#so i'm at least building a space that invites in good feelings

[liones-s]

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 6: One Step Closer

Summary: You're all trying to adjust to the changes happening between you and the members of your pack.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, some Price x Gaz

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, suggestive content, handjobs, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this one and might come back when I feel better and do some changes, but for now, it's fine. Mostly just a filler chapter more than anything. Some sweet moments, some maybe steamy...Building up for some more exciting things coming in the next parts. Also I just wanted to clear something up, pretty much everyone in this universe is at least a little bisexual. That will make sense once you read the chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

(Gif found on Google)

He curses the click of the door as it opens, making sure to go slowly so it doesn’t squeak as it’s prone to when it rains. His lips turn up in a smile as he catches a glimpse at the sight on the couch, no more than half a moment before Price’s honed senses cause him to wake at the change in atmosphere. 

He blinks tired eyes at Gaz, head lifting from where it had drooped to his chest in his sleep. He adjusts his hold on you, still asleep and unaware in the safety of your alpha’s arms. 

“Sleeping in your office again, sir?” Gaz says quietly, stepping closer to the couch. 

Price grunts quietly, shifting his hold on you so he can lift a hand to rub at his eyes. His voice is thick and gravelly with sleep as he answers. “Didn’t mean to.” 

Gaz hums, running a hand through Price’s hair as the air between them changes from Captain and Sergeant to alpha and beta. “Should get you both to bed.” 

“You take her.” Price murmurs. “She’ll forgive you easier for invading her space.” 

Gaz knows he’s right. He’d already been invited in once. His scent in your space would be less jarring than Price’s. Price carefully unravels your arms from around his neck, letting Gaz slip his arms under you to lift you off his lap. You stir slightly at the movement, letting out a quiet grumble. 

“Shh pretty girl.” Gaz shushes you, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Just taking you to bed.” 

Price follows behind him as he carries you through the halls to your room. You’re asleep by the time he reaches your door, Price opening it for him. Gaz slips in, carrying you to your bed. He makes sure you’re comfortable, tucking the blanket around you before leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

He spares one last glance at you fast asleep before he closes the door, turning to Price. “Your turn.” 

“You gonna carry me too?” Price asks, a playful glint shining in his eyes despite the obvious exhaustion. 

Gaz huffs out a laugh. “You wish.” He puts a hand on his back, guiding Price down to his door, closest to the entry to the barracks. 

He follows the alpha into his space, meticulously clean and tidy as usual. They both blink against the harsh overhead light, Gaz leaning against the door as Price begins emptying his pockets, getting settled in his space. 

“She knelt for me tonight.” Price says as he sits at his desk to unlace his boots. 

“She’s making headway.” Gaz replies, surprised that you asked to kneel so soon. He knows how meaningful kneeling is to both alpha and omega, how intense it can be, how much trust there is involved. 

Price hums, standing to remove his pants. “I fear Laswell was right. She’s turning out to be a good fit.” 

“She’s already got Simon worked up.” Gaz smiles, moving to the dresser to fish out clean sleep clothes. “I fear she may be taking a page out of Johnny’s book.” 

“Well, if it gets him to stop torturing himself, then I can’t say I’ll complain.” Price says, pulling his shirt over his head. “You know how he is.” 

“I know.” Gaz says, holding out the clean shirt and sweatpants. “Can’t say I blame him entirely. Not after what he’s been through.” 

Price slips on the clean clothes, stepping closer to Gaz. “He’ll warm up to our girl eventually.” 

“‘Our girl?’” Gaz’s eyebrows lift as Price steps in even closer, their noses brushing. “That’s quite the jump.” 

“She’s been our girl from the start. As soon as those papers were finalized, there was no sending her back.” Price says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gaz’s lips. “I wouldn’t put her through that. Not after everything.” 

Gaz pulls back, Staring at Price’s face. “You know something.” 

“I wouldn’t say I know anything, but I have my suspicions.” He moves past Gaz, turning off the overhead light. “I know we all do.” 

“You think she’ll tell us?” 

“I think she will, with time. I don’t want to push her into too much too soon.” He pats Gaz on the ass. “Come on, in bed.” 

“Sir, yes sir.” Gaz smirks, Price giving him a look as the beta pulls down the covers, crawling into the bed. 

Price groans internally, trying to calm the twitch in his pants at the mental picture of you, those big puppy eyes shining playfully as you saluted him. The small spark of excitement every time you call him “sir.” How easily you relaxed for him while you knelt, giving over complete trust and control to him for an hour. 

He crawls under the covers, tossing an arm over Gaz, trying to block out all the mental images flashing through his head. 

“Forget something in your pocket, sir?” Gaz says, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Shut it, Garrick.” 

You’re jarred awake by the sound of movement in the hallway. You let out a quiet noise of indignation, letting your eyes close again. It’s too early, around the time the boys leave to go workout. You’ve been graciously given a couple days off to rest and recover, likely Price’s recommendation. You knew if it were up to Ghost, he’d force you to work through the pain. You’re glad for the break, though, and you would be even if you weren’t horribly sore. 

Your head is still spinning a bit from last night. You’re not quite sure how you made it to bed, but the faint scent of clean linen and the sea gives you an idea. You bury your face in your pillow, letting out a groan. You knelt for Price last night. You opened yourself up to that vulnerability, and he had graciously guided and supported you through it. He didn’t scruff you, even though he could have, nor was there any demand for control in his grasp, he could have easily taken it. 

He’d been a good alpha, helping you relax and destress. You feel lighter for the first time in weeks, since you found out where you were going and who your new pack was going to be. You feel lighter than you have in your entire time on this base, though that could just be the endorphins still flowing a bit from kneeling for your alpha. 

It’ll be easier to come down from it once you’re bonded, you know that. Once there’s that connection between you, and you’re around him all the time. You’ll be moving into his room, or at least you’ll spend most of your time in there. You’ll sleep in his bed with him. You wonder if he’s a cuddler, or if he prefers personal space. Would Gaz join you sometimes? You can practically feel the warmth of being sandwiched between them, battle hardened hands trailing along your bare body because you’ll be naked and well bonded with both of them. 

You bury your burning face in your pillow letting out a muffled, quiet scream at the thoughts your mind is conjuring. You feel hot, warmth pooling in your stomach. There’s no going back to sleep now, you know that. 

You get up, rushing to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face and erase the thoughts in your head. It’s entirely natural, having these thoughts. You will get to that place, very soon, with Price. The others could pursue that sort of relationship with you as well, if they wanted to. It will likely happen naturally with Gaz, given his bond with Price, and after your kiss with Soap...

You’re not sure if it would happen with Ghost, or if he would allow it. You can’t help but think about yesterday, how easily he had overpowered you with just his scent. You had been scared, as it was your nature to be when an alpha was posing a direct threat to you, but the way he had looked hovering over you, the feeling of him pressed against you when he’d pinned you to the floor. How easily he got you into that position. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of him pinning you down like that, or better, pinning you against Soap, his hand on the back of your neck. 

You splash cold water on your face, holding your breath until your lower body stops pulsing in time with your heart. You let out a quiet curse, focusing on getting ready for the day before grabbing your book and heading for the rec room to try and calm yourself. 

“You’re up early, love.” 

You jump at the voice, lowering your book as you look up from your spot stretched out on the couch. Gaz is standing there, skin dewy with sweat. They must have just returned from their morning workout, heading in to shower and get ready for the day. Gaz must have noticed your scent and followed it. 

“Couldn’t get back to sleep.” You explain as he moves closer to the couch. “Gaz!” You shriek as he crawls over you, dropping his body on top of yours. “You’re all sweaty!” 

“You can shower later.” He says, resting his face against your chest, his elbows pressed into the cushions so he’s not completely squishing you with his weight. 

“You should be showering now.” You say, trying not to breathe in too much of his scent. It’s heavily tainted with the scent of sweat and musk. 

“Then we can shower together.” He murmurs, nuzzling his face further into your chest. 

Your face warms, your heart rate picking up at his teasing. The thought of being enclosed in the shower with him, such a small space, packed in together. Skin to skin, bare before each other. You might implode beneath him, warmth beginning to travel down your spine after your thoughts earlier. 

“Relax.” He murmurs with a grin, obviously picking up the quickening of your heart rate and the change in your scent. “I’m teasing.” 

He’s just as bad as Soap, but not quite as blatant with it. While Soap would tease at any open opportunity, Gaz tended to choose his moments wisely, slipping some teasing remark in when you least expected it. 

Gaz goes quiet as he lays there, his breathing steady. You mark your page before reaching up to set the book on the arm of the couch. You can’t help yourself as you run your fingers through his short cropped, damp curls, gently scratching at his scalp. He makes a quiet noise, his body getting heavier. 

“Gaz?” You murmur, earning a grunt in response. “Are you falling asleep?” 

“Can’t help it.” He murmurs. “So comfy.” 

Your cheeks warm as he nuzzles into your chest, letting out a content sigh. You fight the urge to release one of your own, feeling warm and content even pressed against the lumpy cushions of the couch. How easy it is to find comfort even in the most uncomfortable places. 

It doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. 

Your heart rate kicks up again, hand stilling where it had been scratching Gaz’s scalp. You’re allowed to want. You asked yesterday and nothing bad happened. 

“Gaz?” You murmur, trying to fight the nervous twisting of your stomach. “Would you...if I wanted something, would you get it for me, even if it’s stupid?” 

Gaz shifts on top of you, knees pressing into the couch as he pushes himself higher so you’re face to face. One of his legs is between yours, holding him up so he doesn’t squish you under his weight. 

He stares down at you, blinking the haze of sleep from his dark eyes. “Babygirl, I’d take over the world for you if that’s what you wanted.” 

Your lips part in surprise at his answer. You’re not entirely sure he’s allowed to say something like that, even as a joke. The sentiment of it is not lost on you, and you find tears prickling the backs of your eyes. 

His arms shift beneath you, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what you want.” 

You stare up into those big, sweet, dark eyes. Gaz radiates a kindness and calmness like you haven’t felt in a long time. Not that the others aren’t kind, even in Ghost and his aggressiveness, you’ve felt the protective drive within him. It wasn’t based on any claim or sense of ownership, even a sense of duty couldn’t bring forward that kind of reaction. But Gaz...there’s just something so soft and gentle despite the danger he could pose. 

“Kiss me.” You blurt out, realizing you’ve been staring for far too long. 

Gaz stares down at you, a grin slowly spreading on his lips. “Just that? Here I thought you were gonna say something impossible like world domination.” 

“Well, if you’re offering...” You shrug. 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Probably shouldn’t be making those jokes.” He leans down closer. “Though, if you asked nicely...” 

You let out a quiet sound as his lips press against yours. They’re just as soft as they look, pressing against yours so gently and softly. Your arms lift to his shoulders, curling into the fabric of his shirt. He coaxes your lips to move with his, copying his movements as he tilts his head slightly. 

Warmth blooms beneath your skin as he kisses you, your head spinning. His scent invades your nose, seeping into your very being. You want to curl up in it, let it surround you like a warm blanket. You catch the whiff of something deeper, the scent of damp earth. Price. You have a sudden urge to pull his shirt collar to the side, to stare at the mark that decorates his scent gland at the base of his throat, a mirror of the one you’ll carry in a few short weeks. 

“Ye didnae tell me ye were startin’ a cuddle pile!” 

An excited voice causes you both to separate, Gaz barely managing to lift himself up enough so that you don’t get squished when Soap practically jumps on his back. 

“Bloody hell, mate,” Gaz grunts. “Tryna squish our poor omega?” 

The weight above you shifts before Soap’s head appears over Gaz’s shoulder, a wide grin on his face. “Mornin’ hen!” 

“For someone so small, you weigh a ton.” Gaz says with a strain to his voice as sweat breaks out across his forehead from keeping his weight and Soap's off of you.

“I'm no that small.” Soap says, an offended tone to his voice as he goes limp on top of Gaz. 

You can't help but giggle at their antics, especially as Gaz pushes himself up to a kneeling position, nearly sending Soap rolling to the floor. Your face is warm from your giggling as they both stand, playfully pushing each other. 

“Alright, enough you two.” Price's voice cuts through their playful arguing, amusement shining in his eyes as he leans on the doorframe. “Almost time for breakfast.”

“Come on.” Gaz says, taking your hands and helping you up. “Let's get some pancakes in you before you turn into one.”

“You should try courting her.” Kyle says, scrolling through his phone as he lounges on John's bed. “Like old-fashioned courting.”

“What are you on about?” John grumbles, drying his face with a towel. 

“Our little omega. You should try courting her.” Kyle repeats, looking over his phone at John. 

John tosses his towel into his hamper before approaching the bed. Kyle lets his eyes rake over his form, his strong arms and soft stomach, thick, strong thighs and the prominent bulge at the front of his briefs. 

“It would be worth a try.” Kyle continues, letting John pull the phone from his hands. “Omegas love that shit.” 

“And what prompted this thought?” John asks, laying down on his side next to Kyle, pulling the younger man closer. 

“She's getting all worked up by us now.” He says, biting back a groan as John trails a hand over his side. “She's kissed Soap and I so far. Got all worked up when I teased her about showering together this morning.” His hand trails through John's short hair as John licks at his throat. “I think she'd enjoy a little attention from her alpha.”

“What do you have in mind?” John murmurs before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of Kyle's throat. 

Kyle shrugs, letting out a gasp as John bites at his throat. “Take her out for dinner? Buy her some things for her room? Give in to those alpha cravings a bit.”

John lets out a low growl, pinning Kyle on the bed beneath him. Kyle's lips lift in a smirk, fingers lifting to run through John's beard. His thumb drags across John's lower lip, gaze soft as he stares up at the alpha. 

“You won't ruin anything by doing it. There's only so much time until her heat. If I were an alpha, I'd want her to be as comfortable as possible before then. Makes the shift into bonded pack life much easier.” Kyle says. 

John leans down until their noses brush, groaning softly as Kyle digs his fingers into his shoulders. He knows Kyle is right. He should make an effort with you, at least try to ensure you're as comfortable around him as possible before he claims you. Most alphas wouldn't have waited for the first heat, wouldn't have even waited a week before claiming, before taking their omega to bed. He doesn't want to be like those alphas. He doesn't want to force you into more than you already have been, more than you will be. 

He wants things to happen as naturally as possible, but that doesn't mean he can't try. 

Kyle leans up, closing the distance between them and kissing him. He presses his beta back into the mattress, nipping harshly at his lips. Their tongues tangle together, tasting like peppermint toothpaste and something distinctly alpha and beta. 

John presses his body closer to Kyle's groaning as his half hard cock drags against Kyle's. Kyle moans into his mouth as John begins grinding against him. Their bodies move together, a familiar dance they've both memorized the steps to. 

John groans as Kyle's fingers trail down his back, blunt nails biting into the skin. Breathy moans slip from kiss-bruised plump lips as John kisses down Kyle's throat. Calloused fingers slip under the waistband of John's briefs, teasing the soft supple skin beneath. John grinds down against him harder, dragging his leaking cock against Kyle's twitching one. 

“Fuck, Cap.” Kyle groans, bucking up against his alpha. “Lemme feel you.”

John wraps his arms around Kyle, flipping them over so he's on top. Kyle makes quick work of his boxers, tugging John's briefs down roughly. He groans, licking his lips at the sight of his alpha's leaking cock. 

“Like what you see, pup?” John asks, lips lifting in a smirk. 

