Y/N. Even if its' your own mother and you did the right thing here-- Remember we talked about healthy boundaries? Those apply to family members as well." She tells you.

"I know, it just hurts," You murmur, feeling complete exhaustion after spilling everything out in the open.

"It will for a bit, but then it'll heal. This is about you, Y/N," Your therapist continues to speak open and honestly to you, "It will take time to heal, but you're strong enough to do it, and you're not alone either." She states, kindly.

"Rough session?" Leah questions in concern as she glances at you beside where she sits in the driver's seat.

You must be somewhat predictable, or she can tell from the red puffy eyes and tear stain cheeks.

It may just be the latter one.

"Yeah," You murmur in response, you barely have the effort to even want to vocually communicate right now.

Leah continues to look at you in further concern, "Do you want to talk about it?" She offers.

"No, I don't... I don't want to talk about it," Your quick enough to disagree with that.

That was a complete lie, you did want to talk about it. Even if you won't admit it though.

"Okay, that's fine. You know where I am though if you need me, bubs." Leah sends you a gentle smile and squeezes your knee to let you know she's here for you.

"Thanks," You lean your head on the window, watching the passing traffic as you head back home to the flat you shared with the blonde.

The rest of the ride home was quiet, you felt so in your head right now.

Therapy was meant to help, right? Why did it feel like the complete opposite, right now.

"I'm gonna make tea, what do you--" Leahs' words are cut short with the sound of your bedroom door slamming shut behind you, "I'll be out here if you need me at all." She calls out, hoping that you can hear her.

You do hear her, but you just don't have the energy to verbally respond right now.

You used it all in therapy, pouring your emotions out and showing your vulnerability, and that's something which rarely ever happens.

You keep yourself shut away in your bedroom for the rest of the day.

Leah of course has tried to prise you out of your room, but you are very much reluctant to leave your confined space.

You don't want to talk anymore today, you'd already done enough of that with the therapist.

So instead you bury yourself in a blanket, shamelessly clutching hold of the little stuffed green dinosaur that you won at a fair when you were eight, while you just sob endlessly into your pillow.

"Why is it that the people we care about so much are also the ones' that hurt us the most?" The question still plays on your head in a loop, because even now, you still don't understand the answer to it.

What shocks you the most is the fact that your mum hasn't bothered even once to contact you.

That shit hurts, to realise that shes' not bothered about any of it.

Not a single thing.

Somehow during the time you've spent in your room, you end up crying most of the time. Unfortunately, the habits' become more familiar over the last few months than you realise, all because of that woman.

There's a knock at your door, followed by the blondes' voice, "Bubs?"

"G' way," You mumble from underneath the covers, trying to block out the rest of the world.

Hearing the door creep open, you know that Leah isn't going to do that, "I heard you crying. I'm not going to leave you when you're this upset." She states, firmly.

"I don't want... I don't want to talk," You stutter your words, trying to control your sobs no matter how difficult that is.

"That's okay, we don't have to talk about things," Leah moves further into the room as her heart breaks at the sight of you curled up into a ball in the middle of your bed, clutching a hold of the pillow with tear stained cheeks, "Oh, bubs. C'mere, my girl."

That sight was enough for Leah to swiftly move to lie behind you in your bed, gently scoop you up and pull you closer to her, to be able to allow you the comfort even if you didn't want it.

The blonde knew different, she knew not to believe you when you said you didn't want to talk, she allows you the space but shes' not going to allow you to be completely torn up about this.

"Le," Your voice trembles, you don't have the words to say right now, but your grateful for the blonde being there.

Leah quietly shushes you and wraps her free arm around you, "I know, I know it hurts. You don't have to say anything, but know I'm here for you, regardless."

"Why... I don't get why, why does it hurt this much?" You're completely heartbroken, you thought pushing your mother away would help with things, but it makes it all that worse.

"I wish I could tell you the answer there, bubs," Leah murmurs and rocks you back and forth slightly in her arms, "Sometimes' it hurts to do it, but it's' for the best, you know?"

"S... She hasn't even phoned me. She doesn't care about me," You cry openly, showing the raw vulnerability you felt about this situation.

You feel like you've been abandoned, somewhat.

Parents aren't meant to do that, but yet its' easy for enough for it to happen.

And now you're the one in the wrong? It doesn't make sense.

"It hurts now, but things will get better," Leah tells you honestly, running her slender fingers through the strands of your own hair, "And I promise to never leave you alone, ever, okay? You've always got me!" She promises.

"You... You've always been more like a mum to me, more than my mother ever has," You admit to her through small sobs, shuffling around to be face to face with her as you move to rest your head on her chest, "Thank you for never giving up on me or leaving."

Leahs' heart cracks just that little bit more as she smiles sympathetically, "Your my kid, regardless of blood or not, and I love you so so much," She speaks from the heart, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, "The day I met you, it felt like one of the best days of my life and I feel so grateful to be a part of your life, kid."

"I'm grateful you're a part of my life too, Le," You murmur quietly, your voice is hoarse from how much you've been crying but you really do mean what you say, "I wish you were my mum instead, you wouldn't abandon me like she did." You admit, your voice is still no louder than a whisper so you're not sure if shes' even heard it.

"I'd love to be your mum as well bubs, you deserve so much better," Leahs' response is nothing but the honest truth.

Your eyes start to flutter shut, "I really wish it could happen." 

Somehow you feel closer to falling asleep, you don't know what it is but you feel that with the presence of Leah there with you, it's a lot easier to fall asleep.

"I'll make it happen," Leah whispers, still running her slender fingers through your hair gently, "Get some sleep, yeah? It's been a long day."

There wasn't any response from you as you'd somehow managed to fall asleep in that short space of time.

"Bubs," Leah peers her head over slightly to see you fast asleep and she can't help but chuckle fondly, "I mean it when I say it and I'll keep that promise, kid. You're never going to be alone again." She states, firmly.

The blondes' heart aches so much for all the crap that you have had to put up with through the years and now she'll do anything to make it better.

"Sleep well, bubs. I love you," Leah whispers, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your forehead as she pulls you closer towards her, allowing you to sleep practically on top of her, allowing her to lie there and think through things with the determination of a way for you to finally be happy.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[jamesevanwilsonirl]

James Wilson has an anxiety disorder and I’m going to tell everyone about it.

That was a really long title and pointless. I could have stopped after the first six words.

Anyways, hi, hello, if you don’t know me, my name is James and I really like James Wilson. I also like writing a lot. I also have an anxiety disorder. That led to this amalgamation of headcanons and thoughts about James Wilson.

So, I don’t even know how to start this. Fair warning, I have completely canon divergent headcanons with no canon evidence and just pure projection. I also use commas way too much.

Besides projection, why do I think he has anxiety? Well, I relate to him a lot and lots of his canon social behaviors do reflect my experience as well as others’ experiences with GAD or SAD. I think it goes ignored a lot with Wilson that a lot of his behaviors like people pleasing or having few friends is actually symptom of anxiety. Also, anxiety and depression are often comorbid or associated. In the show, specially that Social Contract episode, it’s SUPER apparent. As someone who headcanons he has both, his “I don’t have to worry around you” monologue to House could be read as a symptom/sign of GAD or ASD. I’m not going to get into my personal social anxieties and such, but I relate to that monologue HEAVILY. Stressing about what you say and having to mask your anxiety around people who don’t understand is a lot. There’s like, two people I can talk to without stressing the fuck out. Back to Wilson, though. His fear of breaking rules is also Anxiety™️ Symptom #1000. He is the most typical man ever on the show, or at least outwardly appears as one. He often fidgets with his hands while he talks and I know that’s because RSL is a stage actor but a guy can dream, alright?

People pleasing. Oh, boy. I could talk about this one for hours. James Wilson loves pleasing people, it doesn’t mean loving people for some but it does for him. He constantly needs to be needed, he always has to be helping, yet he’s never helped. He doesn’t want to speak the things he’s feeling because he feels that means being a burden!! that means being wrong!! that means letting people down!! He likely enjoys being with House so much because he knows it’s impossible to let him down, he doesn’t have to necessarily worry about pleasing him because House is like, very aware of what he’s thinking. House doesn’t give a fuck about what people feel most of the time.

Onto the less canon stuff and just more headcanon and/or projection stuff:

He has obsessive interests he uses to cope, like films. I’m basing that off of his posters and also… myself. This is projection, here.

He cannot do a lot in a short span of time. Worrying takes a lot of his energy and he needs recovery days. He’ll often just sleep for over 12 hours because he had to talk a lot and that means worrying and preplanning everything he was going to say.

He was either late-diagnosed or doesn’t even realize he has anxiety. Yes, he’s a doctor, that sounds odd but let me explain. Men around his age, but also in general, aren’t too open about their mental health struggles. They just think it’s normal. If he was late diagnosed, it was likely when he was seeking out a depression diagnosis. Off topic but can we talk about that for a moment? The show ignored that after the one mention. Season four spoilers ahead so skip to the next bullet point if you’re not there. Here are some filler words so people can scroll. Yadda yadda yadda. HIS GIRLFRIEND DIED!! THAT WOULD FUCK WITH ANYONE BUT ESPECIALLY SOMEONE WITH MDD!! Also, he’s medicated. Medication typically means it was affecting his day to day life. Medication means admitting something wasn’t right and that was likely very hard for him!! Anyways.

His first panic attack scared the living hell out of him. If he was young and still living with his family, he didn’t want to be a burden. He sat in his room sobbing for hours on end because he didn’t understand why his body was doing this. (Chest pain, shaking, not listening to him repeating Calm Down like a mantra, etc.) If he was older, I imagine he likely still didn’t tell anyone but it scared him for a different reason. It meant to him that he was broken. It meant to him that he needed something. He needed help and that scared him.

Intrusive thoughts. I imagine they got worse after S4 finale happened. That’s really it.

Coping? What’s that? He just ignores it.

Once again, breaking rules horrifies him.

That’s all. Goodbye. I do see the possibility of a lot of these being interpreted as ASD but I have a whole other post for that, maybe. Comment any thoughts and feelings. Be nice.

[delulujuls]

gifted | cl16

hi! i couldn't help myself so here is something with a bit of festive spirit. also i can't believe that is only a week left til christmas lmao

anyway, enjoy this one as well!

summary: y/n decided to finally reveal her feelings, a lot of miscommunication in the house of ferrari, fav red duo being completely chaotic (and all of that with christmas songs playing in the background)

warnings: none, its kinda fluffy at the end tho

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!ferraridriver

Even though there was only a week left until Christmas, the festive atmosphere was practically unnoticeable due to the amount of work still involved.

Although the season was over and most of the sporting events had passed, the work was still piling up and had no plans to end.

Y/N sat in the chill room, waiting for two interviews she was scheduled to have later that day. She had been at Ferrari's headquarters since the morning, recording materials for social media. Of course she was accompanied by Charles, who was currently lost somewhere.

At that moment it was to her advantage, as she was lying on the couch and browsing the Internet, looking for a Christmas gift for him. Which, by the way, was quite a challenge.

Y/N and Charles became teammates three years ago. Three years were enough for the couple to find a common language and, apart from working together, became friends. Even though they knew each other well, the issue of gifts always remained problematic. What's worse, the girl's love language was giving gifts and surprises, so she always tried to give the best gifts for various occasions. Charles, however, was a tough guy to please.

She sighed, closing another tab in her browser. Time was running out and she still had no specific gift or even an idea of what specific direction she could go. Especially since this year her task was much more difficult, because for several weeks Y/N had a problem with looking at Charles only as a friend. At the beginning, everyone is in denial that no, he's just a friend, there's nothing in common between us and nothing more serious will ever happen, but when you spend so much time together and the bond is so strong and emotional, it's hard not to fall head over heels in love.

Which in Y/N's case just happened.

The problem, however, was that the girl had absolutely no idea how to admit her feelings to her friend. So she decided that this year's Christmas gift would be perfect and meaningful enough for Charles to connect the dots and understand that the girl's feelings were beyond their friendship. At least this was the scenario Y/N had hoped for.

"You look like you just ran the race of the century"

Charles said, which brought his friend out of her thoughts. He held two cups of coffee in his hands, he gave one of them to the girl and plopped down next to her on the sofa.

"I think I need your help."

Y/N said and looked at him as her last resort, which he actually was.

"Something happened?"

He asked and his expression immediately became worried.

"What Christmas present would you be happy about?"

Charles frowned at her direct question.

"Are you asking what you should buy me for Christmas?"

"No, what should I buy for you, but what would a guy around your age with similar interests generally be happy with?"

It was obvious that the contacts in Leclerc's brain were working like crazy, but despite this, they were unable to understand the given command.

"I like someone and I would like to show it to him with a gift. And since I have no idea, I'm asking you for advice"

She explained, trying to sound very convincing. Of course she lied like hell but she assumed that it was darkest under the street lamp and if she played it right, Charles wouldn't guess anything and would also give her a great gift idea.

Leclerc, hearing her words, only nodded and took a sip of his coffee. It was obvious that he was thinking hard and really wanted to help her with the answer.

"Maybe a leather belt, a wallet?"

Y/N frowned.

"Would you be happy with a belt or a leather wallet?"

"I don't, but I'm trying to give you some ideas. I would be happy with a new tennis racket, mine is currently being repaired and I don't know if it's time for a new one."

"A tennis racket?"

Charles nodded, but then changed the subject completely.

"By the way, firstly, why I don't know anything about the fact that you like someone, secondly, why I didn't receive any photo for analysis and thirdly, if you want to show your feelings through a gift, then I think you should do something with your own hand. Or at least show that it means a lot to you"

Y/N analyzed his words carefully. The racket idea wasn't a bad idea, especially since she could have gone a step further and, in addition to the racket, bought them a stay on the court together. Charles tried many times to convince her to play with him, but Y/N had no idea how to play tennis and in her eyes, making a fool of herself on the first date was a bad idea to impress her love interest.

"You actually helped me, you know?"

The girl said and smiled at him. Charles probably helped her more than he expected.

"That's great because you could help me too."

He replied, glancing at her. Y/Ns stomach dropped to her throat, but she decided to act unfazed. In a second of inattention, everything could go to hell.

"Do you also need some gift inspiration?"

"Yes, and I have exactly the same problem as you."

Charles sighed and drank his coffee.

"Some time ago I met a girl. We met a few times and it seems to be nice between us. I would like to give her a gift so that she can see that I care."

"You didn't mention anything about dating anyone."

Y/N said, trying to adopt as neutral a tone as possible. However, her heart was pounding like crazy and she had no idea whether Charles was following her tactics and was actually asking her what she would like to get, whether he had actually met someone and would like to reveal his feelings soon.