“Fuck yes.” Kyle breathes, settling himself on John's thighs. 

He leans down, wrapping a hand around both his and John's cocks. John groans as Kyle begins stroking them both, his cock twitching as more precum slips from his tip. He's close, the pent up frustrations from the last couple days along with the tantalizing scent of omega driving him to near insanity. 

He feels like he might pop a knot as Kyle picks up the pace, one hand braced against his chest, his hips rocking in short thrusts. His head falls back as his orgasm slams into him, hit cum spurting across his stomach. Kyle groans loudly, frantically pumping his own cock as he reaches his peak, spurting his spend across his alpha's stomach too. 

“Made quite the mess, Sergeant.” John says, trailing his fingers through the mix of cum on his stomach. 

“Would you like me to clean it up, sir?” Kyle smirks, opening his mouth to allow John's fingers to push in. 

His tongue swirls around his thick fingers, lapping them clean. Kyle shifts on top of him, bending down and trailing his tongue across John's stomach, licking up their mess. 

“Good boy.” John hums, gently cradling the back of Kyle's neck. 

The sky is dark as you make your way from your room. Gaz and Price are nowhere to be found, your cheeks warming at the thought of where they could be and what they could be up to. You take a breath to steady yourself, and your scent, before you head into the rec room. Soap and Ghost are there, Soap on the opposite end of the couch as usual, and Ghost in the chair next to the couch that faces the door. 

He sees you first, his shoulders squaring just a bit. Soap turns to the doorway, a typical grin splitting his face when he sees you. It’s been a while since you’ve seen anyone be happy to see you, and you can’t deny that Soap’s joy is a bit contagious. He’s like an excited puppy. You can imagine if he had a tail, it would be wagging non-stop. 

“Come tae join us, hen?” He asks, holding out a hand. 

Ghost’s eyes are sharp as they stare at you, the silent warning not lost. You’re infringing on their space, infringing on his protective circle around his beta. You’re pushing a boundary and that could be dangerous. 

It could be. 

You move forward, taking Soap’s hand, letting him tug you down next to him on the couch. You ignore the eyes burning into you, boring holes into your skin as you settle in as close to Soap as you can. You almost smile in victory as Soap drapes his arm across the back of the couch, your attention turning to whatever is playing on the TV. 

Ghost and Soap continue their conversation, Soap's fingers brushing your arm every so often. You can feel every time Ghost's burning gaze turns to you, every time he glowers at you for being so close to his beta. You can't help but wonder what's going through his mind, what he's thinking, what he's imagining. 

You'll pay for this later. 

You can only imagine how he'll punish you in your training for boldly breaching such an obvious boundary. 

Soap doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps he simply doesn't care. It's not like you're not allowed to be close to Soap. As a member of your new pack, he had every right to pursue a bond with you if he wanted, regardless of how Ghost felt. Even though they're bonded, Soap is still his own person. 

It's almost ironic. 

You're starting to feel the exhaustion of your early morning as the night drags on, your head getting heavier and heavier. Ghost's need to glower at you has lessened a bit, his eyes only on you whenever you shift or move. Your head has drooped onto Soap's shoulder, an idea forming in your mind. You're sure it's the exhaustion making you so bold, or perhaps your new belief that the only way you'll even stand a chance at getting through to Ghost is to push those boundaries and stand up to him.

You lift your head, shifting your body until you're laying on the couch, resting your head on Soap's thigh. You watch Ghost's hands curl into fists where they rest on his lap, his eyes burning through your head as you make yourself comfortable. Soap's hand sinks into your hair, massaging your scalp as you lay there, your lips curling into a content smile. 

You know it has to be eating at him just a little. A content beta and a preening omega, an image of what he could have if he simply got over whatever is keeping him from accepting you. 

“Tired, lass?” Soap's gentle voice pulls you from your thoughts. Your mind had started to doze a bit, trailing off with your thoughts. 

You make a quiet noise in agreement, nuzzling against his thigh. 

“Let's get ye tae bed.” He says, squeezing your arm. 

You're not expecting Ghost to follow as Soap leads you from the rec room, your fingers entwined with his. Even in your tired state you can feel the icy stare at your back, the looming presence of the alpha behind you as Soap walks you to your door. 

“Night, hen.” Soap murmurs softly. 

You're sure it's the exhaustion making you delirious as you stand on your toes, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. Soap hums against your lips, bending down to follow you as you go to pull away. You ignore the tickling at the back of your neck as he presses another kiss to your lips, your hand reaching for your doorknob and the security of your room. 

“Night, Soap.” You murmur, slipping into your room before Ghost makes a rash decision. 

You're going to regret it later, but you certainly don't at this moment. 

The fabric isn’t as soft as it used to be. It’s been worn too much, washed too many times. You’ve stitched the ripped seam back together, a bit sloppy but you can hardly tell thanks to the luck of finding thread the same color as the sweatshirt. You hold it in your hands, staring at the frayed edges, the loose strings. Well loved, some might call it. Garbage, others might think. 

“Finally fixing the holes?” 

The voice cutting through the silence makes you jump, your head whipping around to the door. Price is standing there, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He says. 

“It’s alright, sir.” You say, calming your racing heart. You hadn’t even heard him approach. “I thought you were all at training.” 

“I had a call I had to take.” He says, entering the room now that you’ve calmed. “Was heading back out when I caught a whiff of your scent.” He lowers himself onto the couch with a quiet groan, staring softly at you. 

“I know it’s stupid, holding onto it when I could just ask for a new one.” You say, staring down at the sweatshirt in your hands. 

“But it’s more than just a sweatshirt.” He says, tone soft and understanding. 

You sink your teeth into your lip, fingers curling into the fabric in your hands. “One of the omegas at the institute gave it to me.” You say, holding the sweatshirt to your chest. “We were the same age so we were grouped together a lot and we got really close. She gave it to me when we reached selection age, since we both knew we were likely to get chosen fast and she wanted to give me something to remember her by. It’s a good thing she did too, because she did get chosen almost immediately.” You let out a quiet laugh, blinking back tears. “I’ve held on to it ever since. It doesn't even smell like her anymore. Hasn’t for a long time.” 

Price is quiet for a few moments, his eyes on your face. You can’t look at him, your gaze on the sweatshirt in your lap. “You loved her.” He finally says, his tone not accusing or even disgusted. 

It’s understanding. Knowing.

You take a shaky breath, hands closing into nervous fists around the sweatshirt. “Institutes try everything they can to prevent omegas from bonding with each other. Makes it too hard to separate us once we come of age. Alphas don’t want a distressed, unhappy omega, they’re expecting an eager, willing addition to their pack. It’s hard though, when you spend literal years together experiencing the same thing to not form bonds with each other.”

 Price huffs quietly. “My grandfather used to tell me about the traditional pack boom after World War 2. When militaries across the world began to forbid bonding and pack formation within ranks. They were spending more time and money on preventing it from happening than anything else. It didn’t take them long to realize it was easier to allow the organic bonds to form. It made soldiers stronger, gave them purpose. It’s easier to look away than to fight what nature intends sometimes.” He smiles at you, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. “We are the last people that will judge you for it.”

You know that. You've known that from the start. The way their scents mingle, their bonds. They're a bonded pack for a reason. 

“She never knew. Or, I never told her. I don't know where she ended up or where she is now.” You shrug, letting out a sardonic huff. “It's a lonely existence sometimes, being an omega.”

“I can only imagine.” Price says, giving you a sad smile. 

“I suppose I should just get rid of it.” You say, staring at the sweatshirt. “No use holding onto something that could have never been.” 

Price squeezes your shoulder gently. “Wait here.” 

He gets up, leaving you alone in the rec room. You wait patiently for him to return, growing a bit nervous. What was he doing? Was he telling someone about your confession? Was he going to send you back because of it? You know your worries are unwarranted, but you can't stop them. 

He returns a few moments later, a sweatshirt in his hands. “Here.” He says, holding it out to you. “They're standard issue, but I've never been one for sweatshirts. It's just been sitting in my closet.”

You take the sweatshirt, soft and new in your hands. It hardly smells like him, only the light residual scent from being in his room. “Thank you, sir.” You say, rubbing the fabric against your cheek. 

He nods at your old sweatshirt. “This way you can save that one, and start picking this one apart.” 

Your face warms at his cheeky comment, your head turning down bashfully. “It means a lot, sir. Really.” 

“You'll get better use of it than I did.” He glances at his watch. “I best be getting back to the boys. We'll be back before dinner.”

“Wait-” You get up before he can leave, slowly approaching him with the sweatshirt in hand. Your face is burning as he stares down at you, eyebrows raised in waiting. “Will you...scent it?” You hold the sweatshirt out to him.

He looks surprised for a moment before he takes the fabric, rubbing his face and neck against it. He coats the sweatshirt in his scent, the smell of trees and petrichor filling your nose as you watch him. The back of your neck begins to prickle, the desire to roll in his scent getting stronger. 

“Thank you, sir.” You say as he hands the sweatshirt back to you. “I'd...I'd also like to kneel again tonight, if that's alright.”

He smiles softly down at you. “Of course. I'll come and get you when I'm ready.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your head before he takes his leave. 

You pull on Price's sweatshirt, burying your nose in his scent for a moment. A smile pulls at your lips as you grab your old sweatshirt, making for your room.

You can't wait for tonight. 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

[hypnagogics]

how soon is now? | part two

READ THIS FIRST 🇵🇸

previous chapter. series masterlist.

♡: hallway crush!ellie x uni student!reader

☆: the long-awaited second part of this godforsaken fic (lawd she’s given me trouble). appreciate y'all's patience as always, i'm a chronic procrastinator and perfectionist but what can i do. after this, i'm gonna take a break from this series. not saying i'll never write more, but wanna work on some other stuff for a while. thank you for reading! pretty please don’t hate me or show up at my house waving torches and pitchforks for this ending ok luv u gays in my phone. + a big thank you to @total-dxmure for helping me w/ some ideas for the last little bit!

♧:5.7k word count (lawd)

◇: sfw! miscommunication (sawry). fluffy moments, angst lowkey…both of yall cry at one point or another, reader has anxiety in the last chunk. modern au but joel isn’t alive in this, and they discuss it. maybe some rushed points here and there, i’m not really the proudest of this but needed to finish it anyway. potentially horrendous pacing but ok i think that’s all? idfk i may give y’all a little epilogue eventually, but don't dwell on it for the time being!

4 months later 

Your friendship with Ellie was evolving wonderfully. You two were studying together frequently, and both your grades in the ghastly astrophysics class increased exponentially. Although that wasn't the only thing that was increasing at a rate too fast to fathom. Your crush on her. It was ripping you apart like wildfire, Ellie was proving herself to be such a wonderful person inside and out, and you were slowly but surely nearing your limit of how much it could build before you burst. A movie spin off of the Savage Starlight series had come to streaming, and Ellie had invited you to her place for a movie night so you two could watch it and discuss if it was a faithful entry in your beloved series or not. 

Dressed in some comfortable pjs and armed with snacks of all kinds, your favorites as well as hers, the time had come and you were at her door. You straighten your posture and put your hair back in place, must look presentable, then knock, knock, knock.

You could hear some faint shuffling behind the door, then a few thudding steps until she opened it for you. She was dressed in an old, worn Nirvana tee, and red checkered pajama pants, damn she looked good, even when she was dressed with less effort than usual. 

Ellie looked so pleased to see you, leaning on the doorframe. Why did she have to look so good all the time? “Hi! I’m so glad you came, ooh this is gonna be so fun.” She invited you in and took the snacks from your arms and placed them inside her room. “Oh yeah, I also put up some decor too so we can get into the Savage Starlight spirit.” Her eyes were wide and twinkling and when she stepped aside to let you see, she really had made her room so welcoming and comfortable.  

The lights were all off save for LEDs around the room’s perimeter set to a dreamy violet hue, sparkly fairy lights draped around the frame of her bed which was set up so cozily. Her laptop propped up on a pillow, the sheets arranged in a nest-like formation with two spaces for each of you. She even had a few dinosaur stuffed animals placed in a row so they could watch too.

You were so flattered she'd do that and make the atmosphere so nice for the two of you, you could just tackle her in a hug and never let go.

The thing is you were scared she'd perceive that as weird and you didn't feel like dying of embarrassment, not today at the very least. Save that for another day, maybe. Oh, how you wanted to squeeze her so bad. Your imagination had to do for now. 

She was standing there so proud of how she arranged her room into a mini theater, and you beamed at her, silently thanking her for making it so dim so she couldn't see your flustered expression in full.

“Ellie this is amazing!!” “You like it?!? These stupid lights kept on falling off but since this is an important occasion for us both I didn't give up. All for our love, Daniela.” She manipulated her voice and waved in the air with two fists, closed her eyes and put her hand over her heart, just being as dorky as ever.

Oh gosh, hopefully it wasn't going to be awkward. Sure, the two of you had grown to be great friends, but were you that close to be just, relaxing in her bed together? As long as your imagination didn't run too wild and you didn't overthink anything, it was going to be a fun time. Just two pals watching their favorite series, nothing more, nothing less.

She threw herself in the mess of comforters with a grunt, and saw you were hesitating. She patted the empty space next to her so you'd join her and the movie night could begin. “C’mere, don't be shy.” Well, no shit you were going to be shy. Suck it up. 

You crawled in next to her, unable to look her in the eyes, while she got everything ready and rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Man, if they do our girl dirty, we’re gonna have to give someone a knuckle sandwich, you with me?” Her jokes and easy going vibes always made her so fun to be around, but unfortunately for you, you fell harder for her every time. “Yeah, Ellie. A knuckle sandwich for all of them.” You retorted with a chuckle. Once both of you were settled, she pressed play and so it began.

As the movie played, the two of you laughed and debated every plot twist, cursing the directors for not portraying your queen Daniela how she deserves, and snacked on candy until your stomachs hurt. It was going so well, the friendly hang out both of you needed after so many responsibilities in life. An escape. Occasionally sneaking peeks Ellie’s way, she was just so marvelously pretty. The shadows dancing on her features, illuminating her side profile perfectly, her long eyelashes and button nose, who wouldn't get lost in admiring her?

Of course you could never fully relax around her, or forget the crush no matter how hard you tried to push it down and just be friends. Every time she shifted next to you in the bed you felt your heart seize and the butterflies in your stomach turn into hornets. At this rate, they were going to turn into whole birds for fuck’s sake.

Nearing the end of the movie, the two of you were so invested, so captivated in the events, totally spellbound.

But then the film took a more emotional turn that wasn't in the comics. Daniela and her father had an absolutely vicious argument which left the two of you speechless watching it, which luckily got quickly resolved right after the two characters had a near-death experience together.

You weren't one to get emotional over silly, trivial things like fiction, but the way they showed this entire sequence was nothing short of heart-wrenching. You snatched up one of Ellie's patterned pillows and hugged it tightly to your chest, because cuddling her would have been much too bold for the likes of you. But what you’d give to do that instead.

Seems you were not the only one touched by the scene, as you began to hear some light sniffling from next to you. Looking over at Ellie made your heart break further into a million pieces. She looked lost in thought with thin lines of tears streaming down her plump, freckled cheeks. 

You froze for a moment, not knowing the limits of your relationship with her and how you could comfort her best. So you cleared your throat and mumbled, “That was so sad…” You watched as she avoided your gaze and wiped at her face with the collar of her t-shirt, “Yeah, this kind of stuff hits me, feels a little personal y’know.” She has never opened up to you about her struggles before, in the short time you’ve known and gotten close with Ellie, it always seemed like she was there to help you out, not the other way around. This could be your chance to show her that you are there for her as well, and that she can always count on you.

Being curious but at the same time not wishing to pry too much into her private affairs, you quietly asked with the most gentle tone of voice you could muster,” You don’t have to, but I’m here if you ever wanna talk about it, Ellie.” You watched her out of the corner of your eye, anticipating however she reacts.

She stayed quiet for a beat before sighing deeply, and whispered, “We were having a fun time, I really don't wanna be a burden.” Her voice quivered, heavy with emotion, what could possibly be troubling her this much? You wanted to take all her pain and bear it yourself, she didn't deserve any sort of misfortune ever.

“You can tell me, don’t worry about anything, okay? I just want you to be all good.” You were comforting her so smoothly, putting her needs and well-being first as if it was always second nature, as if you two have known each other many lifetimes over, two souls meant to float together through the journey of life. Well okay, that was probably a bit much.

There were a few more seconds of silence as you let the question ring in the air, not wanting to press and jeopardize your cherished friendship with her. 

You continue observing her, almost seeing the gears turning in her mind, the scales of reason tipping to one side then another, as she contemplates whether it’s worth spilling. Eventually, she does.

She roughly rubs her face then pauses the film playing on her laptop, sighs and huffs, before beginning to speak her story, all while looking away from you.

“Okay I don’t like to talk about this kind of stuff, but I trust you. A whole lot.” Your heart fluttered and face heated up at her comment, but you ignored it because there was something much more important on the table now. She continues, speaking quietly but quickly to get it over with. 

“So, when I was a kid, I was an orphan and to be honest I don’t really remember my early childhood much at all, but when I was 14 my adoptive dad, Joel, took me in. And it’s been just us since then.” She stops to take a breath, then resumes reluctantly. “And well, we’ve had a pretty rocky relationship for a good chunk of these years, I never knew how to express my gratitude to him, y’know, for basically saving my life, numerous times at that. He was always my rock, and I appreciate him every day. He taught me so many things, and I don’t know what I would’ve done if he hadn’t come around. I was pretty hard to deal with back then.” She reminisces with an exhale of air, and you see her eyes refill with tears. “But I’m really bad at expressing that, and will kinda, lash out I guess when I’m met with kindness or tricky situations.” 

You nod, listening patiently, and place your hand on her shoulder ever so gently, as a result making her raise her head to give you a small smile. 

Ellie chuckled deeply, it almost sounded forced, then started to slowly wrap up her story. “And it seems that scene kinda hit me, because the wounds are still raw, or whatever.” 

She sniffles again but doesn't respond, so you delicately inquire, “What do you mean?”

“He died last year.” Oof.

“Oh my, Ellie, I’m so sorry, are you-” She interrupts your condolences. “No need for that, I’m fine. Well, taking it day by day y’know. In the beginning it was really tough, I was angry at everything but most at myself for being such a jerk, and now I can't turn back time and tell him all I wanted to.” While you take a moment to think about what to say, she hums to herself and remarks, “That actually felt good to get off my chest, I haven't told anyone about it.” She lowers her voice so it’s barely a whisper. “Didn't have who to tell.”

“Sure you're okay? I'm always here for you.” You find your voice back to soothe her some more, to which she smiles at you again, only this time it actually seems genuine. There's definitely a lot of pain behind it, but the relief that she doesn't have to deal with the burden alone was evident on her face. 

“Yeah, thanks. I guess I hadn’t processed anything, and that part of the movie made it all come out, damn I hate emotions sometimes. But I appreciate you being here for me. You're really easy to talk to, and I feel better now.” 

And you would've never in a trillion years anticipated what her next move was going to be, you were so caught off guard, the realization lagged and it didn't immediately register. 

She moved to sit on her knees in front of you, then threw her arms around your torso in a tight embrace. She hugged you. Clutched you so firmly against her own body, her strong hands landing in the middle of your back, where she rubbed in a circle. She smelled so nice, and was as warm as one of her heated stuffed animals. 

Due to the surprising nature of the motion you let out a dumbfounded gasp, then returned the hug allowing yourself to rest your head on her shoulder. You wanted to stay like this forever, until the end of time, it felt nicer than you could've ever imagined.

The thought crossed your mind that she could feel the buzz pulsating through your body, you swore your heart was slamming against your ribcage so hard it was going to grow wings and simply fly right out of your chest, and join hands with hers.

While you were occupied with the way she felt against you, so close like this, chest against chest, and how your cheeks blazed with an inferno hotter than a thousand suns, you heard her grumble against your ear. “Not gonna make that same mistake again, and from now on, I'm gonna tell the people I appreciate just how much they matter to me.”

You were much too stunned to speak, but she wasn't. “So thank you again.” She finishes her little speech and pulls away first, but not before giving you one last big squeeze and letting out a noise of contentment as she does so, then shuffles over to her previous spot in the bed. 

Not taking notice of the way you were at a loss for words, or about to set the room on fire with how flustered her actions made you. Her obliviousness was a common theme, it seemed. She clears her throat and claps, grabbing some more candy for herself, then says happily, “We still got the rest of the movie left, then we can do whatever after. I really wanna know how this ends.”

Naturally, your head is spinning, but you were too caught up in your thoughts to continue paying attention to the movie as much as you were before.

You felt awful for her, yet somehow, felt as if your crush on her had quadrupled in size yet again. You saw through the guard she put up, she broke down those walls and opened up to you. You were honored she trusted you so much, and only hoped that would never change. That, coupled with how remarkably good hugs she gave, has led you to the realization that you were properly in love now, things had gotten real. This was trouble. You vowed to always be there for her for whatever she could ever need, you'd drop everything to teleport by her side if you could. 

Goodness, what were you possibly going to do now, instead of giving you the ick, or helping you with the task of getting rid of that stupid infatuation you were so plagued by, every experience felt like a deliberate ploy to just make you fall even further for her. You couldn't help but wonder just how much love a person can feel for someone, because it only continued to grow. 

A couple days later.

Sitting in the cozy campus cafe, you were revising all your coursework. It was giving you a massive headache, but the warm and hazy lighting aided it a touch. The walls had cute plastic vines crawling up and down, and even though there was chatter all around you from the other patrons, it wasn't a distraction and in fact acted as some sort of white noise, everyone was talking in a nicely muted tone, it all blended to create the perfect ambience. 

You waved down the waitress to get yet another cup of coffee, your third one of the night, that’s healthy, before trying to resume with your aggravating studies. 

To your dismay, you've used up all your brain power for the evening, and could not force yourself to continue no matter how hard you tried. Maybe a few moments of peaceful people-watching would get you back on track?

You sip on the hot drink, then lean back against the comfortable booth seat to begin scanning around.

In one corner directly on the opposite side of where you were sitting, there was an elderly couple. They looked so in love, dressed in matching outfits, feeding each other as they shared a dessert, holding hands and conversing with a hushed tone, nodding and looking into each other's twinkling eyes. So cute, you hoped that was going to be you in the future. 

Moving your line of sight to watch beside the couple, there was another student, their books and computer were scattered across the wooden table, piles of pens and pencil cases near falling over. They seemed to have fallen asleep, unmoving with their head laid tiredly across their crossed arms. The sight made you chuckle out of familiarity, you really felt for them, studies were hard. 

But then a sound caught your attention. A bright, husky giggle fought its way over the ambience, reminiscent of a certain someone. 

Your heart jumped, your ears perked up and you immediately became insistent on scouting her out among the patrons, this was a necessary mission. 

Feeling highly nervous and antsy, you try to drown out the noise and focus on where she could be, and quickly enough, you find her.

Ellie in her natural habitat, she was so mesmerizing. Sitting far away from you where you could get a good view and hear snippets of conversation if you focused hard enough, but not close enough where she would notice your shameless gawking. She was sitting with a group of a handful of her friends, who all appeared to be gossiping and laughing with each other, you couldn't tear your eyes away.

Her smile was gorgeous, and you knew that, but there was something about just being a spectator which fascinated you, you could stare at her all day. Her energy lit up the entire room, and made your heart race.

Snapping out of your trance and trying to not be so obvious with your staring, you tried to look occupied, tried reorganizing your notes while still keeping an ear out to listen. Occasionally glancing over as  well. Yes, it's true that eavesdropping is wrong, but you couldn't help yourself. Anyone would do the same, right?

The group's passionate discussion was making you extremely curious however, and you strained to hear what they were talking about. Among the muffled chatter, you heard a woman’s voice say the word crush, then an outburst of laughter, the loudest guffaw from Ellie herself. 

You felt the budding panic start to form in your chest momentarily, but swallowed the lump forming in your throat and took a sharp intake of breath to calm yourself at once. They could be talking about anything, there's no need to jump to conclusions just yet. Fumbling around your bag for your headphones to listen to some of the song recommendations Ellie had given you, you’re led to discover that they are, in fact, dead. Of course. 

Despite any and all wishes to stop eavesdropping on them and mind your own business and abide by what they say, ignorance is bliss, you simply couldn't. She was too damn captivating. Like a painting in a museum, like a statue at a town’s center, one that people stopped in their tracks to admire. 

The way her eyes sparkled and gleamed under the warm lighting, her cheeks tinted a faint rosy hue from the exertion of laughing so hard, her sweet smile. She was too perfect. God, you hated crushes, being infatuated with someone to this degree couldn't be healthy. But what could you do? Just look at this angel.

Fidgeting nervously while still being entranced by the group of friends, you heard a man’s voice say the words “there’s no way”, followed by Ellie howling even harder than she had the whole time you've been watching them, and punch him forcefully on the shoulder. 

The curiosity was going to swallow you whole, it was like a car crash you couldn't look away from. You felt your palms begin to tremble and sweat with worry, and anxious assumptions of all kinds running through your mind, were they talking about you? No, they couldn't be, you're just overthinking it. Relax, relax, relax.

You tried your hardest to control your breathing and soothe your spinning mind so you wouldn't spiral, until you heard something that absolutely shook you to your core.

The same woman from before, not Ellie, in a highly teasing tone of voice said your name.

You felt frozen, this couldn't be happening. All your worst fears were coming true at this very moment. You had to get out of there right away, this was too much to bear. Curiosity really did kill the cat didn't it, you wished you didn't comply with the morbid desire to know everything. 

Panic-stricken like a deer in headlights, near hyperventilating at this point, the final straw was all three of them erupting into laughter simultaneously, with Ellie through gasps, going "oh come onnnn”.

Yeah that was it. Hot tears started pricking your eyes and you vigorously blinked them away before they started streaming down your face, as if you needed to be humiliated even more. You felt sadded, torn apart, betrayed. Sick to your stomach too. This time, for once, you really thought you had something going for you. From your perspective, albeit through rose-colored glasses, you were convinced she was being genuine with you all this time. How could you not be? 

The late night study sessions, the air thick with tension, the conversations draped in a sleep-deprived haze, the walks to class together, the first fated interaction, the looks you two shared from across the huge lecture hall; the looks where you two just knew when to share a glance, was all of that fake? Was she leading you on purposefully because her friends thought it was funny, that you were a joke?

The tears threatened to spill and your stomach twisted painfully with the world-shattering realizations you were just served with, and you angrily shoved your belongings in your bag.

You were too caught up in your panicked frenzy to notice how disruptive you were actually being, your textbooks thumping and keychains jingling, but frankly didn't care enough to meet the numerous pairs of eyes observing your misfortune. Who could blame you, your whole world and everything you've known just crumbled before you. 

You slung your bag over your shoulder noisily as a choked sob made its way up your throat, then speed-walked out of that cafe. You were never going to be able to go in there again unfortunately, shame, their pastries were so good.

Right as you tried to step through the door it got stuck, because the universe was being really nice to you today, and as you tugged on it to get it to open, you heard the friends lower their voices, but you could still make out a jumble of hushed words sounding something like, “oh no, is that…” Great, great, fucking great. The only solution to this was to change your name and ride up to Seattle for goodness’ sake, maybe throw yourself into a volcano as well just because. 

Finally the door swung open after what felt like eons, and you stumbled outside into the chilly autumn air, feeling goosebumps spring up all over. Where you were going, you didn't really know. This cafe was new, so it would take some time to figure out navigation so you stood dumbly in the middle of the front lawn as you tried to orient yourself.

Once you think you've got it, you start your agonizing trek back to your little room, screaming inside of your head, until you're harshly yanked back mid-footstep by a vice grip on your arm. What the fuck was it now. 

Ellie. The sight of her only made your tears increase in quantity and the emotion in your chest tighten. She looked a little disheveled, her eyes round like saucers, and she was gripping onto your arm so hard as if you were going to run away. You wanted to, but she still had a magnetic hold on you, even after all that turmoil. 

Talking was painful with how much you were trying to keep a hold of yourself, but you managed out a choked, “Ellie, what?” 

She looked befuddled, shaking her head ever so slightly and scrunching up her eyebrows, her gaze boring right into yours and following whenever you tried to break it and look elsewhere. Her hold on your arm softens, and moves to rest on your shoulder. “What do you mean what? You ran outta there like you were chased by a lunatic or something, what the fuck happened?”

Her tone startled you a little, why did she care so much? Noticing you jolt, she sighs and mellows her speech. “Sorry, what I mean to say is, I'm worried. Are you okay?” 

You worried her? Heat rushed to your cheeks as you fought to break the increasingly uncomfortable eye contact, and all you could do was shrug. Your lip started quivering and you were losing the fight of keeping your composure, how wonderful. Despite everything she was being so sweet, way too sweet. You felt helpless at this point. 

The words started pouring out of your mouth like a waterfall, you were properly sobbing now, falling apart and hiccuping as months and months of emotion spilled over. 

You were blabbering about how you loved the friendship you formed with her, but how hurt you felt that she’d laugh about you, every possible insecurity just tumbled out of your lips, as you wiped at your teary face and runny nose and glanced at Ellie ever so often. 

She let you talk for a bit until she saw you get even more upset, that's when she got a step closer to you, squeezed both your shoulders gently and kept a stern tone of voice to get your attention.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, slow down, I don't know what you're saying.” But you couldn't stop crying. Bottling up emotions was definitely a bad idea, because they were bound to burst sooner or later and unfortunately, you reached the breaking point. Sucking in some unsteady breaths as an attempt to regulate yourself, she was watching you patiently yet still cautiously. 

Your voice was weak and shaky, but you were slowly feeling a little better. For the first time during this interaction, you meet her eyes. Why was she always so pretty? She was sculpted just to spite you, you were convinced. Tears welled up in your eyes once more, but you blinked them away. “Um…Ellie…” She nodded expectantly, wanting to know what was wrong. But you could not complete your sentence as yet another bout of ache washed over you.

To snap you out of it once and for all, Ellie grabbed your face. The sheer disbelief of her action was enough to stop your tears luckily, and she held your gaze while she used her thumb to swipe at the stray teardrops adorning your cheekbones. You wanted to die, what was going on?

Once your panic was replaced with fluster and stupefaction, she let you go, but was still standing really close to you. You felt jittery from it all, nervous, embarrassed and in love and everything under the sun all at the same time. You stared at her, then looked away, then looked at her plump pink lips which were set in a questioning pout, then back up to her sympathetic greener-than-grass eyes, fuck, fuck, fuck. The intensity of the situation had caused any sense of judgment or critical thinking to long, long gone, and so your body moved on its own and before you had a chance to form a solid thought or process what you were doing.