"Neither do you, so we're even."

He replied and laughed.

The girl shifted on the couch, feeling her stomach hurt from nerves. She was about to continue talking to him when someone entered the room and informed her that everything for her interview was ready.

Y/N apologized to him and stood up, saying that they would come back to this conversation. However, she sincerely hoped that today was her last day at the headquarters and that she would not have to come here until the new year, which would mean that she would not have to be in Charles' company.

To be honest, she felt idiotic. What if Charles is actually dating someone? What an idiot she would look like if she admitted her feelings.

When she finished all her duties at the company, she returned to the hotel without a word. She spent the rest of the evening on social media searching for any photos or mentions of whether Charles Leclerc was currently dating anyone.

The lack of any information did not help her at all. His words kept drilling a hole in her head, causing all the pre-Christmas cheer to evaporate from her like a burst balloon.

Maybe she was in a bad mood, but at least she had the idea of a Christmas surprise off her mind. She also hoped that Charles' new friend would give him some great gift, for fuck's sake.

The girl threw the phone into the pillows and fell onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The thoughts swirling in her head were interrupted by the sound of an incoming message. The notification "new message from: lord perceval" appeared on the screen

"You still haven't helped me with the gift."

"If you want to show your feelings through a gift, I think you should make something with your own hands. Or at least show that it means a lot to you."

She replied, quoting exactly what he had recommended to her a few hours earlier.

She locked her phone again and stuffed it under her pillow. Y/N hoped that by the time they met again, she would have gotten over her feelings and Charles would be her teammate again. And the teammate only.

The next day, the girl returned to Monaco, spending preparations for Christmas alone. This year she happened to be spending the holidays alone. Did it bother her much? Not particularly.

She decided to spend this time in peace and quiet. She kept her phone on airplane mode most of the time and she also avoided social media. Did she have any specific goal for this? The only goal was to avoid Charles, both direct contact with him and any mention of him.

On Christmas Eve morning, she went in search of a Christmas tree, which she bought, brought it herself and even installed it in the corner of the living room, wanting to prove her independence at all costs. Although it was all pricked by fresh, sharp needles, the tree still looked beautiful. While she was in the process of decorating it, she heard a knock on the door. She flinched almost so much that she almost dropped the bauble from her hands.

She hung it on a branch and went to open it. How surprised she was when standing in front of her was none other than Charles himself.

"Hey. Something happened that you are here?"

The girl asked, glancing at him.

"I guess so, since I haven't had any contact with you for several days."

"I've been busy. You know, Christmas and all that craziness."

Charles looked at her worriedly, trying to read the truth on her face that he felt like she was hiding from him.

"Everything's all right?"

Y/N just nodded.

"I'm just busy. I guess you are too, so run away to your place. You're probably planning a big family Christmas Eve."

"Can I go in?"

The girl sighed, knowing full well that she wouldn't get rid of him anytime soon. She walked deeper into the apartment, leaving the door open for him. She went to the Christmas tree and took another ornament out of the box and hung it on the tree.

Charles followed her without a word. There was silence inside and the only sign heralding Christmas Eve afternoon was the Christmas tree standing in the corner, which she was decorating in silence. There was no indication that Y/N would be expecting guests in a few hours, so he was surprised that if she was to catch a plane back to her hometown today, she should have been getting ready to leave long ago.

"How are you spending Christmas?"

He spoke after a moment, walking up to her. Without thinking, he took the bauble out of the box and carefully hung it as well on the Christmas tree.

"Here"

"When are the guests coming? I don't want to disturb you."

He laughed quietly, trying to lighten the atmosphere that seemed extremely thick to him. However, when he glanced at his friend, she was straightening the decorations on the tree with a sad expression on her face.

"Why did you come anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

Charles asked, frowning.

"From what you said, you have another girl you should be interested in."

The Monegasque was silent for a moment, having no idea what she was talking about. However, when he connected the dots, he understood what she meant.

"Are you the one who's jealous?"

Charles asked and he couldn't hide his smile. But she was absolutely not in a mood for jokes.

"I'm not jealous, I'm just stating a fact"

"As I see, your entire attention has been completely taken over by your love interest, because since the last time I saw you, you have only replied to me four times."

The girl remained silent, gritting her teeth. She felt like an idiot again.

"Talk to me Y\N, please"

Charles touched her arm, trying to get her attention. He was afraid that something bad was happening between them and he couldn't imagine losing his friend.

"I have nothing to tell you, Charles."

"Nothing, absolutely nothing?"

He asked, looking at her. When she shook her head, he let go of her arm and snorted.

"Wow, your new boyfriend material totally took you away from me."

"There's no new boyfriend material!"

Y/N exploded, no longer able to stand the stupidity that she herself allowed to come to fruition.

"There isn't any and there won't be any, at least not when you are there, damn it!"

"What do you mean?"

Leclerc frowned.

"I like you, idiot! I like you, a lot!"

Y/N felt tears in her eyes and a blush on her cheeks. She was angry with herself for not being able to stand it and gave vent to her emotions, she was sad knowing that she would face some rejection and she was ashamed that despite everything she gave in and confessed her feelings to him.

Charles smiled when he saw the person standing in front of him. Currently in a messy bun, with eyes full of tears, in red Christmas pajamas. And he wasn't smiling because he was amused by her feelings, not at all. He smiled with happiness, because he felt exactly the same.

He stepped closer to her and took her face in his hands, wiping her wet cheeks with his thumbs.

"You couldn't have told me that straight?"

"How could I tell you that I like you, we are friends!"

She said, breaking down into another wave of tears. Seeing his smile made her feel even worse.

"Do you find it so funny? I knew it, I knew perfectly well that it would be like this!"

Y/N wanted to break away from him, but he held her tightly. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, wanting her to finally calm down.

It worked magically, because the girl froze when she felt his lips on her. He pulled away from her after a moment and stroked her face with his thumbs.

"I like you too, crazy."

"Really?"

"Of course I do. Except I guess we had the exact same fears about revealing our feelings."

"But you said you were dating someone."

Y/N looked at him confused.

"I wanted to spite you. I was a little stung when you said you liked someone."

"I only asked because I wanted to know directly what you would be happy about. I wanted to give you a nice gift from which you could conclude that I like you."

Charles laughed and pulled her to him, hugging her tightly.

The girl squeezed her eyes shut and hugged him, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry, it was totally stupid"

"For Christmas we should buy each other textbooks for successful communication"

Charles laughed, rubbing her back.

"Doesn't change the fact that you're probably busy today."

Y/N replied, pulling away from him and wiping the remaining tears from her face.

"Say hello to your family from me and wish them a Merry Christmas"

"You will be able to do it yourself. I invite you to join us"

He replied, handing her the last bauble from the box.

The girl looked at him uncertainly.

"I can't, Charles. I can't come empty-handed."

"I think your presence will be the best gift for everyone."

Y/N still wasn't convinced. However, he smiled reassuringly.

"Trust me"

She nodded and took the bauble from him, hanging it on the tree.

He hugged her and kissed her hair.

"Don't feel bad, from all this confusion I didn't manage to prepare any gift either. I didn't want to be a rival for your love interest."

He said and laughed quietly.

Y/N huffed and snuggled into him again.

Standing in each other's arms, they both couldn't believe that after such turmoil they finally managed to talk about their feelings. In an extremely twisted way, fortunately with a positive result. For both of them it was definitely the best gift in the world and the upcoming Christmas Eve evening looked really promising too.

[lolitaa-17]

Meaningless?

Toji x reader drabble angst lol.

"Well what are we?"

That question, how Toji hated it. He was never the type to do labels, ever since his ex wife had passed.

"How many times did I tell you to stop asking me that dumbass question y/n?"

He got up from the bed leaving you there alone.

"Well it would be nice to know? You act like you love-"

"Get out." He huffed while putting his clothes back on. He hated that too. He hated that word. Love. He felt as if he wasn't capable of loving ever since his ex wife had died.

You couldn't stop the tears from falling, it had been a very emotional week and this was definitely one way to end it.

"Well then stop fucking calling my phone!" You slapped his chest before walking out of his room.

You walked pass his son who was around 12, he definitely knew the troubled situation you had been put in with his dad.

"Y/n..." you stopped your tracks as you heard Megumi mutter your name. You wiped your tears quickly and put up a smile.

"Hmm?" you asked him keeping an eye out to see if his dad had been coming.

"I'm sorry, for my dad he's still-" He tries to apologize for his dad.

"You don't need to apologize for him, I still like you don't worry" you mess his hair up.

"What about my dad? Do you still love him? I don't want you to leave."

Oh how this had made the situation worse, you loved children. Seeing Megumi going through this at such a young age broke your heart even more.

"I don't know, but I really have to leave-"

"Please don't y/n, it gets lonely here." you could see the tears threatening to fall from the young boys eyes.

You kneeled down to his level and gave him a big hug while crying even harder. "I'm sorry." you whispered in his ear before getting back up to leave.

-

Toji pov

He noticed how your footsteps abruptly stopped, And how the front door hadn't open yet.

Megumi had probably stopped you. So he quietly walked out to see what you two had possibly been whispering about.

"What about my dad? Do you still love him? I don't want you to leave."

Those words ached his heart, but it hurt even more listening to your response.

"I don't know."

Seeing the moment you two had shared lit something up within Toji, he never was home. Always busy with work, but you were more than happy to watch Megumi whenever Toji asked. He didn't realize how much of an impact you were to Megumi.

Seeing the vacant look on his sons face once you walked out, it had changed something in Megumi. When he turned to look at his father. It was a cold expressionless look on his face.

No words were exchanged but he could tell that Megumi was the least of happy right now.

-

"Eat your food Megumi, how many days has it been since you've actually eaten." Toji placed the plate of food in front of his face.

"I don't need a Nanny. I'm old enough to watch myself after school you know that right." Megumi muttered while playing with his food.

"Well what's with the sudden switch up? When y/n-"

"Y/n wasn't a nanny." Megumi cut him off.

Toji furrowed his brows, this attitude that was suddenly being brought out of Megumi.

"She actually cared about me, about us." And with that Megumi got up and left the full plate and walked over to his room where he had always been locking himself up ever since you left.

-

Your pov

You cried, drank and slept late.

That was your schedule after work, everyday the same thing. Toji made you feel so loved, yet he claimed he doesn't feel anything towards you.

It was your final straw with him, you had blocked his number and all of his socials. Maybe it was childish, but he's made you feel like this one too many times.

-

Tojis pov

He hated to admit that he had to move on from his diseased wife, and making you feel that way because of his feeling wasn't right. He loved you. He would do anything. He just can't, it feels wrong to betray his ex wife.

But even Megumi, his own son. He was ready to move on. Megumi loves you just as much as Toji loves you.

*knock*

He enters his sons room. He heard the small sniffles coming from Megumi. It shattered Toji's heart. "What's wrong Megumi, talk to me please."

"Leave me alone." Megumi scoffed.

"Megumi just tell me please." Toji sighed sitting on Megumi's bed.

"She made me feel how Mama made me feel, and you just push her away when all she was doing was treating us like real family." Megumi kept his gaze away from Toji.

He clenched his jaw. Stopping himself from wanting to cry. All he could do is get up and leave Megumi's room into his own.

He dialed and dialed but straight to voicemail. He couldn't help but slam his phone against the floor leaving it shattered. The tears slowly start fall.

He took advantage, you would always tell him you were done with his bullshit but you never actually really wanted to leave him. Excpet this time, blocking him on everything you possibly had.

Toji wasn't one to give up though. He grabbed his car keys and made his way out the door.

-

Your pov

It was thunder storming. You had the windows open, the small yellow tinted lights on, and a big glass of wine in hand.

You knew this cycle of drinking had to stop soon, it wasn't healthy nor cheap. But it was a way to escape from that feeling that lingers onto you every time you leave Toji's house crying.

A loud knock echoed your apartment.

You open your door to see Toji soaked in water and gasping for air. His face was written in such a saddened look. You weren't really used to it.

"What are you doing here?" You slurred your words as you put the wine bottle down on a counter next to you.

"Are you drunk?" Toji asked.

"Toji...what are you doing here."

"You're coming with me." He grabbed your wrist.

"You are not taking me anywhere, because whatever was going on with us is over. So goodbye Toji."

"No it's not y/n...Because i fucking need you." Toji's voice cracked as his tears were threatening to fall again seeing the type of state he left you in.

"We need you, Megumi needs you more than anything."

"And I want you to stay there, with me and Megumi for the rest of our lives. Because I love you and I want you to be the one to care for us and love us."

"Toji I-"

"Fuck y/n...I'll even put a fucking ring onto your finger and marry you!" He cries out leaning in to embrace you.

-

"Y/n!" Megumi jumps onto you and his dad when he saw you in the room. It was the morning after Toji's confession. You went with him hoping things he said were actually meaningful.

"I missed you so much." he hugged you tightly.

"I missed you wayyy more." You laugh and hug him even tighter.

"Wait here!" Megumi ran out the room shutting the door leaving you and Toji alone again.

"I'm sorry...for everything I put you through." Toji hugged you tightly and kissed your head.

"I love you...fiance." He whispers the last part.

"I love you too." He kisses you more passionately and meaningfully than usual.

"Here is breakfast in bed!" Megumi brings in a big bowl of cereal and a cup of orange juice.

"Only for y/n though because you don't really deserve one yet dad." He places the bowl of cereal next to you and lays down Between you and Toji.

You laughed at his savage side comment, while Toji scoffed.

"I love you though, both of you." Megumi murmured.

[the-radio-demon-blog]

Hello hello, its me again! *gives a small grin*

Thank you for sharing a bit of insight into your childhood pastimes with me. It was really intriguing!

I used to enjoy tag as well, though I am not very good at card games, minus go fish and possibly old maid. I can play uno though. I don't think I have the best poker face myself. Surprisingly enough, though, I am exceptional at liar's dice. It's a social game of deception and strategy were people make bids and call bluffs on other players while attempting to avoid losing their own dice, so to speak. Its quite fun, I recommend it!

However, math isn't a strong suit of mine, nor is figuring out the probability of things; but some how I have a weird sort of luck with that game in particular. I believe I even made an acquaintance of mine nearly loose his mind in trying to figure out how I was able to guess correctly almost every single time without an ounce of thought put into my strategy haha.

*clears throat and shuffles in place, holding both hands behind her. It's obvious she's holding something*

In any case, that's not the only reason I'm back. I wanted to give you a surprise. You seem the type to appreciate those, I'm assuming.