Smooch.

You kissed her. 

Mouths colliding like magnets as you held onto the sides of her face, fireworks igniting in every single part of your body. Cradling her jaw as you closed the space between you two, the hurricane of emotion coursing through your veins as your lips caressed hers, and time felt like it had stopped. The months and months of excruciating pining had all led up to this very moment. 

She instinctively kissed you back, you felt her breaths fanning your face. You were about to ascend to another dimension. Lingering against her for a little longer, you forced yourself to regretfully pull away, and laughed loudly at her state now. 

Her lips were parted and she was gawking at you, you had broken her completely. Your own heart was working overtime, you were panting from the adrenaline of the situation, and could only hear the blood rushing in your ears. 

She seemed to be in a coma, doing nothing but staring and breathing. You punched her arm playfully, your voice breaking.

“I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.” 

An frustrated confession tore itself from your throat, even the world's strongest iron bars couldn't contain it. You wiped at your face with your sleeves, a sad attempt to clear it of the residual salty tears that never once stopped their journey out of your eyes.

The sadness had left you, and you felt lighter now, truthfully. Had no idea how you would ever face her again after all this, but at least the cat was out of the bag and you had gotten that off of your chest. You both stood there in silence, now what was wrong with her? What a dork. Sucking on your teeth and kicking a pebble on the ground you admitted finally, “So, yeah. That's what's been troubling me, I guess.” 

Her pupils were dilated and huge, as she scanned all over your features, her mouth opening and closing as if she was having an internal battle of what to say. She stood there almost appearing miles more shocked than you somehow, she looked as if she was going to have a heart attack and die on you, you found it funny, but concerning at the same time. 

You watched her for a moment more, before accepting your disappointing fate and bidding her a goodbye. You cleared your throat. “Okay then. Cya in class. Bye.” You turned on your heel and began the walk back to your room, but this time for real, and didn't look back at her. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't, you wanted to leave this whole fiasco in the past. That chapter was closed, it seemed. 

The only thing left to do now was call your bestie, Abby. She has been your cheerleader through this whole thing, through all this time, gave you advice and brought you back to Earth, and you needed her support now more than ever. 

Right after you reached your dorm she was there in no time at all, after receiving your distress call she scrambled into action, with chocolates and boxed wine in hand. Maybe you should just date her instead at this point. Who else was left for you?

You talked and talked and talked to her about everything for so long, talking the night away just like old times, and she sat and listened to your every word, patted your back reassuringly as you weeped into her shoulder, then tucked you into bed at the end of it all. She left only when she was sure you'd relaxed fully.

You didn't fall asleep quite yet, and stayed awake thinking, pondering life and staring up at your ceiling. It turns out angrily confessing to the girl you've been infatuated with forever by impulsively kissing her and letting the whole campus know it was a tiring thing after all. You really did cause a bit of a scene, when you thought about it in hindsight.

But what was this all like from Ellie's perspective? You wished you could know what she thought, or at least gotten some sort of formal response. Her friend storms out of a cafe, kisses her and screams she's in love with her? It's certainly understandable she'd feel a little lost, or under great pressure to give you an answer. Her reaction did make sense though, after being met with such a shocking revelation. Wow, now that you were really thinking about it, she still did not know why you ran out of the cafe like that. You wished you could turn back time and redo this day, shame that wasn't possible. Were you two ever going to have a discussion about this, or had you just lost a friend for life. Oh no, you pushed that thought away as quickly as it appeared, you didn't have an ounce of energy left over to dwell on it.

You'd work out what you were going to face her next later, a very well-deserved visit to dreamland was way overdue. You felt your eyelids grow heavy and your breathing slow, so you turned on your side and snuggled into your bed, eventually falling into a deep, deep sleep.

Meanwhile on your bedside table:

Bzz, bzz, bzz. 

lovely taggies: @lasting-lover @radioheadfan699 @sophie-thefrog8 @machetegirl109 @ellieschair @aouiaa @wavesgocrash @tangerinngi @elliesbitchvenus @amiorca @dinaissoprettyoml @rxreaqia @camicocom1a @elliesexual @smelliewilliams @boobdrug @writing-on-a-bathroom-stall @bready101 @yourelliewillms @ap3arll @bunnyrose01 @elliesactualgirlfriend @paranoiero @sakiigami @4ftergloww @ellstronaut @vqxen @desireesfics @lez-zuha @dyk3ang3l @iluvellie0089 @tphmnv @seraphicsentences @seaseasalts @biblically-accurate-ellie @deliriousrn @pxterpfx + a very special tag to @fleshunger hehe :)

if i wasn't able to tag you, investigate the issue somewhere in your settings!

[myfictionaldreams]

Hear me out! How about Mafia Steve rogers having hate sex with reader because they were having an argument and reader had attitude. He fucks her like i need to dicipline you, you little brat and she is calling him daddy.

I'm Bored! // Mafia!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

A/N: Thank you for the request! ♥ I hope you like this!

Side Note: This isn't a part of the mafia!stucky universe, just wanted to clarify that lol

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom/sub, rough sex, spanking, ripping clothes, degradation, praise kink, size kink (!), desk sex, creampie, edging, overstimulation, daddy kink, pretty behaviour, slight misogyny/stereotypes, hairpulling, fingering, exhibitionism, slight subspace

Words: 2.6k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

“I know what you’re doing”. Steve slammed his phone onto the desk as his nostrils flared, eyes glaring with an intensity that any sane person would have backed away with their head lowered in submission.

It seemed you had a death wish today as you smirked and continued to piss him off, wanting the exact reaction you were receiving from your Mafia boyfriend. Stomping your foot and clenching your fists, you continued in a shrill, high-pitched tone for an added effect that you knew would drive him into the depths of mental hell. ”I’m not doing anything! I just feel so trapped in this stupid box of an office!”

As you so politely described, this stupid box of an office was an executive suite in one of the skyscrapers that towered over Brooklyn that he could view from the ceiling-to-floor windows. The office had to be the biggest in the building, with enough space for his desk, sitting area, kitchen and a vastly sized table to fit at least 15 people for meetings specified for the mafia boss.

And yet, here you were, moaning about the size, knowing that there was nothing more extravagant or luxurious than his office. In your defence, it had been a long day of being out of the office, as Steve had to travel for hours across his city to check the quality of stolen goods and meet with many influential people with the hopes of selling said stolen items. It hadn’t been a particularly trying day for the most part, but you quickly became bored, especially as you had to remain quiet during these meetings.

From an outsider's perspective, you were meant to be the pretty timid girlfriend of the mafia boss. His eye candy. There to hang on his arm and warm his lap and nothing more. In reality, he had wanted you there so that you could be more involved in the gang, understand how the meetings work, and contribute to decisions once back to the office if you deemed the people trustworthy enough to work with.

The staying quiet aspect of your role was also just for your safety. If you talked, that was an open invitation for the powerful individuals to talk back, and you weren’t ready to be involved in those sorts of conversations just yet. Therefore, you were more than happy to remain Steve's silent, pretty girlfriend.

Today, however, you were feeling antsy from the lack of talking, stiff from sitting for so long and needy for something a little more exciting than hand-holding or sitting on his lap. Especially now you were in the comfort of the office and could really rile Steve up. Maybe you were being a brat, but you were so bored and frustrated you wanted to get your heart pounding and some sort of relief, so pissing Steve off was the best option for this.

“Stop trying to take your clothes off-! Fucks sake. Everyone out!” Steve ordered the guards stationed by the door, and they promptly followed his directions as they left with a slam of the door.

You pause, with one of the straps of your dress halfway down your arm, turning to face him directly with a wicked smile on your face. Oh, he was pissed, verging on genuinely being angry with the way the vein on his neck was bulging and throbbing.

“I hate when you get like this. We were having a nice fucking day, too”, he demands whilst beginning to remove his tie and jacket. You knew he didn’t mean it; he always loved being able to dominate you just as much as you loved being an irritating brat and getting on his last nerve.

Your cunt pulses in desire watching him closely, eyes blazing with excitement as you bite your lower lip to try and hide the unmistakable grin. “Was it a nice day for me or for you, Steve? Because it’s been a boring day for me. All I’ve been doing for hours is standing there and looking pretty. Do you know how boring that is? I want to live a little! My clothes feel too tight, too claustrophobic. I want to be free!”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but he does glare as he begins to undo the cuffs of his white shirt, rolling up the sleeves to reveal the muscular forearms beneath. It was only as he rounded his desk that you began to back up, taking a quick step backwards, but they were no match to the giant strides of his long legs as he was in front of you in a matter of seconds. His chest bumped into yours, forcing you to continue backwards until your back was flush against the cool glass windows.

Steve towered above you, even with your black heels adding a few inches to your height; he always seemed to be a gargantuan man, adding warmth to your core. Looking up at his glaring face through your lashes and biting your lip, trying to look as innocent as possible.

“Think you’re being cute by acting like this? Like a brat with all that attitude?” he snaps, reaching up to wrap his massive hand around your throat, not squeezing as such but just so that you stayed still and he could feel the thump of your racing heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

“I think I’ve got the response that I wanted, so yes, I think I am being cute”, you say confidently whilst reaching for the bulge in his slacks to show just how turned on he was, squeezing it tightly and making it throb.

Steve’s eyes drop to your hand as he subtly thrusts into your palm, but as he looks back towards your face, you know he has something planned as it is his turn to smirk. “You said your clothes felt tight. Well, let’s change that Princess”.

The hand around your neck lowers to your hip, turning you around so your front is pressed against the window, forced to look out over the city of Brooklyn. Before you could even look over your shoulder to see what was next, your body was shaken as Steve gripped the left and right side of your dress and pulled, effortlessly ripping the red dress down the zip so it fell from your body. You were left in only your thong and heels, wholly exposed to the city below.

Steve’s hand is then suddenly in your hair, pulling your head back against his shoulder and forcing your chest to push up, your nipples perking from being pressed against the startingly cold glass.

“Does this make you feel any more free? You know I love it when people watch me touch you. Well, now we’ve got the whole city watching Princess”, Steve whispers as he runs his nose down your neck.

You shiver as he nudges the sensitive spot just below your ear, “Yes, Steve-”.

The hand in your hair tightens, “Excuse me?”

“Daddy”, you correct yourself quickly, “Yes, Daddy, thank you for making me feel more free and showing me off to everyone”.

He hums to himself, “I think it’s about time I should how to be more grateful and show a little less of this attitude you seem to have”.

“Yes, Daddy”, you say submissively, mind reeling with the anticipation and thrill of what's to come.

“Count for me and safe words to be used if needed”, he mentioned before continuing.

With one hair remaining in your hair, he presses your face against the window, not hard enough for it to hurt but also to make sure that you keep it in place. His other hand pulled back on your hips, perking your arse out for him. You were only vaguely aware of his plan as you heard the swatting of his hand through the air before the stinging impact as he spanked your arse cheek.

You jumped at the contact, but he always started light, not wishing to actually cause you harm and so that you could make it through the usual ten counts before checking in.

“One, thank you, Daddy”, you say sweetly, watching the glass in front of you fog up at your heated breath. With each spank, you made sure to count and thank him. Even though you’d been a brat, when he finally did snap like he was now, you were always on your best behaviour, taking whatever punishment he deemed necessary.

His palm connected with both of your cheeks, ensuring they both had equal attention and that the areas were hot to the touch and somewhat sore but not enough to bruise. You enjoyed the rough treatment so much that you were rolling your hips into his palm, feeling the wetness coating your thong and spreading over your labia.

“Ten, thank you, Daddy”, you softly say, your eyes closed and feeling the world becoming fuzzy around the edges as the mixture of pleasure and pain caused the hormones in your head to feel like you were experiencing your own personal high.

This was the reason why you always enjoyed pissing him off with a little bit of attitude and bratty behaviour; being drawn into a subspace mentally from the punishments was like a drug to you, one that Steve was more than happy to pull you into.

Overwhelming pleasure suddenly burst through your burning core as Steve pulled your thong string to the side and shoved two thick digits into your pussy, stretching you thoroughly.

“You’re so wet, such a desperate little slut aren’t you” he taunts whilst rocking his fingers in and out, stretching them every so often to prepare you for what you really want.

You stick out your bottom lip in a pout whilst rolling your hips in time with his fingers as you whine, “Only your slut though, Daddy”.

Steve kisses your naked shoulder, showing some sort of soft intimacy, “That’s right, you’re just my little slut. Now how about you show me just how good you are for me and go and bend over my desk and spread your legs”.

The hand in your hair loosens enough that you can wiggle free and stumble over to the desk, kicking off the heels as if they were not helping the wobbly sensations in your legs. Steve was one step behind and reached around you to shove the papers cluttering his desk off and onto the floor. With the extra space, you could happily bend forward, resting your chest on the desk and widening your stance as Steve begins to unbuckle his belt.

Watching over your shoulder, you admired the lustful gaze of his bright ocean-blue eyes, the drag of his tongue along his bottom lip as he looked as if he wanted to eat you right then and there.

“Do you like what you see?” you asked whilst wiggling your hips invitingly to him.

Steve tries and fails to hide the smirk on his face. Reaching forward, he rubs with each of your arse cheeks, squeezing the sore areas until your mewling and begging for something more. As he stepped closer and continued to hold the string of your thong to the side, he looked you directly in the eyes as he spoke lowly, “I just want you to remember that you wanted me to get this riled up with that smart mouth of yours. Acting bratty has its consequences”.

Opening your mouth to try and sass him another way, all that came out was an exaggeratedly obscene moan, your eyes rolling back as Steve’s cock thrust deep within your cunt in one mighty thrust. The movement caused you to rock onto your tiptoes, having to push further onto the desk as the tip of his cock pressed against your cervix, filling you completely. The warm, wet walls of your pussy fluttered and squeezed around the penetration, trying to milk him already, clinging to him within an inch of your life.

Your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk above your head, holding on to it as Steve withdraws. Half of the length inside of you retreated, only to slam back into you, causing your hips to bump into the table with the strength put behind the movement.

“Faster”, you demand as your forehead rests on the rest, eyes closing to focus on the overwhelming pressure in your core.

However, the sassy tone you used was not appreciated by the man nearly splitting you in half with his cock as his hand once again delved into your hair to pull your head back, causing a startled scream to replace the moans.

“You don’t get to decide how fast I fuck you, Princess”.

With your head pulled back in this position, you were now having to stare at the wall behind his desk, which had a narcissistic painting of him, given to him as a joke by one of his employees. Now, however, to your delight, you were able to stare up at his handsome face as he fucked you with deep, tauntingly slow thrusts.

With this pace, you could feel every single inch dragging along your sensitive walls, causing them to spasm and tighten on instincts rather than just taking a quick hard fuck that left you forgetting to breathe and seeing stares. The way Steve currently had you was more overstimulating and had your breaths coming out in short huffs.

Steve, it seemed, knew every little moan and hitch of breath that your body took, understood at which degree of tightness your cunt squeezed him in with just how close you were to orgasm. His hips stopped thrusting as you could have sobbed as that beautiful sensation faded into a light buzz rather than an overwhelming euphoria.

“Please- Please Daddy, I…I… I’m sorry for my attitude, Daddy” You managed to find the right words, internally praising yourself for coherently saying what Steve wanted to say as currently, the only words running through your mind were, ‘fuck me harder, Daddy’.

“That’s all I wanted you to say, Princess”, he praises lightly as one hand remains holding onto your hair and the other slips between the desk and your mound so that two of his fingers can massage your clit.