*glances over into the lobby at all of the flower arrangements present gifted from previous guests*

But I think I'm a little late to the party with the surprise I have for you, haha. Well, great minds think alike I suppose. Anyways, the suspense is probably killing you, so here you go!

*Presents a bouquet of magnolias and violet Louisiana Irises in a sizable vase with a soft, shy smile*

Everyone deserves to at least get a bouquet of their favorite flowers every now and then. Its a token of my respect for you, my appreciation for your time and just to say I'm a fan of your work and radio show.

Also, if you guys need any help around the hotel, I don't mind volunteering! Though I'm not the best at fighting for security purposes, I am quite good at listening if someone needs to express troubling emotions and the like. I am also somewhat of an artist and can help make pamphlets and such for the classes and activities the Princess is providing, if you think that would be beneficial to anyone...

*Sheepishly laughs*

Though, I suppose you would need to discuss such an arrangement with the princess first. In any case, if you think my assistance would be necessary or profitable, I am willing to lend a helping hand wherever it is needed.

"Ah, of course, my dear! I am happy that you found my childhood pastimes intriguing!"

"Hmm...that's quite a curious skill? Terrible at poker yet good at liar's dice? How fascinating! Ah, yes, I have played old maid in my time at the bars. You should truly take up card playing, my dear! It is quite fun!"

"Well, fate and luck works in mysterious ways, darling! That's what keeps life fun, hm? I must also admit my strategies can be erratic. I like to be unpredictable. Once you fall into a pattern, your opponents can exploit it."

Alastor gives you a curious look and tries to discreetly peer behind you.

"Oh my goodness! Thank you, dear!" Alastor takes the flowers eagerly into his hands and sniffs their wonderous scent. He lets out a good humored laugh. "I never thought I'd ever get to smell them again! Hah! As strange as that sounds! It is always nice to meet a fan of my work!"

"Yes, of course I would have to discuss such things with the princess." Alastor tilts his head and grins at her. "That's quite alright that you aren't exactly prowess, not everyone is built to be. However..." Alastor taps his chin. "...the Princess has been organizing this...hmm...this odd "therapy" activity. Perhaps you could help her with that?"

Alastsor sets the vase on the coffee table, taking good care to arrange them in a pleasing position. Then he turns back to her and offers her an arm. "If you would follow me, I can take you to the princess herself if you'd like!"

[loquarocoeur]

Thank you for tagging me @kichona-s <33

Who is your favourite driver?

Considering my digital footprint and the state of my F1 pinterest board which is nothing but his face, I probably have to admit that I'm basic and it is in fact my cunty little bitch Max Verstappen

Do you have other favourite drivers?

I'd say Charles and Oscar are tied for second favourite, then it's Lando and I quite liked Logan. There's also just something about K Mag and his warcrimes ngl and I'd say Zhou, but actually I think I just like sweetcorn and his sauber tiktoks

Who is your least favourite driver?

I wouldn't say I hate any of the drivers

Do you pull for drivers or do you like teams as well?

Just drivers, teams are just so capitalist megacorporation-esque that I feel the socio-economic rift widening just thinking about them and the principals all seem sketchy

Also, I'm already embarrassed enough to be obsessed with these young men with too much money in a sorely lacking women, most of which aren't even seasoned, they're so white they're see through.

If you like teams what teams do you pull for?

I'm going to avert my gaze now

How long have you been into F1?

I got into it with the first race this year (2024) in January I think

What got you into F1?

My friend would not shut up about the fast cars, so then I thought, alright let me try it. And of course I can't get into anything there isn't fanfic for so I just looked up the most popular ship, discovered lestappen, and sorted by kudos, started with top max, had a fic idea, thinking I'd just write one, because it's funny, and then continue to lurk, as is my standard practice...

So I wrote one top max fic, thought it was neat, had another idea (En Francais), was totally also going to do top max, but then it was just not working

So it turned into bottom Max...

And then I wrote another bottom Max...

And then another one and another one and another one and now I might need psychiatric help

Do you enjoy fic/rpf?

It would be a bit weird if I didn't. But actually I haven't been reading much recently, just writing

How do you view new fans?

I'm still a baby fan myself, but nobody should ever make fun of or be rude to someone who's new to something I think, why would you want to discourage people from joining the community? It makes no sense and you never know if they could have written the next classic fic for the fandom or been an otherwise amazing creator

If you could take over as team principal for any team, who would it be and why?

Ferrari, because with this season even I could do better than whatever they're doing. I think they also just need the common sense of a woman sometimes, I think it could do wonders

Are your friends and family into F1?

My family no, I have three (and sort of a half) irl friends into F1. No, they are not on tumblr, and if they ever found me here I would die

Are you open to talking to other fans/making friends?

I suppose I am, but I'm still new to tumblr culture, I'm still figuring out all the social rules and things, so idk what's going on here, and I'm also very picky and choosy with friends/mutuals, I quite like having just my two or three of them

I don't have anyone to tag unless you want to have a go @zettychez , but you seem more of a lurker. I don't have anyone else because I have the social skills of a pebble

[pekkhum]

Are you trans yourself or is it just your daughter? :0

And in any case, how is her transition going so far?

Sending much love <3

I think this will be more fun to answer via story time and the long mode answer:

Around the time of my 37th birthday I started seeing a couple incredibly hilarious and relatable memes about being trans go by on my feed. They were just so great that I found myself seeking out more and learning to understand trans folk more and more. I kept wanting to comment and holding myself back, because, of course I'm not trans, I just feel all the things trans women feel all the time and have struggled with those feelings since I was very, very young. Still cis, though.

There was eventually a day when the dam broke and I admitted online that I am trans, but it was three days later, while reading about internalized transphobia, that it all hit home. I had myself a nice little fit about how I didn't want to be trans, not because it is bad, but because the world makes life suck for trans people. (Actually, 6 months before, in the most egg moment ever, I told a woman that I had been thinking about how hard life as a transgender lesbian would be and that it would be much easier to be a straight guy. I was wrong for reasons most trans folk can guess.)

That day, I sat my child down to explain that I've realized that I am very much trans, that I have resources she can read to understand what that all means, and that I would let her other parent know, so she had someone else to talk to if she wanted. (Thankfully, we are peacefully divorced, so that wasn't an issue.)

I later found out that my child had devoured those resources, stolen one of my skirts my work-mom gave me (she's so supportive) and tried on names, pronouns, and skirts. It was a month later that she greeted me in the morning in a skirt and informed me that she was certain her feelings weren't something else and I discovered that I have a daughter! 😊

I was in the process of trying to get HRT and my insurance changed, then my health network intentionally and willfully screwed me over and yanked my chain, because they didn't want to provide a referral (it turned out to be owned by the Catholic church, here in America), but didn't want to admit their bigotry. I was forced to change health networks and get a new primary and wait months for a new appointment for a referral and my daughter's needs were similarly delayed, but she was even further behind! I had just gotten HRT when I was laid off and left with no insurance. This means I'm on an incorrect dose and my daughter hasn't gotten hers.

To make matters worse, our ADHD has made sitting down for voice training or learning makeup (it is so overwhelming!) difficult for us and we've not found others willing and able to help with the latter. My daughter has gotten a lot of nice clothing from her mama (I'm mom, the ex is mama 🤷‍♀️), and she just looks so cute, but she hasn't felt brave enough to present at school or anything. I'm hoping a GSA in college will help, but I'm making sure not to push her. She's still figuring out her personal vibe, but it seems to lean toward her mama's style, instead of my tastes, with just a few exceptions. Whatever she goes with, I'm proud beyond belief!

I joined a writer's group and only ever introduced myself under my unmistakably femme chosen name and everyone was cool with my very unfemme appearing dysphoria hoodie wearing self. I am grateful beyond belief. The dose may be too low, but the HRT has been very much working. Unfortunately, even freshly shaved with a straight razor, my beard is forever visible (I'm told a little blush or color corrector can hide that, but keep looking horrible when I try), but thanks to HRT, I at least saw a woman with a beard shadow, when last I walked into the bathroom. (Also, I fill out my sundress more, now!)

With family and friends, we are fully socially transitioned, though, and I am grateful, every day, for those we've been able to keep. It wasn't all, but it seems I'd already cut the problems, in advance. Also, we can both wear whatever around the house, so we dress for ourselves, at least.

We dressed up extra for our first Pride parade, though! I won't have a ton of opportunities to wear that rainbow skirt, but I love it greatly!

We are early in transition, with lots of problems yet to solve, but we are so much happier, so far. I'm finally alive and she finally cares about who she will be! We're also so much closer now and have opened up a lot more to each other. I adore my daughter and I'm so glad to be her mom! 💖🥲

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.183 Clarity

Desi reminds me so much of Less when she was a little girl. She was so full of energy and ran literally everywhere she went. I don't think she started walking until we got to high school. She always found something to get into, and Desi is the same way. She loves playing with the dogs, and they love it too, especially Rosie who constantly needs to play. Sometimes I think they might get tired of the tiny sim who is always imitating them and trying to speak to them in their language, but they sit there and let her do it, and it's so adorable.

Just as Desi is growing, me and Sophia are too, because this parenting journey does not follow a straight line. Its path is ever winding. Sometimes, it cuts across deep rivers, and I feel like I'm drowning. Most of the time, it stretches across little mountain ranges. I climb one mountain, get to the top, and celebrate my victory, only to look across and see the road scaling up an even bigger mountain. As soon as we learn to handle one situation, a new one crops up and we're back at the beginning. I keep telling Sophia, we're not bad parents; we're just learning. She still has these weird moments of insecurity, and I know it stems from her childhood. Despite how they treated her, Sophia's parents weren't necessarily bad. They never mistreated her and showed love in their own misguided way. When she was pregnant, we talked about how we would raise Desi. My childhood was better than hers, but it still left scars on me. In the end, we decided the best way to raise her is to be the parent we wanted. That's why I spend so much time with her. I want her to know I'm here and she is safe.

I don't think I've ever admitted this before, but I didn't always feel safe when we lived with Dad. My parents' separation and divorce was a very emotionally draining time on its own. Add to that Dad being too tired and depressed to do anything with us when he got home from work, and that made for a very anxious Luca. We didn't get the support we needed from him. That was the real reason I pushed so hard to live with Mama. She always made everything better when we lived with her on the weekends, so we moved back home. But then she drops this bomb on us that sent me back into a whirlwind of uncertainty. She destroyed my sanctuary, and it took nearly the rest of my life to find peace and stability. I want Desiree to know of nothing else.

Sophia's wish for her was similar, but she's so hesitant to execute sometimes because she's so inside her head, wondering if she's doing enough, if it's right, and how Desi perceives her. Analysis paralysis, they call it. I try to encourage her as much as I can, but I know this is something she needs to figure out on her own, so I mostly leave her alone. When I see her figuring things out, I want to celebrate it and say a more supportive and happy version of "I told you so," but if I call attention to it, that will make her self-conscious, so I just smile.

Desi is such an affectionate child. She's constantly reaching her little arms up at Sophia, asking for a hug, and I love that for them. I know it makes Sophia feel good and dispels all the negative self-talk she has going on in her head. At least that's how I keep myself from getting jealous, anyway. Sophia gets the hugs, and I get air kisses. Receiving the love you've given is such a rewarding experience.

Last week, when Sophia pointed out I needed to do a better job of prioritizing our marriage, I felt like I hit a wall. I spend all this time with Desi, feeding her, teaching her, soothing her, and all the things I'm supposed to do as a good father, and it still turns out bad. The answer to that situation is balance, of course, and in the grand scheme of things, that was a small mountain. I'm getting better at it, but I'm still working out the kinks.

What makes it tricky is the fact that Desiree is very social and the only child. Real talk? She needs a sibling. That is the cold, hard facts. But Sophia and I already had that conversation, so as much as I'd like to help her with that, it's not happening. For the moment, we are both her parents and her friends. I try to encourage her to play on her own because it's good for her development and imagination—and great opportunities for the adults to talk—but like I said, she's social. She loves hanging out with us, and I do too, but I'm beginning to see now how it's not necessarily the best thing for her. Not only does she want to be around us, but also she wants to dominate the conversation. She'll interrupt an ongoing conversation but get mad that we're not paying attention to her. Sometimes she yells "I'm talking" as if we're the ones interrupting her.

I tell her we're talking and it isn't nice to interrupt, but I totally get where she's coming from. It's in her nature to socialize, but doesn't have anyone her own age to talk to. That's why I REALLY need to get on this house search so she can be closer to her cousins. I'd love for her and Tami to be friends, but she's about to have her birthday. Enrolling Desi in pre-school would also help, but I don't think I'm ready to be away from my child for that long just yet. For now, I just need to get this family closer.

[pestorik]

can you please expand on deuce/riddle ??? im rlly curious abt them tgt in your AU,,,,

(if you have the time i would also love to read abt azurid & mallerid :D ! no pressure though! im mostly interested in deurid ^^)

the riddle ship trifecta...

i enjoy them bc i think riddle really needs a calm presence in his life that makes him feel like he can act in ways he never had the freedom to do before, without feeling judged or made fun of. whether that is acting childish and silly or just expressing emotion freely. he's obviously really sensitive to being teased so he needs someone who is ok with that and just finds joy in his joy.

i relate to this a lot bc i myself am a very sensitive person, and get emotional really easy but im also very cynical and dry, so i think ppl see that contrast and find it funny. which is fine, but i get hurt or annoyed really easily by teasing bc i think what i really want is for someone to see how easily i get emotional (like crying at almost every movie i watch) and rather than seeing it as smth weird and funny, they recognize my empathy as something good. i want someone to see the value and worth in my emotions, no matter how trivial they seem.

and i think riddle needs that too. deuce isnt super smart but i think he's really earnest and riddle would appreciate that about him. he shows a lot of self awareness in recognizing how his past actions hurt his mom, and realizing he needs to be proactive if he wants to be a better person. very few ppl are willing to admit when they are the problem. he's just a very soft guy, but like, passionately soft. he wants so bad to be good. and i think he would want so badly for riddle to be happy, it would become really important to him just like his mom's happiness.

malleus is super honest about his intentions, which i think riddle needs bc his lack of social skills leave him anxious. he probably would get too frustrated having to play games and guess feelings. malleus just has a super calming presence and riddle needs that so bad. i think they are both pretty awkward bc of their upbringing so maybe they could find comfort in each other, knowing there's no judgement.

azul is none of these things lol 😂 i do NOT think these 2 would be a perfect healthy couple but i enjoy their dynamic. riddle is sensitive ofc but hes also super smart which is why i like the thought of them together. the two top students, not really in a competitive way, more like they recognize each other's weaknesses but also highly respect each other. to the point that they wouldnt ever make a move against the other. i could see them having a more loving relationship but in my mind they are more like a power couple lmao. like two powerhouses joining forces. i do think seeing riddle trying to overcome his own trauma and be a nicer person could inspire azul to do smth similar, realizing that if he likes and respects riddle, there must be some value in kindness without reward.

none of these would be canon in the AT au unfortunately, at least not in my mind (you can do whatever you like with it tho, it also doesnt mean i wont still talk/draw about it). there would definitely still be interactions among them with plenty of room for interpretation. obviously the most between deuce and riddle bc they are both HL.

i could see an episode where riddle recruits deuce to help him repair one of the elephant guardians (since deuce is good at repairing stuff) and they become closer. bc deuce used to get up to a lot of trouble he also has a lot knowledge of some of the rougher parts of the kingdom (im referring to deuces former crew as the spoiled fruit gang) and probably accompanies riddle when he needs to go there. riddle might sometimes go to deuce for advice on his relationship w his mother, since deuce is close w his mom. it would be cute if deuces mom came to really adore riddle and gave him a lot of the experiences he didnt get w his own mother.

[ominous-feychild]

✦ OC Most Likely Tag ✦

Thanks for the tag, @the-golden-comet!

Rules: Answer with which of your OCs would be the most likely to do the statement, then give new statements for the next person.

Because I love to suffer/torture myself by making obscenely long posts, I'm doing more than just three questions! 😎

Questions from the-golden-comet! - Most likely to burn something while cooking - Most likely to stop a robbery if they see it taking place - Most likely to not tell people they’re sick until they really need the help Stealing from their post, from @paeliae-occasionally! - Most likely to arrive ridiculously early - Most likely to be in a relationship for less than a week - Most likely to secretly be really good at music, but just not tell anyone

Most likely to burn something while cooking?

Crow from Sun and Shadow.

They're straight-up not allowed to cook because of how forgetful they are. There's been a number of times where they'll start something, walk away to get something else, and completely forget that they were in the middle of cooking--leaving the food to burn and/or catch fire.

They're actually capable of cooking and make good food when they're successful, but are much more likely to get distracted and forget what they're doing if it's anything that takes longer than 5 minutes. The only time they'll cook is when they have someone else to keep them accountable.

Or when they're preparing food in secret...

Most likely to stop a robbery if they see it taking place?

A hidden character of the Arcane Rifts, only appearing starting book 3 and becoming a main character starting book 4! His name is Dimitry, haha. (I was not kidding when I've said I have a ton of this series planned out even though I'm still super early in it--)

Dimitry is the biggest goody-two-shoes that ever goody-two-shoed. Also, he grew up in a crime-ridden town, became a police officer, and even rose to becoming police chief until he had to drop from the position to become a healer (magic) instead. So, long story short? Mans hates criminals. (Oh, buddy, you're in the wrong series...)

Otherwise, since y'all don't know of Dimitry and I likely won't be mentioning him much, I'd also like to mention Daleira from Sun and Shadow!

Daleira has mild reality warping powers as a faerie, and not only could she immediately fix the situation with less than a snap of her magical fingers, but she would! Unlike Dimitry, she's aware of the nuance in social structure and how sometimes people are forced into crime, but she's powerful enough that she can question the thief and release them if she thinks they shouldn't be held accountable!

Most likely to not tell people they’re sick until they really need the help?

This is a hard one since I have so many characters like this. 😎😭

I'm going to give this one as a tie between Gene from the Arcane Rifts and Crow from SaS! (They show up again!!! Crow simps be having a field day)

Gene has been deeply traumatized and conditioned to not expect help from anyone else at a young age--and it was so successful that he still refuses to until deep into the book series. He hates opening up, admitting "weakness", and appearing vulnerable, so he just... doesn't. Or, at least, he tries his best not to. Unfortunately, he's not very emotive and had the whole "learned to hide his emotions from his abuser" thing, so he's very successful at masking it when he has problems.

Crow isn't too dissimilar from Gene in this regard! Despite their extremely cheerful demeanor, they're deeply traumatized from things that happened to them as a child (they allude to the fact that their detective father has a lot of criminal enemies--) and don't like people seeing their vulnerabilities, either. Being sick means being weaker, and that means you can't do your job as efficiently. Yeah, Crow doesn't admit to being sick, either.

Most likely to arrive ridiculously early?

Why so many ties??? 😭😭😭

This honor goes to Gene, Quinn the Seer, and the handful of characters who'd purposely show up obscenely early to a meeting spot to make sure there were no traps and survey the area for opportunities for an ambush etc (like Kieran Caron).

Gene shows up super early out of fear of missing a meeting, to be one of those "survey for traps and ambush" characters, and to give himself an opportunity to plan out how he wants to approach the meeting--including possibly ambushing the other person or talking them into a mental breakdown to make them more likely to do what he wants.

Quinn the Seer (son and avatar of the Existence of Fate) would show up, like, 100 years before the meeting on accident, forgetting where he is in the timeline and "showing up for class at high school as an adult" Seer Edition.

Most likely to be in a relationship for less than a week

Oh, boy. Finally getting to address the other MC of the Arcane Rifts.

TAZIN!!! there's a reason he got these songs picked out for him in the "what songs fit these characters?" tag...

Dude's an absolute wreck, has attachment issues, and would both sleep around and randomly "date" people for extremely brief periods of time before "breaking up" with them and running off...

(Y'know, when he's older. Not Early Series, babi Tazin.)

Most likely to secretly be really good at music, but just not tell anyone

Actually, this is halfway canon for Tazin?

He loves singing (and 100% would've tried making a band in middle/high school if he lived in our world), but doesn't share that fact with people. Understandably feels vulnerable about it, though it's in good part because he started off the "hobby" by singing his mom's lullabies and stories. The only characters who know this are Gene (who was supportive of it and actually got to hear him sing a good bit) and Alyona, his (actually) long-term girlfriend of book 2.

I've said this before, but so many of Tazin's problems would've been solved (or at least dramatically lessened) if he just got a guitar and found out about the rock genre.

And I'll say it again--

This was fun! I actually really liked these questions, so I'm going to:

Your questions: - pick 3 of your favorites from the ones I just answered, and answer them yourself!

Tagging (with no pressure!): @honeybewrites @the-letterbox-archives @yourpenpaldee @darkandstormydolls @illarian-rambling

@wyked-ao3 @ath3alin @mysticstarlightduck @huewrite + open tags!

Divider from @cafekitsune

[thestraggletag]

Gluttony, a RSS Fic

Surprise, @tickletorso, it is I, your Secret Santa! Here to wish you some early tidings of joy and bring a little smut to this festive season. I hope things there are ok (I read that the weather is awful right now, so I hope you're coping!) and that you're getting the finishing touches there for the holidays. Here is my present, which wrote itself so I absolve myself of any guilt regarding it. It just came out like that. Hope you enjoy, though!

Summary: Mr Gold had always fancied the idea of running into Belle French, the posh new town librarian, at an elegant party, wearing a designer dress and sitting next to him to share a fancy meal. The reality was, he had to admit, not quite how he had pictured it.

Ever since Regina Mills had won her first election as mayor of Storybrooke she had always had at least one scheme in the works. Her first success had been bringing back the Miner’s Day Festival, an inconsequential local celebration that, he had to admit, had turned out to be good to attract some nearby tourism. A few years later she had followed her initial hit with an expansion of the local hospital, a very popular idea by any measure, and later with the reopening of the local library. That last little bit had been good to boost real estate prices, so he had actually supported her actively. And just last year she had overseen the construction of a new playground, just in time for her adopted toddler son, a lovely little chap by all accounts, unlike his adopted mother, to enjoy it.

Sadly for the library, and the librarian, Regina’s love-affair with the public building had lasted about as long as it had taken her to understand what a drag keeping it open was to her carefully-curated budget. Royce Gold wasn’t really surprised about it. Regina tended to be, sadly, a bit short-sighted when it came to her ambitious pursuits, and dismissive of what no longer appealed to her.

Her latest scheme- some expensive vanity redecoration project aimed at “elevating” the town from solid middle-class to upper-middle-class or, even better, upper-class- had recently gone over budget, and Regina had not managed to bully the town council- bully him, mostly- to let her have use of discretionary funds. Instead, she had managed to divert funds allocated to fixing the library’s leaky roof to compensate for what money she was missing. 

Royce didn’t care much about that latest obsession of hers. Motherhood had made her ruthless in the pursuit of the sort of perfection that was finally good enough for her wee bairn. Nevermind that Henry looked like a happy, healthy, well-adapted little chap who wasn’t lacking anything that a posher town could potentially offer. Regina, however, was blind to such things and had made the betterment of Storybrooke’s social class her newest quest. She had tried to approach him as an ally first, convinced that he would see the benefits of her way of thinking. She was wrong, of course. He didn’t see the appeal in turning the town into some cookie cutter suburban monstrosity. He rather liked Storybrooke the way it was. He had selected it specifically because of its inconsequential small-town charm, and saw no need to change that. He didn’t mind having to go out of town when he fancied something less mundane or to order from outside whatever extravagant tastes might strike his fancy. Storybrooke was sleepy and quiet, and though there was definitely room for improvement, he didn’t want to change the essence of it. Small, charming and sometimes even a bit unsavoury. 

Places like The Rabbit Hole made him nostalgic for the run-down pubs he used to frequent back in Glasgow, when he was an uneducated street urchin with more ambition than sense. Regina didn’t see that in him, or chose to ignore it, thinking that whatever barbarism remained in him from his rough upbringing was a flaw he would be eager to cleanse or conceal, eager to welcome more people of “his class” in town to cover whatever filth still clung to him.

She was wrong, of course. Royce Gold wasn’t a man to lie to himself. He saw no point in it, no gain. He knew who he was, what he was. A bastard son of no one from the dodgy part of an already dodgy city. No polishing or education, both of which he had strived to get, would ever erase that, nor did he want it gone. He had grappled with the notion for years as he pulled himself out of misery one deal at a time, but he had learned to embrace it in the end. He could pretend, put on Armani and Brioni and enjoy a good bottle of Scotch, turning his head at the swill he had once upon a time guzzled down gladly, but inside he was still that small child who had grown up on the streets, grifting and fighting for whatever he wanted to own and keep. And he liked it. He liked the edge it gave him. How desperation and need had sharpened him, like a dagger. 

The mayor was blind to it, but he knew well that a bit of savagery still clung to him, coiling beneath his expensive suits. He had just learned to channel it into deal-making and, perhaps, the very occasional bout of violence. Just a little beating here and there to relieve the stress, and only ever with good reason. Like that time he had rendered Keith Nott unconscious after he had found him accosting the librarian.

His thoughts turned towards her. Isabelle French. Belle French. Belle. Not a small town girl by any means, and yet, against all odds, she fit in perfectly. She was a strange gust of fresh air, ruffling the stale stillness of the town with her quirkiness and her cultured background. He knew a posh lass when he saw one and Belle French was definitely posh. A lavish wee bird, the kind that he had never been allowed near when he was young. Private-school educated, with a fancy degree from Cambridge and a rather expensive wardrobe. The kind that only people who knew quality could appreciate, no flashy branding or ostentatious touches. But he had an eye for beauty and quality, and could easily tell her clothing was too rich for most people’s blood. Her shoes alone were decadent, and her good taste he knew was acquired from a lifetime of being around the finer things in life. She had been to his shop and correctly identified several of the most valuable antiques, which would not have appeared so to the untrained eye. 

And yet. And yet she had no trouble drinking with the miners, whose rough manners and bawdy jokes she took in stride and who she could, apparently, drink under the table. She had no trouble striking a friendship with Miss Lucas, whose outrageous fashion sense and reputation sometimes scared people away, or with Gus Souris, the shy mechanic who had a rather unearned reputation for aggression after Sidney Glass, who ran the local gossip rag on the side when he was not trying to look respectable as the editor of the Storybrooke Mirror, had blown a minor bar fight- where Mr Mius had been the victim- out of proportion in order to embellish a story. She also seemed intent on participating in all the trite small town affairs Storybrooke had to offer. She had carved a space for herself, in spite of her quirkiness, out of sheer force of will. 

He had tried to tell himself at first that all he felt for her was admiration. For how she refused to cow to Regina, or pretended she didn’t understand Mother Superior’s unsubtle jibes at her reputation for wearing short skirts or hanging around undesirable people. Then he told himself that he was a man with eyes and as such he could recognise that Belle French was, objectively speaking, an attractive woman. In the way he liked the most, disarmingly wee, with reddish-brown hair and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. With a sort of effortless elegance that could not be feigned, or copied. She was gorgeous, and he had no problem admitting that. The sort of lass too good for the likes of him.

But at some point he had to come to the painful realisation it wasn’t just her looks. Belle French, if possible, was more beautiful on the inside than she was on the outside. Genuinely kind, volunteering at the animal shelter and lending her ear to whoever had a problem and her hand to anyone who needed help. And intelligent too, not just a bleeding heart with good intentions. With a unfeigned thirst for knowledge and almost obsessive when it came to books and all the wonders that they entailed. He had been smitten by their third conversation, and in love by their fifth. He had gotten a library card only so he could check out books in order to see her, though he had to admit that her book recommendations, along with the improvements she had made to the selection of books in the library, caught his attention as well. 

Being in love with Belle French soon became the new normal for him and he told himself nothing needed to come out of it. Through some bizarre miracle the librarian seemed to consider him a friend and did not object to his sporadic visits to the library, often engaging him in conversation and keeping him for longer than he had planned to stay. And she visited him at his shop too, not necessarily to buy something but to inspect any new treasures he might have acquired. And, like the fool he was, he obliged her every time. It was nice, he told himself. And harmless. As long as he didn’t get any silly ideas about where their relationship stood and did not push things further than what was appropriate it would be fine.

He had so internalised his feelings that he barely felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach when he entered the library and saw Miss French shelving books, wearing a lovely Valentino dress in dark blue wool tweed, with flesh-coloured tights and a cardigan to ward off the chill, a wine-red hairband keeping her faintly-bronze curls off her face. Perfection, as always, and he could let himself admire it because he was in control of himself and his emotions.

He was. As long as he did her best to not look at her sleek Santoni ankle-length boots, of course. He knew his limits, after all, and his weaknesses. His disproportionate fondness for her shoes was the biggest chink in his armour. 