The burst of fire that pulsed through you was powerful, knees wobbling and whines turning into incoherent begs of the word ‘yes!” as Steve finally began to fuck you at the fast pace you’d been hoping for.

You came so quickly that the breath rushed from your body, and you became light-headed from the overstimulation. He doesn’t stop, though; he just continues to hold you in place, fucking you and playing with your clit until you came a second time.

Thankfully, Steve did too, grunting desperately as his hips snapped up one more time, and wetness came flooding out of your cunt as his seed seeped out and down your thighs. Carefully, he removed his fingers from your sensitive bundle of nerves and gently rested your face on the desk whilst massaging your scalp and kissing along the back of your shoulder blade.

As he moved up towards your neck, you sighed in contentment, turning your face to the side so that he could gently kiss your cheek and you could reach around to run your fingers through his short, blond hair.

“Get your frustrations out?” he asks quietly and softly into your ear.

Nodding your head, you blink tiredly back at him, “Yes, thank you. But now, I have no clothes, and I can’t walk”.

Steve chuckles against your skin, a beautiful sound that has your toes curling again, “Well, I did warn you”.

[amymbona]

Omfg I love what you've done with the sex therapist Patrick au and there's so much potential for a part or even a part 3 for that scenario 🤤

Buuuut what do you think about Dr Zweig's office as a place to explore new kinks? Like maybe the patient form requires them to share at least 3 fantasies. Cut to reader tied to the bed/chair, panting and whimpering, Patrick kissing their neck, whispering dirty things and assurances in their ear. Sometimes he's gotta put on his soft dom pants to help patients step out of their comfort zone....😏

Cricketcanelane I'm building you a memorial for all the work you've done to us. 🛐🛐🛐 Also I'm sorry this took so long, I was slightly uninspired. :(

Kinks are a topic that you and doctor Zweig took some time to approach, considering your shyness about the topic of orgasms and sexual live itself. But Patrick has assured you that kinks, despite being considered a deviation, can do a lot bring that much needed spark to your sexual life, and can help you approach an orgasm faster.

He suggested you two try to get through some, just the minor and most harmless ones. Judging by your shy nature, he suggested you try bondage, stating that it allows you to let lose, as you're basically forbidden from shielding yourself in any way. An exposure therapy, in his words. At first, you attempted to reject it, but Patrick has assured you that he wouldn't do anything that you're uncomfortable with and introduced you to the concept of a safe word.

Following your eventual agreement, now, you're strapped up in a special kind of chair. Both your wrists and ankles are tied down by padded straps and one belt around your waist is securely holding you in the contraption. Luckily, you're fully clothed, once again wearing a skirt that Patrick has insisted you keep wearing if you want to keep yourself hidden. He can sense it's more comfortable for you that way and he's perfectly alright with that. After all, as he keeps saying, your comfort is his priority.

"Breathe, nice and steady," Patrick's palms massage your shoulders lightly, his voice coming as a velvety whisper around your head. "You have nothing to worry about."

He kisses you behind your ear, down your neck and over the contour of your jaw, already knowing where you like it the most, sensing that today, you're gonna need a far less gentle approach. At least that he believes.

"Tell me, Y/N, do you consider yourself a dirty girl?" Patrick purrs, fingers running over your collarbones, tracing the line of your neckline of your top and wasting no time to dip under it. It's pleasant to notice you opted not to wear a bra today. "I think you are."

"I-" a breathless moan escapes your mouth once Patrick's hand dips under your shirt and fingers flick over your pink nipple, feeling it harden under his touch. "I don't know."

A huff of his hot breath hits your ear, a gentle suck of his lips, and he smirks. "Do you feel it. How hard they are?" he asks, twisting both your nipples.

You nod quickly, head tilting to the side to allow Patrick more space. "Yes."

"Good," he exhales. "It takes so little to get you like this. You're really not as innocent as you make yourself look, hm?"

You have a hard time responding to any of Patrick's words, considering your head is totally flooded with with the feel of the not so gentle touch on your body. His attention is on your breasts for a while before redirecting his hands to a different spot.

A warm palm caresses your thigh, the light scratch of Patrick's stubble working as an element of surprise that's not so soft against you. Still, he keeps all his movements slow and calculated, wanting you to experience it all thoroughly.

He has to bite back a snicker when your thighs part almost automatically, inviting his hand between them. Running a finger over the hem of your panties, he grins upon your wetness coating his nail. "So good and wet for me."

The dirtiness of Patrick's words makes you moan, unable to hide the weird sense of excitement. It's unusual, so odd, and yet despite being, in some sense, made fun of, you still feel safe in his presence. Even with your body straped down. It's true how wet you are, and all of that is the result of Patrick's work.

Carefully approaching, Patrick's finger finds the warmth of your pussy, drawing a gasp of surprise from your lips and a jerk of your body. It's a natural reaction, your most sensitive part being exposed to someone else. The other hand strokes your hair, lips pressing to the side of your head, "It's okay. You're okay."

And it is more than okay when Patrick runs a finger through the wetness of your folds, the juicy flesh of your unsatisfied cunt that's almost begging to be touched, to be kissed and licked and made love to. Your poor pussy is begging for an orgasm, for a proper, real one. And it's Patrick's job to give you exactly that.

"We are going to make you feel good."

We. You and him. Him and you. Because it's not only Patrick's work. You are the main star of this whole play.

A sudden disappearance of the sensation snaps you out of your trance, eyes opening lazily to be met with the sight of Patrick's back. He's standing by one of the shelves, fishing out something from the top drawer. It doesn't take him long before he finds it.

"I'm sure you are familiar with vibrators," he states, walking back to where you are sitting. "Have you ever used one?"

"Yeah. Once or twice," you nod, eyeing the small toy. It doesn't look too big or complicated. Relatively simple.

"Did it help you reach an orgasm? Made you feel any different?" he asks, the velvety understanding in his tone making you throb down there.

You gulp, shaking your head. "No."

"Then it is a high time you try it again, hm?" he suggests, sliding the toy along your thigh. It disappears under you skirt and the cold tip presses against your soaked panties.

Patrick turns the vibrator on, on the lowest setting, looking for every tiny reaction on your beautiful face. And he's delighted. It scrunches up in response, a small wrinkle appearing between your brows, the pace of the toy already quicker than your finger could ever be. It ruts against your clothed clit, the swift motion causing you to stir in your seat.

With his free hand, Patrick reaches to your own that has balled into a fist, gently prying it open. "Don't fight it."

"I-" your voice quivers, "It's so- Can I get more?"

Who is Patrick to deny you right? He pushes the button, the buzzing noise getting louder with the sensation it provides. It's such a beautiful sight, seeing you squirm and moan, nodding at the pleasure you're receiving, fingers tapping against the smooth leather od the armrests.

"Yes, that's - oh my god - so good."

"We'll go a bit further, okay?" Patrick announces softly, moving the toy in small circles, rubbing over the drenched cotton. Your clit is all red and swollen, if only he could see it, getting almost hard under the mechanic abuse. Now, he's pushing the vibrator between your folds too, teasing your nervous pussy.

You have so rarely experienced the tied knot in your body, much different to a usual tummy ache, but it's a bit lower. As if you needed to pee, but not quite.

Patrick leans in, resuminghis precious action of kissing your neck, soft but wet. "Tell me when you feel you're close."

You can only nod, rubbing your cheek against the side of Patrick's head. Fuck. He's making you feel so good, so incredibly good that you're questioning whether it's actually real. The knot in your stomach tightens even further, thighs trembling and begging to be freed from the straps. You seel further friction, ever harder pressure, hips desperately lifting off of the seat.

It's possible that Patrick's soul has possessed that toy. How else would it be possible that a simple vibrator is making you feel this way?

"I'm-" you sigh, moaning eagerly. "I think it's... It's so-"

"Hold it," Patrick instructs.

You gaze up at him through heavy lids, glossy lips parting, startled. "What?"

"Don't let go just yet," he repeats, the smoothness od his voice contrasting the heaviness of the cold toy. "Try to hold it in."

"What? Why?" the question is disrupted by another moan and a violent thrash of your body.

Patrick sighs lightly into your ear, kissing the soft, sensitive skin there. He keeps circling your burning clit with the toy, running up and down though your folds and then back to the clit, abusing it from all different angels. "The built up arousal serves in higher pleasure. If you deny yourself the release, your orgasm is going to hit you much harder."

Deny... Release... Harder... That is exactly what you need, what your body craves. Desperately.

It almost hurts to keep it in, your stomach twisted in the most uncomfortable of ways. Your clit is all swollen, hard and hot, legs trembling where they are tied down. Fingers, again, balling into fists. You throw your head back, lashes fluttering as your eyes close. A wonderful picture for Patrick's eyes.

And it comes higher than you initially expected. Soon, you're genuinely struggling to hold it in, feeling something so incredibly powerful and heavy approaching. It's so different to all that you've felt before, so better to what any man made you feel.

"Patrick, I- please," your voice is weak, quivering, the same way your body is.

"That's good," he coos. "Just a bit longer, sweetheart."

But how much longer can you actually wait, when you're about to have something you've been craving for so long? When it's the sole reason why you have approached him in the first place?

It's unbearable, the scorching motion of a simple plastic toy, the arousing tension in your body and intense burning of your clit. All the tiny muscles and fibres of your pussy spasm, unable to hold it back. "Please."

"Let it go, baby, let it go," he finally allows you.

The pure beauty of your expression, head thrown back and lips parted wide, the arch of your body - as much as the tight belt around your waist allows you - and the way you squeeze Patrick's wrist with your thighs. All of that leaves Patrick in awe, even though he has seen it countless of times before. Even though you are just one of the many women he has brought to an orgasm.

But this is such a powerful one, beautiful, real and almost innocent. It's such a shame he doesn't get to inspect the real actions of your pussy, only imagining how your walls squeeze around nothing and how the warm drops of your arousal drips down only to soak into the soft cotton.

You're a wonderful sight, almost leaving Patrick speechless. He allows you few moments to come off of your high, reaching out to stroke your hair in a comforting motion, a proud smile on his face.

"There you go, good girl. You did so good for me."

[milogreer]

touched on this in my top ten list, but i wanted to expand on it separately because i've been thinking about morgan and the seer obscura a lot lately 💭

so. "time is a song." morgan kinda blew up after its release, i feel like, and it's with good reason; the atmosphere of that audio is calm and sleepy but also, like… to me there's this longing for connection throughout the whole thing, ykwim?

like. we already know that the seer obscura is sort of at odds with their powers, given how they waited so long to go to the department, how they suppress their sight, and how they go radio silent after their first meeting with morgan. the seer obscura is clearly uncertain about all of this - morgan even calls them standoffish in "consulting with a seer." but they keep going back to him. being the only two known seer obscuras is naturally going to pull them together; the seer obscura is struggling to live with their unique type of sight after the inversion, and morgan is the only one who understands what they're going through.

(and he's gotta kinda pry them open because the seer obscura is notably a reserved person, but he's very gentle about it, he's understanding and patient and does his best to explain their shared sight even though he's never had to before because a) normal seers don't wanna hear it and b) he never thought there would be another seer obscura in his lifetime (much less one his own age) to talk to about it. and then giving them his own personal view of time when the typical water allegory doesn't work is just further building that connection between them.)

anyway, given the end of "learning about your magical abilities" and the fact that there's a year between its release and "time is a song," i'm sure they've gotten together at least a handful of times to work on the seer obscura's control. morgan to this point has consistently been open about wanting to help any way he can, but you can still kinda tell in "time is a song" that they aren't exactly friends yet, and that's why this one really gets me.

the setting for "time is a song" is so intimate - it's his home, in the middle of the night, with not a lot of time to make things presentable before someone he hardly knows outside of work comes over. the seer obscura needed help and comfort and even when they tried to backtrack out of asking for that, morgan invites them over anyway. he says he specifically focused on tidying up the apartment rather than himself, which means he’s looking like he just out rolled out of bed because he literally did. and that's just such a vulnerable thing to me, and it allows the rest of the audio to settle into this quiet, comfortable space that the seer obscura needs.

"when i said you can call anytime, i meant that." "another seer obscura like me[.]" "then there's you and me." "but you've got me. i'm here." "i want to know you." "it takes two to tango; you asked, and i said 'let's dance.'" like it's all just. i feel like i'm going to cry right now just thinking about this LMAO the seer obscura feels so lonely to me and morgan is constantly reassuring them that they aren't alone in this anymore, and i think that means a great deal to them.

to me this entire audio is thick with tension, but it really ramps up when they move out onto the balcony and morgan starts listing things he likes, because it's a shift from obscura lore dump to a personal heart-to-heart. he opened up his home to them and now he's opening himself up too. he gets a little silly! and then he drops the "i want to know you. you won't know that unless i tell you, so i'm telling you. [...] we can just be people with one another, too." and it is genuinely one of the most insane things i've heard in the entirety of the redactedverse. the period of silence after his laughter trails off where you can feel him gearing up to say something, the sincerity with which he says it, the relaxed atmosphere, the mental image of the only two seer obscuras on earth standing together on a balcony in the early morning hours...

(there's more to be said wrt the seer obscura backpedaling in the beginning and later apologizing for "wasting" morgan's time after he's already told them he wants to get to know them, but this post is long enough without me theorizing about that. i'm really interested to see if it gets touched on again; i'd like to know more about them.)

um. anyway. i'm driven insane by the audio every single time. all of the insane lore gained from all three audios so far aside (<- refusing to think about how morgan brought having your threads cut into the prime timeline instead of leaving it in cataclysm), the relationship these two have already is just captivating. the end

[theminecraftbee]

just revisited scs, and was wondering if pearl still joins hermitcraft in season 8 as she does? and if so, what are three's thoughts and feelings on this? if we go by hermitcraft rules, it'd have to had voted her in, and it does care about pearl in some capacity due to her link with martyn and jimmy so it'd want her somewhere safe, but is their relationship still rocky at that point? has it gotten better? and how does it evolve through their time on hermitcraft? is boatem still a thing, or do three and pearl give each other more space?

sorry if you've answered something like this before, but i'm curious

so here's how it goes in my head, although as always, anyone is free to have their own headcanons for it:

so by season eight, given the messy timeline i've created, three has had some time and distance. additionally, i like to think that it and everyone else DID keep up their promises to stay in contact. pearl and three's relationship will probably never be as close as pearl and grian's, but pearl is TRYING and three is willing to give her a shot when they're not standing right next to each other and she isn't in the middle of grief as much, so they form a tentative bond.

pearl doesn't join season eight because of three; three doesn't invite her. however, i'd like to think that pearl, maybe on the prodding of "her friends are actually talking to her again", has tentatively started doing her own builds again and showing them off and something like that dragon build of her blows up. so when names are being floated for season eight, and someone's already floated gem as a possibility, someone says pearl's name. and three doesn't know. three doesn't know if they'll be able to handle each other living on the same server. but it's now been at least a year and a half since scs and with scs's messy timeline probably longer, right. three is much more self-assured and has a better idea of who it is. and like, it thinks about it, but maybe pearl gives away she's still living on evo in a call, and three thinks about it, and...

the thing is: three had needed someone to say "you can come here when you run away" two years ago about the same thing. it can at least try.

this is to say: pearl joining hermitcraft is not three's idea or three's invitation. but three gives her its endorsement, and eventually its vote. pearl joins in season eight. three and pearl then proceed to try to completely avoid each other for like, at least a month. i don't want to take pearl and impulse bonding away from the world, so i think maybe pearl still bases near there, but the friendship groups in three's timeline are a little shifted ANYWAY, even if they're similar, so we can shift people around a little. maybe three drags mumbo off to go follow iskall and etho into the shattered savannah. god, can you imagine, actually, that would be hysterical.

but the thing is, even though the hermits spend a lot of time alone, they also spend a lot of time together, and like... three IS friends with impulse. and it is Conspicuous that they're avoiding each other, and they can't do it forever. it's pearl who screws her courage to the sticking place first and invites three to help her with an interior room of her build. three, not actually quite good enough at emotions to recognize "here come do an interior, thing i know grian hated but you like" as the very deliberate olive branch it is but good enough at emotions to know it probably shouldn't avoid, accepts.

and it goes... well. it surprises both of them how well it goes, actually. maybe it shouldn't; they've been in contact after all, and they've had time to soothe and process their relationship. they part back to their own bases again with the promise to do it again, and they do not avoid each other for the rest of the season. they don't seek each other out, often--they're not quite ready for that--but they don't avoid each other, either.

it's not perfect. pearl still sometimes looks at three like she's looking at a dead man. three still sometimes wants to scream when she does.

but there are many times, now, when they can forget how they met in the first place, and just chat about build pallets and pranks and shapes and llamas and everything else together.

that's close enough to healing.