Like always her eyes lit up when she saw him, a delightful smile spreading across her lips. She smelt like vanilla and bergamot, with a subtle aftertaste of jasmine, a perfect winter scent. He hoped that he was not smiling as hard as he felt he was.

“Mr Gold, how nice to see you! It’s been a while since you’ve ventured into my library. How are you?”

He liked how she called it her library, like that little possessive flair in her.

“I was about to ask you the same. I heard about Regina’s latest stunt and thought I would inquire as to how bad things are.” Anyone else would have likely accused him of behaving like a shark smelling blood in the water. But not Belle French.

“It’s kind of you to ask. I wish I could say the roof could keep for a couple of months till the next budgetary meeting, but it won’t last the winter. Marco confirmed it yesterday. I’ll have to get the cash quickly, somehow. I have a bit of a supplementary income”- he had always suspected so, given her clothes and shoes “but it’s nowhere near enough for something like this. And I have savings, but I’d hate to dip into them. My mamam always stressed the importance of having savings.”

Ah, yes, Colette French, who apparently had been, in fact, French. She had told him early on that she had passed when she was still young, and small stories about her. A lovely woman and a devoted mother, apparently. He rather envied her that.

“I-I might have an alternative for you, then. An offer.” He paused, wanting to get things right. Wanting to get his offer right. “I could, perhaps, be persuaded to lend you the money, at a reduced interest rate, something negligible. After all-” He paused, feeling like he was coming across as too eager- “The library is good for the town’s real estate. Keeping it open works in my best interest. It’s just good business, you see.” Yes, that was good. Sounded convincing and appropriately self-serving.

“That’s a lovely offer, but I’m not looking to make a deal.” Belle smiled up at him, with not one ounce of distrust or fear, which took a bit of the sting out of her rejection. “I’m picking up a temporary job that pays really well, so I’ll just have to dip into my savings a tiny bit, I’ll make it up in no time after the holidays.”

He flexed his fingers around the handle of his cane, feeling a sudden and acute rage towards Regina. The library had been her project, and as the mayor it was her responsibility to make sure the town’s buildings were properly maintained. And yet she got to swan around in pursuit of whatever new fad took her fancy and it was Belle French who had to sacrifice her time and effort to make sure Storybrooke got to keep and enjoy the many essential public services the library provided.

“As a librarian you’re paid by the town to work at the library, not the other way around. And your hours are already ridiculous, cannot imagine they leave much room for anything, let alone a side-gig.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s temporary, and a friend’s father owns the business, so I know I’ll be comfortable. I know what the library means to the people around here, so I’ll do whatever I can to keep it open.”

Whatever she could, apparently, did not involve making a deal with him. Which he was not going to take personally. At all. 

“It’s also not the first time I’m left scrambling for a bit of cash. Once, when I was in uni, my dad got into a bit of trouble so I got a gig as an Easter bunny for a private party. Which, I thought, would be rather charming. Only the costume was, to put it mildly, absolutely terrifying and no child wanted to get anywhere near me.”

She was a delightful storyteller, he had always thought so. Funny and engaging, both to the wee bairns that she read to several afternoons a week- he had memorised the storytime schedule so he could sneak in to “browse” and enjoy the cadence of her voice in the background as tots hanged on to her every word- and to adults. She leaned close as she told the story, pausing for dramatic effect at the right time and bursting into laughter at the end, pulling a reluctant bark of laughter out of him and looking delighted at having done so, a secretive little smile pulling at her lips. He would’ve called it flirty, if it hadn’t been directed at him.

“In the interest of looking to avoid you traumatising any more children, could I get you to reconsider my deal? It’d be the best one I’ve ever offered, some might say you’d be taking advantage of me. That would make you incredibly popular around here.”

She smiled, recognising his attempt at humour, but shook her head.

“I’ll be fine without it, I promise. Besides, I wouldn’t want a deal between us. It would… muddy things, don’t you think?”

“Of course.

He was still thinking about the library days later, as he sat behind a rented car making its way across upper Manhattan. A courageous little thing, with boundless optimism. Too good for the town she fought for and certainly too good for him. Which explained her rejection of his help. But at least that grounded him in reality, reminded him where they stood. No use longing for more.

With that finite thought he tried to relax and ready himself for the little soiree he was about to attend. He had dressed himself with care, knowing the subtle power play behind a well-tailored, black Kiton suit paired with an understated Gucci shirt and a bold tie and pocket square combo for a splash of brashness. It was his battle uniform, of as much use to him as his brass knuckles had been when he was a young lad. And to him this evening was akin to a fight.

Though people in Storybrooke thought his money came from his real estate portfolio and his profitable deals, those were mostly ways to maintain himself on top of the power structure of Storybrooke, above whatever elected official- Regina Mills, as of late- occupied the mayorship at the time. His real money came from deals, yes, but those he helped broker between companies behind closed doors in the business world. Some of the biggest mergers, take-overs or joint ventures of the past years had happened because he had acted as the middle-man, making the necessary introduction, ironing out the terms for both parties, smoothing over any perceived wrinkle. He used to actively seek those deals, when he was younger and looking to make his fortune. Nowadays he had to make himself attend a few society parties to be seen and perhaps approached, or at least partially propositioned, and he would decide later whether the deal was sweet enough for him to get involved in. Otherwise he would return to Storybrooke and bask in the simplicity of it. Another reason why he didn-t want things to change. He had sought the town out as a retreat from the corporate world, a place of escape where he could disappear until it was time to show up at another party.

He had come to this one mostly as a favour to the hostess. Corinne Deville was a longtime… frenemy, he supposed, who he kept in touch nowadays mostly so she could be his eyes and ears around the city. She knew everyone worth knowing on the island and her parties, at least, were never dull, stale business affairs. She liked to be a bit outrageous and had the money to pull it off. And she always had good booze and a lot of it, which was enticement enough. He rather thought a rooftop party in early December was a bit of a bold choice, but Corrie was like that, and the Peninsula Hotel, though not his first choice for a Manhattan stay, was acceptable. 

He arrived fashionably late, so that everyone could see him as he came in. That way he didn’t need to do the rounds and he got to see who was looking at the entrance, as if waiting for someone, and swiftly turned around and avoided eye contact when they saw him, as if afraid to look too eager or interested. Those people would inevitably approach him at some point in the evening. All he had to do was get himself a drink, something to eat, and seat himself somewhere off to a side, looking vaguely approachable. 

But first, he needed to greet the host. Corrie wasn’t one to play hard to get, thankfully, rather effusively swanning over to him to give him her customary two kisses on the air just next to his cheeks. She looked amazing, wearing a black-red orchid mermaid-style Alexander McQueen, with a voluminous stole to protect her naked shoulders from the nippy Manhattan winter air. She was clearly already drunk, yet she almost didn’t look it, managing to walk gracefully in spite of the alcohol and the cumbersome shape of her dress. He knew her too well not to notice the way her eyes were just a bit redder than usual, or the way her grip on her glass was just the slightest bit unstable. Besides, she was holding a Martini, which was usually her third drink, right after a Gimlet and a Tom Collins. 

“Royce, dah-ling, so thrilled to have you join my little party.” She smiled, all teeth, like a predator showing its weapons, and ushered him to the bar. “I’ve ordered that expensive Scotch you like to drink, had it brought specially for you. Never say I don’t do things for you. And there is… a lovely and a bit risqué food arrangement, do try it. Some very good, very expensive sushi, with a rather spectacular presentation specially commissioned for this get-together.”

He glanced to a corner of the terrace, where he could see some tables laid out, with a rather large number of people around them. 

“Some interesting antique set, perhaps?”

“Rather the opposite, dahling.”

She left him once they reached the bar and, almost against his will, he found himself curious as to what surprise Corrie had prepared for this particular evening. He asked for his Scotch, a 25-year-old Glenmorangie Signet that he hoped Corrie hadn’t blabbed about to anyone else, so he wouldn’t have to share- and sauntered over to the tables set up with the sushi, noticing again the inordinate amount of people lingering around them. Most of them, he noticed, were men.

He understood then when he spotted a foot peeking from behind a wall of people, naked and attached to what looked like an equally-naked calf. He got the gist of it right away. After all, it was hardly a novelty, though he couldn’t recall ever attending a party where sushi had been served in such a way. It was Nyotaimori, the practice of serving sushi on top of a naked woman, a fad from the 60’s born from the economic bonanza of the era in Japan and inspired by some much older Japanese food-play practices having to do with sake rather than sushi. Rather trite, in his opinion, but allowed for a bit of harmless titillation without it actually being very boundary-breaking. Something right up Corrie’s ally, risqué enough to make her party memorable but not too taboo that would get her exiled from the Manhattan social scene.

He grabbed a plate and slowly made his way along the tables, barely seeing the skin on display. It didn’t interest him much, though he was glad to see the entire thing was done in a rather tasteful fashion, with not only the bare bits of modesty guaranteed but also with somewhat of an artistic flair. The models’ important areas were covered by lovely bits of greenery and flowers- and bless Corrie for avoiding the mistletoe and holly typical of the season in favour of something less hackneyed- but there was a theme and a colour palate, with bits of the skin on displayed painted to imitate the swirling brushstrokes of vaguely-oriental designs in different shades, depending on the model. 

A glint of gold caught his eye as he added his twelfth piece of sushi to his plate, a model painted in delicate shades of his namesake and blue, which, along with her creamy complexion, reminded him of a porcelain tea set he had at his shop. The colour palate complimented her hair rather nicely, a rather fetching shade of red-brown that reminded him of Belle French.

Rather a lot, actually.

Come to think of it, the model’s softly-blushed skin was also the exact shade of the librarian’s. And she also had a beauty mark on her left inner-thigh, close enough to her knee to be seen when she wore some of her more flirty skirts during spring and summer. He staggered close, almost losing his grip on his plate, his eyes refusing to acknowledge what they were seeing as truth. It was fucking Belle French. Naked. On top of a table. With delicious food spread over her, ready to be plucked and eaten. Surreptitiously, Royce pinched himself. No, not a dream. Sounded a lot like a dream, but no.

After the initial shock wore off- and he managed to pull himself together the slightest bit- he forced himself to think about his choices. Should he approach her? Would it be awkward, would she be embarrassed? He didn’t want to shame her in any way, especially given that this was clearly the temp gig she had gotten to help pay for repairs to the library. And what would it mean for their future relationship? Would this damage whatever small relationship they had? He rather liked their little talks and their small everyday interactions. But she might not want to interact with him much at all if she knew he had seen her naked.

As straight-out-of-his-fucking-fantasies a naked Belle French on top of a table slattered with food was, it was not worth risking the everyday Belle French he got to enjoy every day. She hadn’t spotted him yet, so he could quietly slip away and she would be none the wiser. She seemed distracted by the people around her, mostly young men, circling her like vultures, spending too much time deciding on what piece of sushi to take, pretending to be musing over the selection while their eyes drifted towards her covered breasts. Insolent little things, trying to engage her in talk while the librarian struggled not to make eye contact and keep a placid expression without making it look like she was inviting their advances. She was also trying not to fidget as a man used his chopsticks to try and move a leaf covering her lower right breast under the guise of trying to pick a piece of nigiri. Where the fuck was Corrie and why was she letting something like that happen? Hadn’t any of those wannabe executives learned basic manners? Or the barest notion of consent?

The cherry on top of that absolute clusterfuck was a tall, brawny fellow- someone’s favoured son, no doubt, the lad didn’t look like he could count to ten by himself-, some junior VP that distantly rung a bell, pretending to be too clumsy with the chopstick to try and pick up a piece of maki with his bare hands. The moment he saw Belle flinch at the touch of the man’s fingers he decided that enough was really enough. His cane came out a second later, smacking the offending hand away as he told the eejit, in his most Scottish tone, to keep his hands to himself. The idiot looked like he was going to protest before he realised whose cane that was. Looking like he would rather be chewing glass, but also like he might be shitting his pants, the oaf apologised, quickly scurrying off. He smiled with thinly-veiled satisfaction, setting his cane back by his side.

“Mr Gold?”

He turned to look at Miss French, making sure his eyes never strayed from her face, both to convey that he was not looking at her nude body and to try and read carefully any emotion flickering across her eyes. She didn’t look uncomfortable, to his surprise, at least not more than she had before she had noticed him there. Rather she looked cheery, as she always did with him, and more than a bit relieved. He noticed that most other youngsters fluttering around her had gone along with the big lummox, likely scared off by his presence.

“It’s so lovely to see you!”

“It is?”

The librarian laughed, one of her hands reaching out to touch his on top of his cane.

“Of course. Under rather peculiar circumstances, but it’s nice to see a familiar face here.”

And of course it was. She was naked in a party full of strangers, some of them entirely devoid of manners. Seeing a familiar face, someone who could intercede in her favour since she was limited in her actions by her circumstances, was a comfort. And to have someone like him, who could instil fear into people’s hearts even more so. Which meant he had to stay. He could not leave her exposed to whatever lech or overconfident idiot who decided to let his small prick do the thinking.

“It is rather lovely to see you, Miss French. I do so enjoy our talks, and I had resigned myself to a rather dull evening of empty platitudes and boring business talk. Would you mind if I sat next to you?”

She didn’t seem to object, her eyes reflecting pleasure instead of panic, though she did glance around and confessed she wasn’t supposed to talk to the guests.

“Corrie won’t mind, she’ll be delighted I’m sticking around for longer than I intended. Don’t worry.”

It took him a moment to signal for a waiter to get him a chair, sitting right next to the librarian’s head, his glass of Scotch by her hip and his plate of sushi in his hands. He sat himself at an angle so that he could both look at her in the eye and also glare at any passerby that even thought about approaching Belle, a bit like an old dragon guarding his hoard or, if he tried to look at things in a more benign way, guarding the fair princess. He had amassed a fearsome enough reputation with the present crowd to foresee little trouble staking his claim.

He had prepared himself for an awkward evening, telling himself he would endure the discomfort for Miss French’s own ease, but he had been mistaken. It was surprisingly easy to “get over” her nudity. Being so close to Belle while she was wearing nothing- with bits of her bare skin painted the colour of his namesake- was still intoxicating as hell, but he managed to quickly reign in that sensation and store it somewhere in his subconscious to deal with it at a later date- no doubt in nightly fantasies for weeks, if not months, to come. 