[foundress0fnothing]

Summary: Looking to rebuild her self-esteem after a messy breakup, Feyre takes Mor up on her suggestion to visit a lingerie store.

~6.5k words, rated E, content warnings for mild dub-con, light bondage

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Happy birthday to my darling @popjunkie42!!! Thank you for being such a wonderful person and the best beta around. I hope you enjoy this smutty, goofy one-shot. I was planning to save it for feysand week, but it was done just in time for your birthday and I couldn’t resist. I cherish you and the feysand brainrot you've encouraged in me, and I'm so grateful for your friendship 💕🥰

“Just trust me, okay?” Mor had warned her on the drive over that La Cour des Cauchemars was, quote, “an experience,” but even so, as Feyre stood at the threshold of the boutique next to her friend and surveyed the labyrinthine space within, she suspected that Mor had not been entirely transparent about what exactly she meant by “experience.”

It was lovely, at least—surprisingly light and airy for a lingerie store, smelling of sea salt and citrus that, paired with the gauzy fabrics and fairy lights and burnished mirrors that were set up around the space, made the space feel sensual and inviting. With the store’s name, she had expected something dark and edgy, something that played up angst and lust in equal measure. But this…

Feyre shouldn’t have been surprised. It was exactly the kind of place that Mor would love—decadent and luxurious, slightly sinful, and, most importantly, expensive. Feyre didn’t need to look at the price tags to know that every scrap of lace and boning in the building would be priced on par with, if not more than, the La Perla sets Tamlin used to buy her just so he could rip them off. 

She mentally recoiled at the thought of him, although she supposed he was partly responsible for her presence here in the first place. Their relationship had been messy, their breakup messier, especially as more and more details about his infidelity came to light. When she left, she hadn’t taken much with her beyond a few comfortably worn clothes and the tub of art supplies she had been accumulating since she was a student at Prythian U. She left everything else behind—the gifted dresses, the custom jewelry, the Instagram gallery of romantic dates—all those hallmarks of the façade of easy wealth and passionate love that Tamlin wanted to present to the world that still failed to mask the rot at the core of their relationship.

So, three bottles of cheap wine deep into their good riddance to cheating assholes celebration, when she confessed to Mor that she missed feeling like herself and in control of her life, she expected her friend to sympathize, to reaffirm that she was “better off without that scumbag, babe,” to maybe (assuming she was sober enough in the morning to remember) send a motivational tiktok about the importance of “self-care” on her “healing journey.” 

But Feyre didn’t think that this could possibly fall under the guise of “self-care.’ “Mor, I…”

“That doesn’t sound like trust, Feyre.”

Feyre snorted. “It’s just that—”

“No. You wanted to move past him and feel like yourself again? This is the best way to do that,” she said, grabbing Feyre’s hand and dragging her into the store. Feyre rolled her eyes. Trust Mor to think that her problems could be solved with clothes shopping. Assuming lingerie counted as clothes. “Find one thing. One. We’re not leaving until you do. And,” she paused, “once it’s yours you can take a few pics and make Tamlin regret literally his entire life, and then we’ll go get deliriously day drunk to celebrate.” With that, she squeezed Feyre’s hand and let go, moving into the recesses of the store with enviable ease. 

Feyre stuck her tongue out at Mor’s back, not that she would see or care, and started following her into the boutique, passing racks of lace and silk that were loosely arranged by color and letting her hands graze the fabrics, buttery and slick beneath her fingertips. 

She stopped as her hand caught on a red bustier and she savored the feeling of cool silk broken up by delicately stitched whorls of black lace. It was nice, but more than that, it was exactly the kind of thing that Tamlin would have hated. He preferred to see her in pastels, floral and lacy and frothy and soft, meant to remind them both that she was delicate, feminine, fragile. But this piece was something else, something that felt more her. Or, at any rate, the version of her that she was trying to find again—someone self-assured and powerful and strong. 

Idly, she flipped over the tag and almost laughed aloud at the price. She had known it would be expensive, but $900 for so little clothing seemed ridiculous, even for someone as ridiculous as Mor. 

“See something you like, darling?” 

Feyre started at the sound of the man’s voice behind her, yanking her hands away from the bustier as if he might scold her for even daring to touch it. She turned to face him, an unconscious apology already half-formed—and then stopped, mouth parted slightly as whatever she had been going to say died on her lips. 

He was gorgeous—tall and dark, with eyes that she swore almost looked purple in the soft light of the store. She let her gaze travel over him, cataloging the strong lines of his legs, the golden rings that glinted on a few of his fingers, the night black waistcoat that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the narrow dip of his waist. God, she wanted to paint him—a study of darkness given breath, she thought idly—if only for the excuse to let herself savor every inch of his perfect body.

The sound of a slight cough brought her back to reality, and she saw the man’s mouth curve into a smirk, obviously delighted at having caught her staring. “Well, darling? Something you like?” 

Feyre scowled and flushed. Fuck. She absolutely did not need to get involved with another self-satisfied man who would expect her to cater to his ego and fawn over him, no matter how pretty this one was.

Trying to salvage some semblance of her dignity, she made a show of dragging her gaze over the man’s body before offering him a smirk of her own. “Not a thing.”

If anything, her answer only made him look even more delighted. “I didn’t take you for a liar.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder and turning away from him back to the rack of red satin. “I don’t think you could take me at all.”

His smirk grew sharper, more dangerous. “Is that a challenge, darling?”

Feyre looked over her shoulder and glared at him, ignoring the flutter she felt at the menace in his voice and internally berating herself for encouraging the stranger. “Stop calling me darling.”

“Not until I know your name.” He raised a brow expectantly. “What’s your name, love?”

As if she would give it to him. She turned around to face him.“Don’t you have something better to do then calling random women ‘darling’ or ‘love’? Someone to buy something for here?”

“I don’t actually.” He smiled. “I am merely here to serve.” He inclined his head slightly in a mockery of a bow.

“So you work here?”

“After a fashion.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. Whatever the fuck that meant. “Shouldn’t you be helping customers, then?”

“What do you think it is I’m doing, darling?”

“Annoying me.”

“Another lie? Shameful.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock reproach. She rolled her eyes, choosing not to allow him to goad her into continuing their argument.

He raised his hands. “Well, if you decide to do more than look, there are dressing rooms in the back. I’d be more than happy to help you.” He paused, and then, with an absolutely sinful smile, added, “With whatever you might need.”

“I’m sure you would.” Feyre gave him a fake smile, determined to ignore the way something low in her stomach clenched at his offer. He was just an attractive man, and it had been a while. Nothing more.

“I mean it. It’s tricky to get the sizing and the colors right, darling. This,” he held up the red bustier she had been eyeing, a flash of something—sincere?—lighting his eyes as he looked at it, “is divine, of course. But not for you. You should let me help you.”

Taken aback by his apparent earnestness, Feyre frowned slightly. “I’m sure I can manage.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Confident, are we? Not everyone has the eye for it.”

Never mind. Just another condescending prick. “I’m an artist. I think I can trust my own eye.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Well then, darling,” he raised his hands in defeat. “Happy hunting.” With that, he turned smoothly on his heel and began walking back into the recesses of the store.

And if she glanced over her shoulder to check out his ass as he walked away? Well, she was only human.

But as if the man could feel her eyes on him, he paused and looked back, smiling at  catching her ogling him. Again. He settled himself against a display of crystal-adorned black silk negligees and lacy two-piece sets, looking far too at home amidst the silks and the sheer fabrics, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, Get on with it then.

Feyre huffed, irritated that he had once again caught her staring, and spun back around to face the rack of clothing in front of her, her eye landing on the bustier she had been studying before. She pulled it off of the rack, because fuck him, and began moving toward the back of the store where he had indicated the fitting rooms were. Did she have the money for this? Hell no. Was she about to let a man bully her into choosing something else while he watched? Also hell no. She would try on the bustier—which would look fucking incredible on her, by the way, asshole—take a few pictures for her Instagram, and leave before he could corner her again. Easy.

Much like the rest of the store, the fitting room was a study in sensual elegance. The light was a touch brighter, perhaps, but still—there was something almost ethereal about the space—maybe it was in the way the just opaque enough curtains fluttered as she walked past, and Feyre buzzed with anticipation as she stepped into a room and pulled the curtain shut. Fuck you, Tamlin. 

Shucking off her oversized sweater and piling it in the chair in the corner of her room, Feyre shimmied into the bustier, awkwardly fiddling with the zipper in the back until the two halves of the garment pulled together to envelop her torso snugly.

Feeling jittery, she turned to study her reflection.

She looked … fine. The bustier fit her well enough, dipping in easily at her waistline and cupping her breasts decently well, even if it didn’t make them look like anything special. Nothing about it was special. She frowned at her reflection. Maybe the color was wrong for her? Too bright? Too harsh? 

She fiddled with it for a minute or two, smoothing and tugging at the fabric before giving up. It was good enough for what she needed. It’s not like she was planning to buy the ridiculous thing. And besides, it was probably just that asshole clerk getting in her head.

Deciding that it would all look better if she let her hair down to soften the look, Feyre gently coaxed it from its habitual braid, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she finger-brushed some of the strands, trying to get them to lay right. 

As she messed with her hair, a little sign to the side of the mirror caught her eye: NOTICE: NO PHOTOS OR VIDEO ALLOWED IN THE DRESSING ROOM.

Feyre wrinkled her nose at the sign. Wasn’t that the whole reason Mor brought her here? To take a picture in some lingerie as a “fuck you, look what you’re missing” to Tamlin? Did she know about the policy?

She sighed. What a waste.

But…

How would the store know? Feyre flicked her eyes up to scan the ceiling to make sure that there were no cameras. Nothing—just gauzy swathes of fabric and fairy lights. Good. The store may be expensive as hell, but at least whoever ran it wasn’t some kind of pervy creep.

And what harm could one picture do anyway? It’s not like Feyre was some influencer who was going to try and promote her brand while taking advantage of the store. She just needed Tamlin to want to die a little. That’s all.

Before she could lose her nerve, Feyre rummaged in her pants pocket to find her phone. It was an old model from before she met Tamlin. She didn’t trust any of the phones he had given her not to have some creepy location or data monitoring built in, and she didn’t have the money to buy a new one right now. So good ol’ faithful (that didn’t get a signal on cloudy days) it was. Flicking to the camera, she started moving through poses—torso and face, full body, hand in her hair, hand on her hip, even the too desperate peace-sign-tongue-out pose that saw her and Mor through college—taking pictures all the while. 

Hopeful that something in the photo reel would work, she began idly flicking through them—too smiley, too dead-eyed, okay, god why was she making that face, until finally, hot. Thank fuck. She quickly opened Instagram and drafted a post, tweaking the lighting and the shadows here and there until it looked perfect—sultry and effortlessly hot as hell, topped off with the caption, “Tell her about me.”

She was just about to post it when a deep voice startled her.

“Well, huntress? Pleased with your catch?”

Feyre jumped at the unexpected sound, fumbling the phone in her hands. 

“Shit, no—” Feyre winced as she watched it clatter onto the lacquered marble floor and slide just past the edge of the curtain, praying to whoever might be listening that it hadn’t cracked beyond repair.

“Let me.” Feyre heard the subtle shifting of the stranger’s body as he bent to retrieve her phone, and she waited, expecting him to slide it back to her under the curtain.

But no phone came. Instead, there were a few beats of silence before the man spoke again, his voice now gone cold. “I knew you’d be a liar, darling.”

“Wait, what?” Feyre asked, confused at his shift in tone. 

And then she remembered what had been open on her phone. The picture.

“Oh, um, I’m so—”

But her apology was cut short by the man who, wrenching the curtain open, stood before her. With his arms bracketing the door frame, he took up almost the entirety of the open space, and for a moment, Feyre appreciated anew how big he truly was.

And then the reality of the situation set back in. “What the fuck?” She yelped, bringing her hands to her chest in an attempt to cover herself.

“I thought you said you were an artist—”

“Get out!”

“—but no self-respecting artist would be satisfied with something as pedestrian as this.” The distaste was evident in his voice as he appraised the post, and she saw him delete it before casually slipping her phone into his pocket. “I mean really, darling.”

Feyre glared at him. “I’m sorry, are you mad about the quality of the picture? That’s what—” She interrupted herself and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Obviously.” Even though she was more than a little irritated that he had the gall to call her ‘pedestrian.’ “I’ll delete the picture, just get out!” 

But he remained standing in the door, examining her with a critical eye before turning his attention to his nails instead. “I just think an ‘artist’ would aim higher with her clumsily executed thirst trap, don’t you?”

“It was not clumsy, oh my god—”

He interrupted her. “But what do I know? Perhaps whatever little boy you intended this for doesn’t know any better, darling.”

Well, he was right about that. Not that Feyre was going to let him know—or that she agreed. “Good thing it wasn’t for you then.” 

A feline smile curved over his face, and Feyre realized that he had goaded her into arguing with him while he was still in her dressing room and she was still mostly naked. Nice work, babe. Feyre had to get out before she made an ill-advised decision just because she liked arguing with pretty men. So she ignored the excited flutters in her stomach and said, as forcefully as she could, “How many times do I have to tell you? Get out! Do I have to call someone?”

“Do I?” He asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“You’re in my dressing room!”

At that, his smile turned mean. “I think you’ll find, darling,” he said, the pet name taking on a mocking quality, “that this dressing room, that bra, and this entire boutique belong to me. So it seems to me that we have two options.” He held up one ring-adorned finger. “One: you can get dressed, walk to the counter, buy the bustier that looks absolutely dreadful on you, and leave my store “Or,” he continued, gracefully lifting another finger, “you let me dress you. And then we take that picture.”

“What?” Feyre swore she heard him wrong. Did he just offer to…dress her?

He tutted. “I’ll simplify it for you, darling, don’t worry.” Feyre rolled her eyes at his condescending tone. “I just want what belongs to me. Either the money or you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t belong to you.”

“Then I’ll meet you at the counter”

“Oh my god,” Feyre sighed, half to herself. What the fuck had she gotten herself into? “Look, I don’t have $900 right now. Can I—I can bring it to you later?”

He tilted his head, a predator surveying his prey. “No.”

“Why not?”

The man shrugged lazily. “My store, my rules.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“Such harsh language, love. Surely you can work it out. There were only two options after all.”

“I’m not going to be some plaything for you to dress up.” Feyre ignored what saying the word ‘plaything’ in reference to herself made her feel. Those were not normal feelings. Those feelings would get her into trouble. The situation could get figured out in a normal, non-deviant way that also didn’t force her into dropping nearly $1000 she didn’t have on apparently lackluster lingerie. Probably.

The man appraised her, moving to lean his weight on the door frame and crossing his arms. “Why not? I take very good care of what’s mine.” Feyre felt her traitorous heart flutter. “So be mine.”

“I—” Fuck. What should she do? She didn’t want to just agree. Also, where the fuck was Mor? Mor! “I could call my friend, and she could bring the money.” She owed Feyre after subjecting her to this experience.

He hummed. “You don’t have a phone, darling.”

“Because you have my phone.”

The man just shrugged, unrepentant. Feyre glared at him. He looked coolly back. Maybe she could wait him out? Mor had to be looking for her at this point.

A few beats of silence passed between them, neither backing down.

But then he broke the silence. “Decide, darling. There’ll be no other options.”

Feyre sighed. Was she really about to let him dress her? She didn’t have $1000. And…and this was his job anyway, right? So maybe he would keep it professional. And maybe this would mean that she could get a better picture, and that would be worth putting up with his nonsense. Hopefully. So she mumbled, resignedly, “Fine.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh my god.”

“Mmmm, not ‘god,’ but I appreciate the flattery.” He pushed off of the door frame and stood up straight, gesturing to himself in introduction. “Rhysand. Rhys to my friends. Or my lovers.” He purred the final word.

“Okay?” She didn’t know why he was bothering to tell her name. It’s not like she actually cared. Much. He looked at her expectantly, and she rolled her eyes at him. Again. “I’m yours.”

“Use my name.”

“Are you serious? Fine, I’m yours, Rhysand.” 

She said his name with as much bored derision as possible, but he didn’t seem to care. He only smiled and said, “Then we have a bargain.” 

And he stepped forward and pulled the curtain shut behind him, enclosing the two of them in the dressing room. Feyre backed up until she felt the cold glass of the mirror hit her back and the garment hooks just brush the top of her hair.

He studied her, reaching into his pocket for a tailor’s measuring tape and slowly unwinding the roll. “Well, darling? Strip.”

Feyre blanched slightly. “I thought you could just measure me over this?”

“And risk an inaccurate sizing? No.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I won’t. Strip.”

God, maybe he was a creep who got off on seeing a customer's tits. “Fine.” She twisted her arm behind her back to get the zipper, and in doing so had to lean closer into Rhysand. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him, but he kept his eyes on her face, even as the bustier opened and she let it fall to the ground at their feet.

“Good girl.” Feyre felt something rush through her body at his words—sweet and cloying like molten honey—and she shifted slightly as she stood under the weight of his gaze. Her nipples hardened, and she cursed her body for betraying how the words made her feel.

“Now arms above your head.”

Slightly dazed, Feyre started to lift her arms, happy to follow his authoritative voice. And then she paused, blinking back into awareness. “I don’t think this is how a fitting is supposed to go.”

He gave her a wicked smile. “It’s a proprietary technique, darling, don’t argue.” He motioned for her to continue. 

Well, in for a penny. Feyre lifted her arms above her head.

“Now stay still.”

“Wh—” But before Feyre could get her question out, he had grabbed both her wrists with one hand and, with the other, looped his tape measure around them in a complicated series of motions, securing her arms to one of the hooks above her head. 

“Perfect,” he purred, finally breaking her gaze and letting his eyes trail down her body. 

Rhysand didn’t move to touch her yet, but she shivered under his attention anyway. His expression was hungry and calculating and more than a little smug as he catalogued the way he affected her—her peaked nipples and the goosebumps that broke out across her skin and the hitch in her breath. She felt on-edge and keyed up as she stood there, waiting for whatever he was about to do. Was this some elaborate revenge plot for breaking the store’s rules? Or was this actually how he did fittings? Would he touch her? Did she want him to? Feyre wasn’t sure she was ready to find out. 

He didn’t leave her wondering for long. “I’m going to touch you now, darling.”

She wasn’t surprised, really, but she grimaced anyway. “Do you have to?” She pulled on her bindings to see if there was any give, wondering if she could still call this whole experience too fucking weird and walk away. She could probably charge the cost to her card and leave before he realized that she wasn’t good for it. Right? But the binding didn’t give at all, and Feyre stopped pulling after her first few experimental yanks proved fruitless.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow at her attempt to free herself, his amused disapproval clear on his face, although he didn’t comment on it. “I’m flattered by your faith in my abilities if you think I can do this without touching you.” 

She rolled her eyes and pulled on her bindings again. “Well, it’s not like you’re going to use a tape measure.” 

“It’s already in use, darling.” There was a pleased glint in his eyes as they flicked up to her bound hands.

Feyre huffed, irritated by the smug look on his face. “No, this cannot be—”

But Rhysand cut her off, pressing a long, ringed finger to her lips to still them. She was so startled by its intrusion and the sheer command in the action that she stopped protesting for a moment. 

He moved his hand to cup her cheek. It was surprisingly tender and intimate for what they were to each other, and she had to steel herself against a crazy urge to nuzzle into his touch. “Trust me.”

“I don’t know you.” 

“I don’t care.” And with that, he finally reached for her.

Feyre was well-endowed, but his hands were still large enough that they easily covered her breasts, and she gasped at the contrast of his warm hands and cold rings against her skin. It felt like he was everywhere—overwhelming and insufficient all at once—as he mapped the contours of her body. 

She had just grown accustomed to the sensation of him touching her when Rhysand shifted and began to tease her nipples. The surprise of the heat that flashed through her made her shamelessly arch into his touch with a breathy sigh, and he smirked at his effect on her. “Do you still doubt my abilities, darling?”

“Yes.” She bit out, just as he leaned down and took one of her nipples in his mouth, forcing her to stifle a moan.

He released it, flicking his eyes up to hers, although he brought his hands up to tease her as he asked, “Do you want me to stop?” 

Feyre didn’t answer him, not daring to admit that she actually liked this. She was only still here because of fucking Tamlin and fucking Mor and because she didn’t fucking have enough money to buy her way out of the mess they’d encouraged her to make. That was all. She wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant if she admitted that some depraved part of her was actually enjoying what Rhysand was doing and it wasn’t just her body reacting to his touch. It would be better if she didn’t acknowledge his question at all. Maybe he’d just keep going and she could have the plausible deniability of just being along for the ride.

But as the silence stretched out, Rhysand’s hands stilled while he waited for her answer, and when none came, he asked again, more forcefully, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The answer slipped out of her unbidden. But it was true—no one had touched her like this before. His hands were everything, and they were making her insane, and besides, it had been so long—even since before her breakup with Tamlin—that she had felt this damn good from anything beside her own hand that the thought of stopping this bliss was unthinkable.

“Thank the Mother,” he growled. “These are a gift, darling. A revelation. It would be a crime to do anything but worship them.” And then he did, groping and teasing and tasting until Feyre thought she might shatter with need and desire from just the attention he gave her breasts.

But right as she felt the beginnings of an orgasm start to build, Rhysand withdrew his hands and took a step away, a satisfied smile blooming on his face as he took in flushed face and the devastation she knew must be flashing in her eyes at the loss of contact.

Half-mindless, she whimpered and shamelessly pulled forward against her wrist bindings, straining toward where he stood as if that could entice him to come back and finish what he started.

But he only hushed her with a reprimanding cluck of his tongue. “We don’t want the other customers to hear you, do we?” 

She glared at him in response, still reeling from the unsatisfied ache that pulsed between her legs. 

Rhysand smiled back at her, looked her over, and then nodded. “I know exactly the piece for you.”

And with that, he pushed aside the curtain and stepped out of the fitting room, leaving Feyre panting and needy and still tied to the garment hook on the wall.

“Rhysand.” She whisper-shouted. The absolute asshole left the curtain open. There was a mirror in one of the other rooms across the way, and Feyre had no choice but to look at herself, naked and flushed and helpless. Anyone who came in to try on something would see the same thing—she couldn’t move or hide or even cover herself with her hands. She cursed Rhysand and staunchly ignored the traitorous wetness she could feel pooling between her thighs.

It seemed like ages before he returned, long enough that she had contemplated shouting for Mor to come and rescue her. They had been friends long enough that they had seen each other in various states of undress over the years. What was another look at each other’s boobs between friends anyway? Sure, Mor would have prime mockery material for the rest of their lives, but the longer Feyre hung there, the less she cared. 

But just as she was steeling herself to start yelling, Rhysand stepped back into her line of sight.

He smirked at her. “Well, look at you, darling.” The hunger hadn’t left his gaze. He still looked every inch the predator as he let his gaze sweep over her naked form. “What a perfect girl for staying here, tied up and waiting for me.”

“This was not part of our agreement,” she spat at him.

Rhysand only arched an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, darling.”

Feyre was about to snap back at him, but then a glint caught her eye, and she finally noticed what he was holding.

It was a bustier, black as night, and she wondered briefly if it had been one of the pieces he had perched near as he watched her in the store. She couldn’t see much of it yet, but from the way it sparkled under the dressing room lights, she assumed that the garment was adorned with intricate beadwork as if someone had spilled starlight across the fabric. She knew, even without trying it on, that it would be seductive and sexy and slightly wicked, and that she would absolutely love it.

But fuck, she hated Rhysand for being right. Prick.

“Step in, darling.” He stooped down and held open the bustier near her feet.

Feyre rolled her eyes but still obediently lifted one leg and then the other, allowing him to pull the material over her legs and up her torso. The sensation of his hands as they skirted against the sides of her body had her twitching, the phantom memory of her ruined orgasm making her core flutter piteously.

Once the bustier was around her, Rhysand crowded further into her space and reached his arms around her to pull at the laces in the back. “I need to lace it up, love.”

This close, she could see the delight in his annoyingly purple eyes, could trace the faint stubble that dotted his chin, could breathe in his scent of sea salt and citrus. It was heady and intoxicating, and the combination of it and the proximity of his body had Feyre nearly keening from desire again. 

“Rhys…” Feyre whined, and she didn’t know if she was asking for him to hurry up lacing her or to finally give her the pleasure he had teased her with, but either way, she was tired of waiting. She wanted to see what he would make of her. 

Standing this close, she caught the way that his name on her lips—the name his lovers called him—made his breath catch just slightly. And some vindictive part of her was pleased that she wasn’t the only one affected by what was happening between them in the dressing room.

He didn’t stop his work, however, and his hands made quick, deft work of the laces behind her until he nodded and stepped back a pace, looking her over as he did so. “All done, darling.”

Feyre waited for him to say something else—to praise his work or mock her for how she looked or offer some other depraved choice that she’d somehow get roped into.

But nothing came. He just stood in front of her, staring fixedly.

She glanced down at herself. Everything looked normal from her vantage point—nothing bulged out or cut in or gaped, and so, reasonably confident that the issue here wasn’t with her, she swung her gaze up to him. “Well?”

“See for yourself, love.” And then he stepped aside, leaving Feyre to look at herself in the mirror across the way once again.

She was still tied up like some wanton plaything, but—it was different somehow, now. The bustier wrapped around her like a second skin, following the curves of her waist and her hips that somehow made both look sinfully exaggerated, while the top of it dipped down low between her breasts while arching up high on either side in delicate points that were flared and tapered almost like bat wings. The entire garment was covered in the black sequins and gems that had caught her eye before, adding some dimension and texture to the otherwise monochrome color scheme.

And it all came together to make the woman in the mirror look fierce and wicked and alluring and powerful somehow, even caught as she was. It was everything Feyre had wanted when she let Mor drag her here in the first place.

Her eyes flicked over to Rhys who was leaning against the side of the fitting room door, still just watching her.

He tilted his head. “Pleased?”

“Yes. I—” She paused, realizing that she had almost thanked him for tying her up and touching her and coercing her into agreeing to all of it. As if.

Rhys nodded, apparently unconcerned with whatever she had been about to say. “Now, there’s just one more thing we need to do before you take that picture.” He took a step back toward her.

Feyre blinked. “Wait, what?”

The smile he gave her was unholy. “You need to look the part, darling.”

And then his hands were on her again, skimming over her breasts and down her sides until she felt him start to tease her inner thighs, straying closer and closer to her core until she realized exactly what part he meant. 

She had been performing in her picture before, playacting lust and sensuality and desire. Rhys wanted it to be real.

“Wait, Rhys—” But Feyre’s protest was cut off by the brush of his finger against her clit, and the bolt of sheer pleasure that shot through her stilled the words in her mouth.

“Let me, darling.” He continued exploring her as he said the words, dipping his fingers lower to gather some wetness before bringing them back to her clit and starting to rub in firm, tight circles.

It felt perfect and right and necessary, and so Feyre did, giving herself over to whatever Rhys had in store for her.

He grinned as he sensed her resistance melting away and began to play with her clit in earnest, rubbing and stroking until Feyre was nearly insane from the desire and the pleasure coursing through her. It was like he had never stopped his teasing from earlier, for far too quickly, Feyre was needy and shivering and shaking as she hung from the garment hook.

“Please—Rhys…I need—” Her voice was breathy and desperate, but Feyre didn’t care. She just needed to come.

“I know, love, I know. Come for me.” He whispered the command in her ear, his hand still working her clit, and Feyre shattered.

It was intense and all-consuming, and, tied up as she was, Feyre had no choice but to let herself be overtaken by the pleasure that coursed through her.

She could still feel her core fluttering when Rhysand stepped away again and smoothly slid her phone out of his pocket.

“Now, let’s take that picture.”

A few minutes later, Feyre found herself standing at the store’s counter as Rhys packaged up the bustier she had reluctantly agreed to take home with her—on the house, of course, he had told her with a wink. She was dressed in her regular clothes once again, grateful that the baggy sweater hid the faint marks on her wrists from Rhys’ tape measure.

“Feyre!” A voice cried out from behind her, and she turned to see Mor striding toward them. “Girl, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

“I—” Feyre didn’t know what to say. I’ve been a little tied up? I think maybe I saw God back in those fitting rooms? She didn’t want to admit to either of those things.

But thankfully, Mor didn’t wait for her answer. “Oh, did you find something?”

“She did.” Rhys’ smooth voice cut in, and then he nodded at Mor. “Cousin.”

“Cousin,” Mor replied, sticking her tongue out at him. “This is Feyre—she’s the friend I told you about.”

They were—what. the. fuck. 

“Pleased to finally meet you, Feyre, darling.” He put extra emphasis on her name now that he finally knew it, and she glowered at him over the counter.

“Did you buy it?” Mor asked excitedly, trying to peek into the small black bag. “Will it work for your revenge picture?”

Before she could answer, Rhys smirked at her. “I think she found exactly what she needed.”

Feyre glared at him and nodded at Mor, choosing not to acknowledge the pulse of interest that reignited between her thighs. 

Mor’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them as a pleased smile bloomed on her face as she realized that something was going on. “Oh, I knew you two would hit it off. See what happens when you trust me, Fey?”

Feyre snorted. The bag on the counter and the marks on her wrists and the ache between her thighs proved exactly what trusting Mor got her.

Not that she minded, necessarily. But still—it would be quite a while before she let herself get roped into another scheme like this one.