He had always thought her attractive to the point of distraction, but it was her mind and her conversation that had always kept him coming back. It was lovely to have her “all to himself” for so long. Their library interludes were always cut short by a patron or some crisis, and she tended to visit his shop during her brief afternoon break right before school ended, which meant she could never stay for longer than twenty minutes. But here she was free, with no one to claim her time and attention but himself, and after a few failed attempts at starting a conversation- she was nude, after all, and he could not imagine himself being very socially graceful in her position- she managed to engage him in a light-hearted discussion about books, starting with a ranking of books by Thomas Hardy based on how depressive they were, both agreeing to put in first place Tess D’Urbervilles  but squabbling good-natured about second place. He maintained the honour went to The Woodlanders, while she argued strongly in favour of Jude, the Obscure.

It was a much more engaging discussion than it had any right to be, mostly thanks to the librarian’s sincere passion for the subject, combined with her extensive knowledge. He saw how effortlessly cultured she was, and how at ease she was amongst the wealthy and privileged, even while wearing nothing but a skimpy thong and some strategically-placed foliage and paint. A posh bird like had often admired from afar as a lad, a perfect fit among the Upper East side crowd around them. And yet she wasn’t snobbish like a lot of them where, or like one would expect someone like her to be. She wasn’t putting on airs or feigning interests. She was as she presented herself to be, her manners effortless instead of artificially refined and her intellect sharp from curiosity rather than a need to boast. But it was her generous spirit what was more fetching about her. A sincere concern for anyone that crossed her path, from a drunk miner to a grumpy, misanthrope pawnbroker who no one else liked.

Even when he attempted to do something for her- it was cold out, so he managed to talk a poor waiter into bringing some of the spare braziers he knew the hotel had in abundance and had distributed generously already to the nearby tables were people were sitting and talking, so that she would be more comfortable. She had thanked him and immediately insisted that she didn’t need as many as he wanted to light around her, telling him to distribute them amongst the other living displays as well.

“It’s not fair that they should go cold just because they don’t have a guardian angel to look after them like I do.”

Time passed without him noticing. He waved away the few people stupid enough not to correctly read his body language and try to approach him for conversation, having decided that it wasn’t a night prime for dealmaking like he had previously intended. Instead it was a night for talking about literature and the places they had been, recalling anecdotes from their college years and in general sharing bits about their lives. It was the most he had ever shared of himself with another person, more intimate than Belle’s nudity. She told him about her mother, and how she had come from money. Old money. But she had fallen in love with an Aussie with more ambition than wealth, and had moved to the ends of the world to be with him. Later he had proven himself, building a successful business and allowing her a childhood spent half in Australia and half in Europe with her mom and her grandparents. 

But Moe French’s entrepreneurial spirit did not survive his wife’s death, and so he had let his business languish. Her mother, who had fretted for her only daughter’s future during the last months of her life, had set up a considerable trust fund, which had allowed her to go to college in England for her undergrad and graduate degree. And later, when her mother’s parents had passed away, she had inherited a modest investment portfolio, which accounted for the few luxuries she allowed herself as a small town librarian.

He, in turn, shared as much as he could stomach about his rather sordid upbringing. An unwanted mongrel, son of a mother who he never knew and a father he would rather forget. Left behind by both at a young age, to beg, borrow and steal a life for himself. It wasn’t until he had come into contact with distant relatives- two of his father’s cousins, who lived modestly but honestly outside of Glasgow, that he had been given a chance to settle, to get an education. Still, he had learned bad habits that had been difficult to break and he had continued with them in his new life, brawling for cash, gambling and doing unsavoury jobs to raise the money needed to get his law degree. It should have made him uncomfortable to expose their stark differences in upbringing and breeding, but there was nothing but understanding and compassion in Belle’s eyes, something he would’ve mistaken for pity if he didn’t know her well.

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me. It must not have been easy.”

They were so enthralled in their own little world that they both startled when they began to clear the tables in preparation for dessert. It was to be a selection of fruits and tarts, served in the same style.

“But before there’ll be a bit of a break, mostly so that us models can walk about a bit and freshen up. Will you be here when I come back?”

The way she said it, with a hopeful lilt, looking at him from beneath her lashes, had him nodding effusively. Wild horses could not drag him away. He did think the idea of walking around sounded good, and he wanted to refresh his drink. While he was at the bar he had the idea to request a glass of ice water and a straw, so he could offer Belle a drink if she was thirsty while she worked. While he waited, not minding that the bartender was a bit busy at the moment, he felt someone approach from behind, one boney, well-manicured hand sliding up his shoulder. He smelt smoke, and considered himself lucky that the hand currently slipping something into the pocket of his suit jacket wasn’t the one holding Corrie’s trademark long cigarette holder.

“I’m so thrilled you’re still here, darling. And given how you’ve been spending the evening so far I thought I would give you a present. One you’ll like, for a change.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, knowing Corrie was looking intently at him, he fished whatever she had put into his pocket out. It was a sleek keycard, one from the Peninsula.

“As an admirer of fine, beautiful things I thought you might want a more… private setting where to study your latest find. I would not usually condone it, but she seemed so willing, so strangely… receptive of your attention, that I thought it might not go amiss to get you a room for the night. You know, just in case you’re too tired or hungover to go back home safely, of course.”

He could see her grin out of his peripheral vision, something feral with a hint of madness that summed up Corinne perfectly. He rolled his eyes, affecting an unaffected manner, knowing it would piss her off not to get a rise out of him.

“Corrie, I wish you’d stop after the fifth drink. Once you get into the gin tonics you grow somewhat fanciful.”

“Be that way. Keep your secrets. I’m not here to interrogate you, dear. Just doing my one good deed of the year before time runs out. I was cutting it rather close.”

With that she sauntered off, but he paid her no mind. Let her think whatever she wanted. He knew it wasn’t like what she was implying with Belle. They were just two friends, or friendly acquaintances, though perhaps that was too distant in light of all the bits of themselves they had shared with each other that night. But still, nothing like Corrie was suggesting, nothing unseemly, just two people having a friendly and thoughtful con-

Fuck.

Belle was back. They had laid her down on her stomach this time around, a few gauzy bits of nothing covering her incredible ass from his view, her head pillowed in her arms, which meant he could see the soft curve of the side of a small, perfect breast. Along her delicate spine and sloping shoulders someone had arranged bits of fruit, bombons and bite-sized tarts. He narrowed his eyes, swearing he could hear Corinne’s shrill laughter in the background.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. He was not some slobbering animal. And Belle was a lady. He would keep it together, would march there and pretend nothing was amiss. Would not give the perfection before him a second glance. When he sat down he focused on Belle’s face, the way her eyes lit up when she spotted him, no doubt grateful to have her protector return and keep the mannerless young men from before at bay. When he offered her some water, shyly, she beamed at him, as if he had offered her the moon.

“You’re so kind, Mr Gold. And such a gentleman.”

His ears burned at hearing Belle fucking French, with her exotic accent and posh manners, call him a gentleman. He had to force himself not to preen. 

“Please, call me Royce.”

“Only if you call me Belle, as I’ve told you to do before.”

She gratefully sipped at the water offered, making a pleased sound in the back of her throat that threatened to go straight to his groin. Thankfully he was sitting down, which allowed him a bit of coverage. With herculean effort he sought to resume their conversation, which had moved on to a rather spirited debate on the merits of the different adaptations of Around the world in 80 days.

They were in the middle of comparing Cantinflas and Eric Idle’s Passepartouts when the librarian fidgeted the slightest bit, looking uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter? Are you unwell? Do you need me to call someone?”

Belle sighed, shaking her head.

“I’m just hungry. They had to retouch my body paint a lot when I took a break, so I never got to eat any of the power bars I brought specially for that purpose. And it’s not helping that whatever they’ve put on me smells rather heavenly. It’s strange to be literally brimming with food and yet unable to eat.”

He had to agree with her about the food. It smelled amazing, the bombons nestled inside foil wrappers to protect them from her skin’s warmth- warmth he was very specifically trying hard to think about– and the pieces of fruit, cut and arranged into fanciful, artistic shapes, glistened in the dim light of the terrace, looking beyond succulent.

“I could- I could feed you if you wish. It’d be no problem.”

‘It’d be all sorts of problems, but oh so worth it.’

“Oh, you wouldn’t mind? Because that would be lovely.”

“What would you like?”

“I saw some lovely raspberry tarts and some Royce nama chocolate squares that looked amazing. Just not dark chocolate please, I can’t stand it.”

“More for me then.”

Gingerly, making extremely sure he did not touch her skin at all if possible, he picked up a few selections of sweets, arranging them into a plate so she could pick and choose what she wanted. When she made a selection he made sure to hold it out to her so she could bite into it without worrying about his fingers, though he still felt the phantom touch of her breath on his skin even when he tried his best to get himself out of the way. It was a heady, altogether surreal experience: the closeness, the trust, the implied intimacy of the gesture. A dream fucking come true, as far as Royce was concerned, the single most erotic moment of his life and it was happening in public. He had come to the party with the intention of testing the waters for new deals and he would leave it empty-handed and yet a changed man.

‘Best. Night. Ever.’

But as nice as it was, it couldn't last forever. He tried to pretend at first he did not see the signs, the way the crowd around them began to dwindle down, the waiters passing around with trays laden with champagne flutes, offering a “last round”. The writing was on the wall even before he saw the first of the “living displays”, the one closest to the exit, being taken away. Still, neither moved or made a comment about things coming to an end, not even when Belle was the last model left out. 

At some point, however, they had to acknowledge that something was happening, because the waiters were beginning to clear the tables, the bar was getting ready to close, and no one had come for Belle. She seemed puzzled by it, but he imagined it had something to do with the fact that no one had wanted to bother him. Perhaps Corrie had said something, or perhaps his reputation had done the talking. Either way it was unacceptable that Belle be made to wait, exposed in cold weather that no amount of heaters could nullify, for someone to finally come get it. He proposed he get his long overcoat so she could drape it around herself and he would escort her then back to wherever she had left her clothes and things, so that she wouldn’t have to walk around half-naked alone.

He loathed to leave her, but there was no choice. He hurried to the coat room, commanding the attention of the poor sod running up and down fetching coats, and managed to get his long Zegna cashmere coat in no time. Pleased with his expedience he rushed back, pausing when he noticed that something wasn’t right. Belle was still in the far corner of the terrace where he had left her, but she had scrambled to a sitting position on the table, using the white tablecloth she had been lying on to cover herself as much as possible as a tall man- the lumbering idiot from hours before, now clearly drunk off his arse-  leaned close to her, one hand gripping one of her naked forearms. She was trying to shake him off, her body language screaming her discomfort and unease, but she was clearly reluctant to make a scene, the power imbalance working against her. 

Thankfully it wasn’t working against him. He felt no restraint or compunction when the urge to do violence overtook him. Thankfully he had, as always, a handy weapon as his disposal. It took one sweep of his cane, once he was close enough, to get the idiot away from her, the surprise at the unexpected blow to his side making him let go of Belle before staggering back a few paces. A few more blows had him first on his knees and later sprawled out on the floor, and only Belle’s gentle hand on the back of his jacket got him to put his cane down. With enviable nonchalance he signalled for a passing waiter, letting him know that the poor bloke on the floor had had a bit too much to drink and should be scraped off the floor and put into a cab as soon as it could be arranged.

“Right away, sir. Thank you for letting me know.”

He tried not to gloat as three people were called away from clearing the nearby tables to pick up the unfortunate young man, no one making a comment as they dragged the lummox away. Good fucking riddance. Realising that he still held his coat in his hands he turned around and swiftly draped it around Belle, noticing with pleasure that, though she had had a front scene to his violent outburst, she didn’t shy away from his touch. Rather the contrary.

“Are you alright? Was he bothering you for long? Did he say something inappropriate?”

“No, nothing like that. He was just not taking no for an answer, and looked drunk enough to try to do something stupid out in public. Thank you for taking care of him.”

Fuck, it was doing things to him that a prim and proper lass like Belle French was thanking him for behaving in a less than gentlemanly manner. Right out of his fantasies as a lad, the idea of a posh bird that would revel in his most coarse manners, in the violent habits he had had to acquire at an early age. It all threatened to go to his head or, even worse, his groin, so he forced himself to push it to the side and concentrate on Belle's immediate wellbeing. Wrapped up as she was in his coat- and fuck, did she nuzzle the lapel and take a deep breath, as if smelling his cologne in the collar of his coat?- she was clothed enough to get off the table and walk out of the terrace. He accompanied her past what was clearly a staging area for the models, given the remnants of body paint and the leaves and petals strewn on the floor, until they arrived at a large room with screens in the corners, clearly where the models had first disrobed. Only one bag was left, a Jackie Smith tote he recognised as Belle’s. He glanced around, noticing there was no place to shower, just some baby wipes packets with which he gathered the models were supposed to wipe the paint off their bodies before putting their clothes back on. Which wouldn’t do, really. Not at all.

“I-I have a room. Here at the hotel. With a shower.”

She stood there, looking waifish and small in his oversized coat, with paint still on her skin and her hair in disarray, yet even then there was an air of understated elegance about her, something in the way she carried herself. Himself, on the other hand, could not boast the same, feeling like he was sweating as he waffled on about how he got the hotel key as a prank but now she could put it to good use to shower and relax, perhaps charge ungodly amounts of room service. It would serve Corrie right to have her little joke backfire on her like that and-

He paused when he noticed how much closer Belle was than a second before. She was looking up at him with something akin to… expectation, almost, and clutching the sleeve of his suit jacket, almost afraid he would take off. There was a patience to her look, as if she was trying to coerce a shy deer to eat from her hand, and Royce’s eyes narrowed, a puzzle slowly unravelling in his mind. He recognised that look, she had worn it often around him as of late, something tinged with affectionate exasperation, as if she was waiting for him to figure something out, something that should be obvious. A nagging voice that had been whispering in the back of his mind now started yelling, telling him he was an idiot for not seeing what was right in front of him.

Could she… could she fancy him? Was that possible? Was he just so fucking dense and self-loathing that he hadn’t realise Belle fucking French was coming onto him? That she had been for a while? It sounded too much like wishful thinking to be true, but there was also no other way to account for how close the librarian was standing to him, how hopeful she seemed as she looked up at him. He froze, unwilling to accept the reality in front of him and yet unable to deny it.

Thankfully for Royce the librarian seemed to notice and understand his inner turmoil, a soft look overtaking her face before she slowly, carefully, leaned into him, standing on her tippy toes to reach him and making sure he had more than enough time to pull away in case her advances were unwelcomed.

No fucking chance of that.

The magnetic pull of her, in the end, overcame his deep-seated denial, pushing him forward, his attention drifting towards her mouth, so laser-focused on the heat and the scent radiating from her that he almost forgot where they were.

Almost.

When he did, he pulled away, babbling about how this wasn’t a private enough place for her to kiss him while wearing nothing but his overcoat. His self-restraint only went so far and his control had been close to breaking the whole evening. If she kissed him he would not be able to stop. It was a shameful confession, but Belle barely batted an eye, looking briefly deep in thought before she took one of his hands in hers.

“You mentioned you had a room, right?” He nodded dumbly, unwilling to connect the dots himself and assume she was saying what he thought she was saying. “Maybe that would be a better place for this?”

There was no mistaking her meaning, not even for someone like Royce Gold, for whom denial was an Olympic event. When she tugged at his hand he didn’t fight her, hopeless to do anything but follow behind her, vaguely dazed, having only enough presence of mind to offer to carry Belle’s bag, which she politely declined. The elevator ride seemed to take forever, even though they were going down only one floor. Corrie had given him one of the best rooms in the hotel. She never half-assed things and wasn’t known for being cheap. 

He held it together till the hotel door was firmly shut behind them, at which point he pounced on her, restraint and decorum entirely absent after four fucking hours of close, unrelenting contact with a naked Belle French. He had been good, so good, but they were behind closed doors and Belle had made it clear that she was not opposed to his advances, so whatever disguise of gentlemanliness he had created over the years was now in tatters and only the unpolished, savage beast from Glasgow remained, intent on quenching its thirst on her. He pressed her up against the hotel door, his mouth eagerly seeking hers out, pleased when she opened herself up to him eagerly, her hands going around his shoulders so they could tangle in his hair. She felt amazing against him, soft and pliant, smelling faintly of something fruity and a scent that was uniquely hers, a mixture of vanilla and the smell of a new book. It was intoxicating, and so he pressed closer, the hand not clutching his cane for dear life wrapping around her waist, resenting the fact that he could not touch her directly. He had relished the fact that she had been wrapped in his coat only minutes ago, when they were outside and she was shivering. But the room they were now in was cosy and warm, with an artificial gas fire crackling nearby. There was, therefore, no need for the librarian to remain bundled so he tugged at the fastened buttons of his coat, humming in pleasure when it was Belle herself that reached down to undo them, shimming out of the outfit altogether a second later.

He could feel her then, gloriously nude but for a scrap of skin-coloured fabric covering her cunt, soft as he had always imagined she would be, skin like silk beneath his fingertips. She didn’t seem to mind her lack of clothing, didn’t shy away from his hands or his lips when he began to explore her throat and the gentle slope of her right shoulder. She was delightfully responsive beneath him, making the softest, most devastating noises as he nipped at bits of flesh, taking care to avoid the big swatches of skin covered by the gold and blue paint.

“You don- Oh, dear Lord- you don’t have to worry about the paint. It’s edible.”

“Come again?”

He couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly.

“Yes it’s-” She sighed when he caressed her spine- “It’s chocolate paint. For safety, mostly, in case the food came into contact with it.”

He blinked, pausing a second to take stock of the situation. He was in a lavish hotel room with Belle French, who was basically naked and, apparently slathered in strategically-placed swirls of chocolate paint. And they were making out like wild beasts. This was beyond his wildest dreams, so far-fetched that it could not possibly be a figment of his imagination. Even his subconscious had limits. Reality, apparently, didn’t.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” His Scottish brogue, reasserting itself as a result of the drink, the lateness of the hour and how absolutely out of his mind he was with lust, made him slur his words. “Fucking minx, been teasing me the whole bloody night. So gorgeous, so lovely to an old monster like me…”

He lost himself in the feel and smell of her, feeling starved for every bit of her he could kiss and touch. She was perfect, everything about her the right size and feel for him, as if she had been made to fit him. Her skin felt warm and soft beneath her tongue, the taste of her pairing well with the taste of chocolate from the paint, and she was delightfully responsive, no pretence or air of artifice in her as she pulled at his hair and whimpered helplessly. There was also no faking the delicious wetness between her legs, the scrap of fabric that was her flesh-coloured thong drenched to the touch. 

“Take me to bed.”

He had dreamed about Belle French telling him just that, but not even his wildest dream could have conjured up the reality of it, the way she sighed it, her hands grabbing handfuls of his hair to drag his ear against her mouth, the way it was both a plea and an order. He hastened to comply either way, manoeuvring both of them down the small hallway to the suite, where the king-sized bed stood pride of place. In the small journey there he had somehow lost his dinner jacket, the librarian’s nimble hands working on his tie, undoing the Eldredge knot with an ease that had him imagining her, wearing nothing but one of his shirts, kneeling on his bed and tying his tie, a lovely little domestic tableau with implications that set his blood on fire.

The bed at the Peninsula had standard, if luxurious, white bedding, nothing quite like his burgundy sheets and cream damask comforter, but he barely registered any of it. His senses were full of Belle, who managed to half-shove him into the bed, swiftly climbing on top of him before he could complain about their separation. She sought his mouth immediately, her fingers sinking into his hair to change the angle of the kiss just so. When she let go he whimpered, immediately missing the scratch of her nails against his scalp, but he quieted when he realised she was undoing the buttons of his shirt, having finally done away with his tie and, apparently, his belt. Crafty little thing, this lass, devious beneath her prim and proper facade. And all his, his to kiss and touch, to lay down the bed, legs dangling from the edge while he dragged that little scrap of lace generously called underwear, allowing him to see her in all of her glory. She was every bit as perfect as he had imagined, and so smooth. She was almost entirely devoid of hair from the waist down, a small strip of soft curls the only thing left. 

“So lovely.”

She was. Lush curves, smooth skin and the irresistible lure of unfettered enthusiasm. The moment he put his mouth on her she was like a livewire, practically vibrating beneath his touch, the tension and energy in her impossible to ignore. It made him feel powerful, and more than a bit smug, to know that a woman like her, who could have anyone with a look and a gesture, was trembling with barely-repressed desire because his tongue was lapping at her cunt, his hands curling around her thighs, teasing the edges of her labia. None of the young, rich assholes that had circled her like vultures before he had seen her had interested her, only him, old and crippled as he was.

It wasn’t long before he felt her tense even further, her back bowing in a perfect arc and her whimpers turning into loud moans. He thought briefly about denying her the pleasure she was building towards, to drag things out to heighten the sensations, but soon came to the conclusion he didn’t have the self-control to deny her. So when he felt her tumble close to the edge he sunk two fingers into her, the heat and pressure making his already hard cock ache. He was not going to survive her. Thankfully she came just as he thought he was going to lose the last shreds of his composure, her cries distracting him from his more pressing needs. She was beautiful when she came, as far away from the composed, prim lass he was used to seeing, wild and uninhibited. A magnificent sight to behold, one he tried hard to prolong for as long as possible. Eventually, sadly, she grew slack, almost boneless, one hand lazily combing his hair, as if he was some pampered pet who had done a good thing. The feeling was exhilarating. 

“Mmmmh, that was…” she sighed, her nails scratching against the sensitive skin of his nape. “Wonderful.”

He smiled against the supple skin of her thigh, feeling smug, like he often did after a beneficial deal being signed. He didn’t even care that he was so hard it bordered on painful, not when he could smell Belle, feel her warmth and revel in the knowledge that he had made her come apart.

“I’m cold. Come up here?”

The hand petting his hair tugged on it, leading him to crawl over to the bed after quickly discarding his pants and socks and, after a deep breath for courage, his underwear. He pretended not to notice Belle staring at his cock as he climbed on top of her, trying to distract himself with the feeling of her hands as they explored his naked back, pausing every time they encountered a scar. He had amassed a small collection of them, mostly in his late teens and early twenties, knife wounds and a couple made with glass. They were all faded, the only one standing out being the curved one on his side, product of a rusty blade he had mostly-but-not-quite managed to dodge, and the one on his right shoulder. That one had gone in deep but hadn’t been able to hit anything major. 

“Do any of them hurt?”

Belle’s voice was soft, her eyes wide and the slightest bit watery, likely imagining the pain he must have gone through to acquire each of his marks. He shook his head quickly, wanting to reassure them.

“No.” He paused, wondering if saying anything further would be oversharing. But she had to know. It would be a factor if things… progressed. “My ankle does, sometimes. When it’s raining, or I’ve been overexerting it.”

To her credit she didn’t even try to glance down, her focus entirely on his face, likely trying to read any signs of discomfort that might appear there. He kissed the hand that went to cup his face, for once not mistaking compassion for pity.

“Are you comfortable?”

At that he smirked and, daringly, he ground his hips against hers, bringing her attention to his rather desperate state.

“Not really, but my ankle doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you were asking.”

He was rewarded by a genuine laugh, easing whatever leftover bit of self-consciousness he might still have felt. He leaned down to capture her mouth, eager to devour her whole. She was delicious, still tasting of the raspberry tart he had hand-fed her, and something uniquely hers, which he had already tasted when he had delved his tongue into her cunt. But now he could also feel her beneath him, all the soft curves he had dreamed about pressing against him, her body cradling his like he was something precious. Beneath the buzzing of adrenaline and the thrill of his desires coming true there was an undercurrent of safety he was surprised to feel. He was safe with her, he knew this innately. Safe from judgement or ridicule, safe to expose those parts of him that were weak or ugly without feeling like he was ceding the high ground, leaving himself open to an attack. And that small undercurrent of safety, somehow, heightened everything else he was feeling. Allowed him to let go.

“I can practically hear you thinking, you’re doing it so loud.”

Belle’s voice, throaty from her screaming earlier, sent a shiver down his spine. He burrowed his head against her breasts, anchoring himself in the moment, and apologetically kissed the skin there. One kiss turned to two, and before he knew it he was taking one of her rosy nipples into his mouth and sucking reverently on it, like he had often imagined doing in his own home, usually after a few drinks. She was wonderfully responsive, squirming in the most delightful way, each movement sending sharp spikes through his groin and reminding him that if he didn’t manage to do something about it he was liable to explode. Luckily his lass was bold and brass, and the sort to take charge, and so when he was distracted by her lovely breasts- just the right size for his hands, and so, so soft- she moved one hand down to grasp him firmly and, with the help of a bit of shimmying, guide him to her entrance.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot to ask about…” She hissed when a startled movement made him bump her clit with the tip of his cock. “Protection. I-I mean, I’m clean and on the pill but if you want-”

He had no doubt that there were condoms in the room. It had been, after all, paid for by Corrie to unsubtly encourage him to fuck someone silly in it. The drawers of both nightstands were probably chock full of them, likely in all colours and sizes, and it would take but a moment to crawl over either one to grab what he needed. But the thought of feeling her fully was too good to pass up.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m clean too. Can I- can I really…?”

He couldn’t finish the phrase, nor take that last plunge, but before he could try to shake himself out of his stupor she draped her legs around his hips, hooking her feet right in the dip where his spine met his ass, nudging him rather unsubtly forward till he was, blessedly, balls deep into her, his cock enveloped by silky, wet heat that had him almost coming right then and there. He gritted his teeth and almost bit his tongue off in an effort to not shame himself, body tense for another reason entirely as he fought to control himself. It seemed to take forever but eventually he began to thrust, first tentatively, afraid of hurting her or discovering he hadn’t quite gotten it together as he hoped he had, but need, that itch that was growing to rule every instinct he had, slowly pushed him to go faster, to thrust harder. Belle met him move for move, canting her hips forward, her nails digging into his back in a way that should have felt painful but only enhanced the pleasure building up inside of him. She was, like before, delightfully vocal, and disarmingly demanding, telling him to go harder, to give her more.

“Insatiable little minx,” he grunted, trying not to stare at her breasts as they bounced with the force of their actions. If he got distracted he ran the risk of spending himself inside her without bringing her to orgasm at least one more time and that was unacceptable. “You’ll be the death of me.”

It felt a little bit like he was on the brink of death, of a pleasure so acute it was indistinguishable from pain. His hard-earned self-control was close to snapping and only his pride was keeping him going. Desperate to feel her flutter around him he braced his upper body on his left arm and both his knees, leaving his right hand free to trail down her stomach and dip in-between her thighs, looking for that bit of flesh that he had previously only touched with his lips and tongue. He let her cries guide his fingers, letting her gasps and keens set the pace as he stroked her slowly at first, increasing the tempo and the pressure in response to her needy demands. Finally she tensed beneath him, back arching in a perfect bow as she came, loud and uninhibited, her cunt gripping him tight as it spasmed, the feeling too much for him to bear. His orgasm was quieter, his groans muffled by her hair and skin as he pressed his head against the crook of her shoulder and spilled himself into her for what seemed like forever, a catharsis that felt both physical and mental.

Afterwards he had enough sense to collapse to the side instead of falling bonelessly on top of Belle like he had wanted to. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he felt cold and clammy, but a second later Belle was cuddling up to him, draping a leg over his, making sure to keep her feet away from his ankle. He drew her close, greedily seeking out her warmth and the reassurance she brought. He dared drape an arm around her, his fingers ghosting up and down one of her exposed arms.

“Any complaints?”

He kept his tone light, flippant even, but he paid attention closely to her face, trying to read her expression. She looked dishevelled and delightfully smug, satisfaction oozing out of her, stretching out like a cat in a sunspot, but then frowned, her nose wrinkling a bit. He tensed, preparing himself for whatever had put that look in her face. Maybe she was having second thoughts already?

“I’m sticky.”

“Come again?”

“From the edible paint and your valiant efforts to rid me of it. Don’t misunderstand me, it felt heavenly when you were licking the paint off but now that my skin is dry it feels… well, sticky.”

“Oh.” He shook his head, willing his blood to flow upwards to his brain again and allow him to think somewhat coherently. “I’m sure the bathroom’s facilities are more than adequate. These sort of rooms usually come with the full package, a spacious shower and a bathtub with all the bells and whistles.”

Her eyes sparkled and he patted himself in the back mentally for clearly saying the right thing.

“Oh, it’s been ages since I’ve been able to take a bath. The apartment above the library only has a rather pitiful shower stall and I love a good soak in a tub every now and then. Some bubble bath, a glass of wine and a good book… And maybe some company.”

There was no mistaking the look she shot him, eyes heavy-lidded and glittering with promises.

“You don’t suppose the bathtub here is big enough for two, do you?”

Her tone, mellow and just the littlest bit sultry, had him aflame and made his tired body reconsider the time it would take to rise to the challenge once more.

“Only one way to find out.”

[seyvia]

Darling Ofelia.

I am uncertain of how to start this letter. So I'll simply begin with my recent feelings. I am very grateful for the love I've received from my parents. I would have spent my whole life trying to repay them somehow, but fate had its own plans. My name is Fable Flickwick. Growing up, I was a sickly child. I would have never expected at the age of 9 to be adopted by two of the most lovely people you would have ever met. They loved me despite my fragile nature, and their help and encouragement probably saved my life more times than I would like to admit. With their sudden passing, I find myself more lonely than I ever thought possible. I'm doing my best to keep my mother's antique shop afloat, as I love that old shop. But I've been feeling doubtful of my capabilities to do so on my own. I didn't realize how physically taxing the job would be. I'm rambling, I know. That's enough of my story of woe, I suppose... What else should I say? I am 24. My favorite pass time is photography. I had originally intended to make it a career, but I was always too busy helping mom at the shop to take it seriously. I am healthier than I was as a child, so don't worry about that! I can at least take care of myself despite my appearance... I grew up in Brindleton Bay by the coast, and the shop is right beside the docks. It is quant and quiet here but sometimes I think I need to get away from it all. I understand that you have a farm? I would love to know more about it and what you do there. I'm sure I have over romanticized it in my head, haha... I could rewrite this letter a thousand times and still not be confident in it, so I hope you will accept it as is. Messy but hopeful. Yours, Fable♡

@oatberrytea my humble offering<3

she/her. Clumsy / Gloomy / Socially Awkward. Aspiration: Inner peace.

likes: photography/ wellness/ handiness/ knitting/ pink/ blue/ vintage decor/ shabby decor/ cottagecore music/ focus music/ deep thoughts/ talking about hobbies/ stories/

dislikes: fitness/ fishing/ gray/ gossip/ arguments/ modern decor/ electronic music/

[ next ]

[sirianasims]

By the time I got back to the house, it was dark and the last of our roommates had arrived.

Shen and Tai were twins, exchange students from Mt. Komorebi.

Shen was a little… extravagant. He spoke loudly and wore even louder outfits, and spent an inordinate amount of time in front of mirrors or commenting on hot guys and their butts.

His sister Tai seemed pretty much the opposite, at least on first impression. But after sharing a house with her for a few weeks, I discovered that her mild exterior was hiding a personality just as intense as her brother’s.

The twins didn’t play sports, but they somehow managed to turn everything into a fierce competition – from video games to foosball to constantly trying to date the same guys with cute butts, apparently.

There was never a dull moment in the house around the Lei twins. I had no idea how they kept their grades up with the amount of dating and competing they engaged in.

The fifth inhabitant of the house was Griffin, who surprised me by also being a medical student. At first I was taken aback by his somewhat gruff demeanour, but I actually really liked him once I got to know him.

His commanding voice could call even the twins to order, and the fact that he was a few years older than the rest of us quickly made him the resident “dad”.

He was also a former chef who now wanted to become a surgeon. I had asked him why, once, but he had just winked and said that he already knew how to handle a knife, so it couldn’t be too difficult. He completely took over the kitchen, and would offer to whip up a quick salad when I came home late from practice and was starving.

Things were going pretty well as we settled into our new routines. I didn’t have Samuel to myself much, but we still got to spend a lot of time together, even if it was mostly while eating or studying. And since the house wasn’t that big, Griffin, Shen and Tai were constantly around. But it was something.

I needed other friends than Samuel anyway. I did my best to socialise, even though it had never been my strong suit. But I got along pretty well with my football team, which, in addition to Trisha and Jessica, included a girl called Daria.

Football definitely took up a lot of my time, and it annoyed me to admit that the university had probably been right in preventing me from joining both football and basketball. It often felt like I was trying to do my coursework while running from classes to football practice.

Still, I enjoyed being busy. And it felt great when we won our first match against our arch-rivals, those posh people from University of Britechester. They always thought they owned the entire town just because they were here first.

Trisha was team captain, and she was good. After the match, she managed to hit just the right balance between praise and letting us know that this wasn’t the time to get complacent.

I really liked all the girls. But I still struggled with making proper friends – no one but Samuel ever got close. I wasn’t sure what to say or do half the time. Instead, I tried to work as hard as possible during practice and matches, hoping it would somehow make up for my lack of social skills.

Jessica had befriended Trisha on the very first day, and she was quick to befriend Daria as well. I wished I had her confidence. She never seemed worried that people might reject her friendship. And they never did.

As I walked home that night, I wondered if Samuel was only my friend because we happened to grow up together and now he couldn’t get rid of me. Would he still have chosen me as his friend if he’d had a choice?

And what would happen if I ever gave him that choice?

beginning / previous / next

[theflyingfeeling]

a high school Olli/Allu AU in which they're both fuckboys... 😏 (just the idea, not actually gonna write this, but you may look 💅)

as a former high school teacher I can barely bring myself to read high school AUs let alone write them but !!!!!!! y'all, this one that I just came up with would be the cuteeeeeeeessst high school AU 🥺

so we'd have Aleksi as the bratty snobby rich boy hanging out with his fuckboy buddies (let's say Arttu Lindeman and Isac Elliot 🤭 Robin would be his actual best friend since kindergarten though, but he goes to a different school)

and Olli would obviously be in his own emo fuckboy friend group 🥰 (except Porko is maybe less emo and more...twinky 😅 and Niko with his bisexual bob... 🤔 jesus, how come they ALL looked so fruity when they were teenagers?! 😂 even Joel looked kinda awkward and trying too hard to appear heterosexual (and failing))

anyway! at school they'd pretend to hate each other's guts, or just ignore each other the very least, but they go to the same chemisty class or something, which none of their friends took because it was the super early Monday morning one, but Olli had no choice because he needed that course and all the other courses clashed with his bass lessons, and Aleksi couldn't fit the other options in his schedule either because of his...twinky fuckboy lessons? 😂 idk I'll come up with a funky hobby for him later lol

yeah, anyhow, perhaps they're even lab partners and low-key crushing on each other, although they'd never ever admit it to anyone, because to Aleksi's friends, Olli is a stuck-up loser emo kid, and to Olli's friends, Aleksi is a posh douchebag showing off daddy's money, and they both have no choice but to laugh along with their friends (because that's what teenagers do to fit in), but during their shared early morning chemistry classes Aleksi has noticed Olli is actually super sweet and funny and that his "bitchy" appearance is due to him just being sort of socially awkward with people he doesn't know yet, and Olli soon figures Aleksi is more friendly and down-to-earth than he leads on 👀

I am yet to decide how their relationship would develop from then on, but I suppose they find a way to spend more time together even after their chemistry course ends 🤔 maybe they take the same optional music class (jazz or something none of their friends would be interested in) and that's when they finally realise they have more in common than they thought, and so their secret friendship deepens 😌 and now this is the part where I'm asking you to imagine them having exchanged phone numbers (because they're sure they couldn't follow each other on social media without their friends noticing, and if they did they'd never hear the end of it, and right now neither are ready to deal with stuff like that), and yeah, imagine them hugging and giggling into their pillow in their bedrooms respectively while texting each other in the evenings 🥺💞 first they just chat about school and the music project but eventually about other stuff too and they feel all 💞💓💕 because they feel like they've finally found someone who truly understands them 😭

and maybe one day after the music class they stay behind to voluntarily clean up the classroom or perhaps to practice together, and Olli is blushing and 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 when Aleksi asks him to help him out with some bass/guitar stuff, and of course they need to be standing quite close together for that (okay maybe they don't need to but they absolutely want to), and then they look up at each other and realise just how close they are to each other and... 💕💓💞💗💖🥰

and that's how they figure out not only that they're both fuckboys, but that they both also...fuck boys 😌

(but no, they didn't do it in the music classroom (...at least not for the first time 👀))

(also included in this AU: a Joel/Joonas/Niko love triangle, with both Joel and Niko crushing on Joonas, and Joonas happily loving them both lol, and Tommi just...doing everyone's math homework I guess 😂)

[momochizoey]

Thank you for tagging me @celinou !!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 

I've got 12 on my AO3! 9 ATLA/TLOK fics, and 3 Wednesday fics.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 

46,759 words in total! Most of it is one shots so that tracks tbh, though I'm actually pretty impressed with how much that actually is, especially cause it doesn't count how much I've written for WIPs.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 

#1) Scrapped Scenes, a Wenclair fic, at 1,632 kudos (which is frankly insane, I hadn't realized it got that much)

#2) Crying Wolf, another Wenclair fic, at 759 kudos

#3) And Iphigenia Felt Rage, a Yuezula fic, at 225 kudos

#4) The Future Looks Brighter Together, a Sokkla fic, at 163 kudos

And at #5) Yours In Body And Soul, another Sokkla fic, at 154 kudos

I'm not surprised the two Wenclair fics are on top by such a wide margin, I wrote those when the show had only just come out so the fandom was at its peak. Very glad that many people liked what I wrote though! Since most of the other fandoms I've written for (on ao3 or here) are a lot less active, it was a new experience!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? 

I usually do, but I do have to admit I've been struggling a bit with it recently 😅. I read them all, and I'm so grateful for them, but especially on fics that I had huge plans for still, and which are in no way close to progressing, I have this feeling like I should have a new chapter to offer when I do answer them. I'm blaming it on my social anxiety 😬

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh, that's a hard one cause I definitely tend to go in a more fluffy, feel-good direction. But I'd have to say it's Keep Your Fire On A Leash (Let The Ashes Bring You Peace). It's a June/Azula oneshot, mainly focused on Azula dealing with the pyromania she developed in captivity (as a need to reclaim complete control over at least this aspect of her life). She tries to manage it a little by working in pottery, where continuous, constant temperature control is crucial to porcelain quality, but it's not perfect. It's not angsty per-se, but it's definitely more ambiguously neutral.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? 

Oooh, I'd say it's a toss up between two of my fics:

The first is Not Alone, a TyZula band AU fic about Azula recovering from bottom surgery. I wrote it while I myself was still recovering from bottom surgery, and I wanted to explore a facet of trans characters journeys that isn't often discussed? It's a bit more niche, and I only recently made it open to anyone, not just ao3 users, so it's one of my less popular fics for sure, but it's very hopeful portrayal of a trans experience.

And the second is Yours In Body And Soul, a Sokkla soulmates AU, where soulmates bodyswap at night when either of them has had a bad day, in order to try to cheer them up. I got the idea from a korrasami fic called Paralyzed I read a while back, and changed the mechanics a little bit to make it work. It's definitely a more traditional happy ending, romantic getting together included (up to a point, they are still kids in the timeline so just an excited hug).

8. Do you get hate on fics? 

I don't! Sometimes people disagree on one interpretation of something, but never disrespectful or anything, so I'm pretty happy!

9. Do you write smut? 

I've tried it before in private, got some good feedback. But no, never anything that I'd share.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written? 

I'm not sure if ATLA/TLOK counts😂. I've had some ideas for crossovers though, and written a few draft snippets, I think it was a TLT/ATLA one, an ATLA/Shang-Chi, and a Naruto/ATLA one that I've actually posted a few snippets from on here if I remember correctly.

That last one was a Sakura reincarnated into Azula idea, to explore some interesting anti-imperialist ideals, because that's actually a blind spot Sakura has as well with Konoha. It's easy for her to fall into the same ideological fallacies as before, especially with the significantly lower usage of child soldiers in the Fire Nation making it seem like the epitome of peace and human rights to her. Like looking at the same problem in a different font, at a slightly different angle, it gives Sakura an opportunity for growth by maybe showing her some of the issues she had been ignoring or missing in Konoha, shaking some of her loyalty.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

Nope, not as far as I'm aware!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

Also nope, theoretically I could translate it in Dutch, but I'm a lot better at expressing myself in English I think, and almost every Dutch person can read English (especially on ao3), so I don't think it would add much. Maybe one day though!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

I haven't, though it seems like it'd be very cool, I'd definitely be open to it!

14. What's your all time favorite ship? 

God, don't make me choose 😭😭 I guess it's probably Chasefield? I'm such a sucker for those two it's unreal. Otherwise maybe Yuezula, Maizula or Sokkla? They each have such interesting possible dynamics, in such varying ways.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? 

Again, that's a tough one cause I'm afraid I have a lot. I still have several half-written chapters of Getting Family Approval In Six Fool-Proof Steps (Cue The Fools, Sokka And Azula), as well as the start of a longer fic that continues on from And Iphigenia Felt Rage that I've fully outlined and would love to write someday but can't be sure I ever will. There's also Indelible Mark which I've been blocked on forever. As for WIPs that haven't even been partially published yet, I've got 11k for a Chasefield fic I've posted a scene or two for on here called Muse on My Mind, that I wish I could finish but I'm not confident I can manage any time soon. I've also got the start and the outline of a TLT griddlehark fic, where I'm absolutely in love with the premise and the twist I'm building it on, but which, again, I've not progressed much with in a good 6 months. There's a few others, but these are the ones I'd really like to finish at some point.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? 

I love reading it, writing it I could do Dutch or Google translate a different language, but much preferably I'd be able to check it with someone who actually speaks the language for accuracy. Best to use some of the more advanced ao3 html uses to make a translation appear when you hover over it though, unless not understanding it is an important part of the reading experience, in which case people can look it up later if they want to.

19. First fandom you wrote for? 

My very first fic was actually a The 100 song fic based on an opera song, which is too embarrassing so I won't share where it is🤐 I was like 17 so it's too embarrassing.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Tbh, it's either Muse on My Mind (the chasefield fic I mentioned that isn't posted anywhere except for 1 or 2 scenes on Tumblr), which is super fun because it's playing with the perspective of a character that just straight up doesn't understand half the plot happening in the background that is hinted at for the reader who does know. Oblivious characters too caught up in their own shit to pay attention are so so so much fun to write, especially when you have fun with it, implying things but never outright confirming it!

Otherwise it's Haunted By Runaway Ghosts. That one is a Sokkla fic that explores their past through flashbacks while Zuko and Katara are both grappling with the discovery of their niece and nephew they had no idea existed (or could exist). Which, not to brag, but from a technical standpoint I really think that one is probably one of the most skilled fics I've written and published, and it was so much fun to write and puzzle it all together; the slow build up and explanations slowly coming together to form the bigger picture, the hidden ties between locations in the show and events in the story and how they fit into each other perfectly - genuinely a joy to write (and if people are interested in reading it please do, imo it's on par with And Iphigenia Felt Rage, if in a pretty different style, definitely something I'd love for more people to enjoy the way I did writing it).

Thanks again for tagging me @celinou, this was very fun to do! I see you've already tagged @sourrind, who I'd have tagged as well, so next I'll tag @dawnsiren @ly0nstea and @likeadragonfruit , and of course whoever else wants to do it!