Mor pulled out her phone to check the time. “It’s time for drinks! We need to celebrate!” And with that, she grabbed Feyre’s arm and pulled her out of the store as Rhys looked on with a smirk.

As they sat down at a bar a few minutes later, Feyre’s phone pinged with a notification from Instagram. Her picture had gotten quite a few likes already, and friends had commented various combinations of fire emojis and hearts and marriage proposals that made her laugh. 

And there was a comment from her newest follower, one highlordrhys: “You make my clothes look like art, darling.” 

Feyre scoffed lightly at the presumption of the comment (although, to his credit, she did look good—flushed and relaxed from her orgasm, her body arching deliciously with her hands still tied up above her head) before noticing a dm from the same account. More quickly than she would care to admit, she opened it and saw that Rhys had sent her his number with the message “Call me the next time you need help looking the part, darling 😉.”

She swore she wouldn’t and closed the app without sending anything back. 

But she saved his number first. Just in case.

[welcometothedopeworld]

Would you do a request for Hokusai Masaki where one of his brothers accidentally lets it slip that he’s in love with the reader?

Summary: Hokusai is completely in love with you, and while the rest of AKYR can see it, they don't think you can. So they tell him that actions speak louder than words.

Pairing: Hokusai Masaki X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Oneshot

Word Count: 1247

Warning: N/A

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this! I enjoyed writing it more than I thought I would! I hope you enjoy it too!

Hokusai is definitely a man of few words. Everyone in Akanyatsura can attest to that. But they also knew that his actions spoke louder than words. And of course, it was no secret to them when he started seeing you more often, that he was infatuated with you. He was always helping you with your chores and hanging out with you, indulging your every whim. And it was so painfully obvious to his Akanyatsura brothers, that some were getting annoyed with his behavior.

"You're going out with them again?" Reo whined as he flopped dramatically onto the table in their living space.

Hokusai nodded. "They asked me to visit. I won't be gone long."

"You say that every time." Satsuki pouted. "And yet you stay out for hours on end with them."

"It's like we don't even exist to you anymore!" Reo cried and wiped fake tears from his eyes.

Hokusai simply watched his brothers, slightly confused. He didn't think he spent that much time with you. Sure, he has been seeing you more often, but that was because you both wanted to. And he was still for Akanyatsura when Iori needed him. He definitely was not shirking his responsibilities. So he had no idea why they were acting like this.

Iori hummed to himself. "Well, I think it's sweet. I think it's about time this family expanded."

"What are you talking about?!" Zen sputtered, which in turn made Iori chuckle.

"I'm simply saying another member of the group would be just fine to me. I'm not implying I would replace any of you; believe me, you're all irreplaceable, but one more person in this family is just what we need I think."

Zen let out a sigh. "I see. Forgive me for jumping to conclusions."

"You need to get your mind out of the gutter, my friend." Iori grinned as Zen blushed.

"But that all depends on if Hokusai actually invites them to join our family!" Reo stated as a matter of fact. "And we all know he won't do that!"

Hokusai tilted his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"It's obvious!" Satsuki replied. "You're not very good with words, least of all when they're supposed to be romantic. We all know the two of you are going to be dancing around your feelings for ages. And the rest of us are going to have to suffer because of your pining."

"I don't make you suffer." He shot back. "And I don't need words to be romantic. You know actions speak louder than words."

"But are they receiving the message you are trying to convey through your actions?" Zen asked, then held his hands up in surrender. "I mean no offense, but sometimes people aren't perceptive to action and need to be told."

Hokusai thought for a moment before he shrugged. "I hope so. But if they weren't, I wouldn't even know what to say to tell them my feelings."

Iori shook his head. "We can't help you with that. Those words need to come from you and your heart. You can do this, I know you can."

He slowly nodded. "Alright. I'll try."

Smiling and nodding, Iori shooed him out the door. "Now go! They're waiting for you!"

Again, Hokusai nodded before leaving the Akanyatsura house. It didn't take him long to get to the park right outside of your apartment building. You both loved hanging out there, whether it was by walking around the pond together, climbing the trees, or finding stray cats to play with. But he knew as he sat on your favorite bench that today would be different. He was going to try and tell you just how much you meant to him and how much he cared about you. He just needed to find the right words.

"You look lost in thought." Your soft voice lightly teased him. "What's on your mind, Hokusai?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. How are you?"

"I'm fine." You nod. "Better now that you're here."

He smiled. "That's good to hear."

You sat next to him, your shoulder barely brushing his. He was thankful you enjoyed just sitting in silence with him. With you there was no pressure to speak. He could just sit there and enjoy the day with you next to him. Perhaps this was how he confessed to you. Not with his words, but with his actions.

"Wow, this is more boring than I thought it was going to be." A whisper catches his attention. Hokusai glances at you, but you don't seem to have noticed the whisper.

"Well, it is Hokusai we're talking about." If he didn't know any better, he'd say that sounded like Satsuki...

Casually looking around, Hokusai finally noticed Satsuki and Reo failing to hide behind a tree. He glared at them, but that didn't stop them from staring and teasing the two of you. He thought he would be left alone with you. But apparently he thought wrong. He just hoped Iori didn't ask them to come spy on him like an overprotective older brother.

Due to his focus being on the two younger members of Akanyatsura, he didn't notice you at all. And how your focus had shifted to him and the boys hiding behind the tree. He didn't notice you hiding a chuckle behind your hand.

"You think he forgot what he told Aniki earlier?" Satsuki loudly whispered to Reo. "That he said he was going to confess to them?"

Reo shook his head. "Maybe he did. He's obviously not going to make a move. He would have done it by now."

"Yeah, he's had more than enough time now to tell them how much he loves them!"

Hokusai grit his teeth. If he wasn't worried about making a scene in front of you, he would totally beat the two of them up right now. But when you tapped on his shoulder stopped him from getting up and having a little "chat" with his younger AKYR brothers.

"Are you alright?" You ask, with a sweet smile on your lips.

He hesitates before nodding. "I'm okay."

Your smile widens as you shake your head. "No, you're not. I can tell you're not. Those boys over there are giving you a hard time, aren't they?"

Again he nods.

"Thought so. And if I didn't know any better, it almost sounded like they said something about you being in love with me?" Your smile was teasing and Hokusai could feel his cheeks turn red at your words.

"I- maybe. I mean, yes, I do." He mumbled.

Your smile only continued to widen. "Well, that's good to know. But it's crazy of them to think we weren't already dating. I mean, we've been together for a couple months now, at least!"

"W-we have?"

You nod. "The way you've acted around me proves how much you care about me and how much you want to be around me. You've more than proven yourself to be a worthy boyfriend. So you don't need to come up with some elaborate confession plan. I'm already yours."

He felt the tension in his shoulders ease and a smile stretched across his face. "And I'm yours."

"That's good to know." And with that, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He responded by pulling you closer, his hand cupping your face. It was absolutely perfect.

"GET A ROOM YOU TWO!"

"SATSUKI KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT OR YOU'LL RUIN THE MOMENT!"

[luckyroll3]

Crimson Lights: Chapter 26

Masterlist

The fading sun casts a warm glow over the dashboard as I turn onto the familiar street leading to my building. Exhaustion is clawing at my bones after a long day at the clinic, and all I crave is the comfort of home and Chris' arms. A yawn escapes me, my eyes briefly closing before snapping back open, just in time to catch sight of him.

Chris stands there, his muscular frame relaxed, but his attention is completely absorbed by the woman in front of him. Even from a distance, her beauty is arresting—a cascade of black waves tumbles down past her shoulders, a stark contrast to her olive skin which seemed to drink in the last rays of sunlight, and curves for days. Her green eyes sparkled, seemingly full of mischief, as she leaned into his space, her hand placed lightly on his chest as her fingers trace one of his buttons, a gesture that feels too intimate for casual friends.

A knot tightens in my stomach, an instinctual tug of concern, but I push it away. It's nothing, I tell myself, as I head up to the garage and park the car with more force than necessary. Maybe she's a neighbor or a friend. I couldn't let a seed of doubt take root; trust was the foundation we’d built our relationship on.

After dropping my stuff off at my place, then showering and changing, I head to Chris’.

"Hey, love," Chris greets me when I finally step out of the elevator into his penthouse. He pulls me into a warm hug.

"Hi," I murmur against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent. He feels like home—steady and sure. It has been about two weeks since we’d found our way back to each other and things were good. Chris has been more open with me about the other side of the business and now shares when has to lean into his dark side so that I’m not caught off guard or so that I can help pull him back, bring him balance. And I share with him when I’m uncomfortable or scared. We make it a priority to work out our feelings together. We have been very in sync with each other, feeling very much like the early days of our relationship.

We settle onto the couch, the soft fabric embracing us as we curl up together. The TV plays some show I didn't care about, background noise to our quiet conversation.

"How was work?" I ask, tracing idle patterns on his arm.

"Good, good. Had a meeting run way too long, but otherwise, not too bad," he replies, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“And any movement on that other situation?” I ask, inquiring about how they’re handling the potential threat from Marco.

“Not really. We’re ready to move on our end, but JYP has asked us to hold off until we have ‘real’ evidence.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "And you? How was your day?"

"Same old, same old," I sigh, recounting a story about a particularly feisty cat that had given me a run for my money. Chris chuckles, his chest rumbling against my cheek.

As the night wore on, and his voice fills the spaces around us, I wait for him to mention the woman from earlier. But the topic never surfaces. Should I ask? I question myself. No, I can’t be that person. If it were important, he'd tell me.

"Everything okay?" Chris' voice pulls me back, his gaze searching mine.

"Perfect," I lie with a smile, burrowing deeper into his embrace. Trust him, I chide myself silently. Don't ruin this because of some lingering insecurity from you-know-who. Your last boyfriend had scarred you with his infidelities, but you didn’t want that situation to color your interactions with Chris.

"Good," he murmurs, tightening his hold on me. "I'm glad you're here."

The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and the tender look in his eyes—it all lulls the creeping worry back into the shadows.

—

The clatter of cutlery and the murmur of lunchtime conversations envelop me as I take a seat at our usual corner booth, with Felix, Hyunjin, and Changbin already deep into their meal. Felix has been inviting me to have lunch with them at least once a week for several weeks now. It’s usually just me, him, and Hyunjin. Felix, the sweetheart that he is, has already ordered my usual for me. 

The aroma of spicy ramen and tangy kimchi fills my senses, but it is their hushed tones that snag my attention. I try to focus on unfolding my napkin, but their words buzz like bees around my head.

"Can't believe Aja's back in town," Felix mutters, his brows knitted tightly under his blond bangs. "She's trouble."

"Always has been," Hyunjin adds, spooning broth into his mouth. "She’s been on the east coast for years, and suddenly she pops up out of the blue? It’s suspicious. Of course she beelined directly for Channie her first day in town, no surprise there."

My hand freezes mid-fold, my heart hammering against my ribcage. The woman from the other day—is Aja? Chris’ ex?

"What does she look like?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

"Curvy Latina, jet black hair, green eyes that probably have seen more dollar signs than stars," Changbin replies sarcastically without looking up, his chopsticks expertly navigating through his noodles.

A lump forms in my throat. That was her—the one who'd lingered too close to Chris.

"Her dad was a big-shot lieutenant in the Syndicate," Felix says, shaking his head. "That’s how she and Chan got connected. Once she had her hooks in him, it was over. Chan always bent over backward for her."

"Despite her treating him like dirt," Hyunjin scoffs. "He catered to her every whim, and she still stomped all over his heart. Bitch."

"Wait, she treated Chris badly?" My voice wavers despite my best efforts.

"Like he was nothing and he just took it because he was in love," Changbin confirms, his dark eyes meeting mine for a moment. This is the closest Changbin and I have been since Chris and I reconnected. We still talk and text almost everyday, like usual, but we haven’t been alone together. He wouldn’t admit it, but Binnie has been avoiding me. "We never liked her, Kay. You're a breath of fresh air compared to Aja."

"Definitely," Felix agrees with a nod. "You're good for him. She...she was like a devil whispering in his ear, pushing him deeper towards the dark side."

"Which is why we can't let her worm her way back in," Hyunjin states firmly.

The weight of their concern presses down on me, mixing with the sour twist of unease in my stomach. Chris had said nothing about Aja, nothing about seeing her again. And yet here I sit, surrounded by his most trusted confidants, learning of a past that suddenly felt all too present.

“Does anyone know why she’s back?” I ask, curious to learn more.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Hyunjin says as he leans back in his chair. “As long as she leaves Chan the fuck out of it. I’ll kill her myself if she gets out of line.”

“Yo, dial that back a notch Jinnie,” Changbin said with a laugh. “We get it; you hate her!”

“I wouldn’t worry about her, Kay,” Felix says. “She’s probably just here to visit family.”

“Or to get more money out of them,” Changbin adds with a smirk. “Either way, she probably won’t be here long.”

"Thanks, guys," I manage, my smile strained.

Changbin reaches out, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze before quickly withdrawing. Also the first time he’s touched me since that night in the clinic.

"Anything for you, Kay," he said, his voice low and earnest. "We've got your back."

—

The silence in Chris' penthouse later that evening is deafening, the usual hum of our shared laughter and conversation conspicuously absent. I watch him from across the room, his eyes glued to his phone screen, thumbs tapping out a response with an urgency I haven't seen in a while.

"Work stuff?" I venture, trying to keep my tone light, though the knot in my stomach pulls tighter with each passing second.

"Uh, yeah," he replies without looking up, the corners of his mouth twitching into a strained smile.

I nod, feigning interest in the TV show playing in the background, while the acidic taste of doubt lingered on my tongue.

A few moments later he joins me on the couch. He gives me a gentle kiss on the lips before laying his head in my lap. I run my hand through his hair, as he grabs my other hand and brings it to his chest.

“Everything okay with you?” he asks as he looks up at me.

“Yeah. All good here.” I lean over to kiss him. I want to ask him about Aja, but am worried about sounding like a jealous girlfriend. Despite the few issues Chris and I have had in our relationship, worrying about other people was never one. I’m not sure why I’m so concerned about Aja, given that Chris has never done anything to show that he had interest in other women. Yet, knowing she’s around and in contact with him is putting me on edge, especially given what I learned at lunch.

“You sure?” he asks with concern. “Your energy seems…off. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” He reaches a hand up to my face and caresses my cheek.

“I know.” I lean into his hand. “I’m good. I promise,” I whisper.

“Ok.” He settles back into my lap, wrapping my arm around him and turning to face the TV. We watch the show in silence. As a new episode starts up, his phone beeps. He sits up to grab it off the coffee table and sits back on the couch to read and respond.

"Goodnight," I murmur, retreating to his bedroom, feeling very uneasy.

“I’ll be in soon,” he calls out behind me.

I crawl under the covers and curl up into a ball, closing my eyes. After a few minutes, I feel Chris snuggle up behind me. As he places soft kisses along my shoulder, I feel his hands wrap around my body.

Chris' lips linger on my skin, but my thoughts are a whirlwind of questions and suspicions. Why hasn't he mentioned her return? I can’t escape the feeling that something is amiss.

A soft sigh escapes me as Chris pulls me closer, his touch soothing. “Still awake?” he whispers in my ear as he slips his hand down my stomach and beneath the waistband of my pajama bottoms. I nod. “Mmmm, good. Come here.”

I turn my body to face him and he captures my lips, easing his tongue into my mouth. I don’t resist him. I can’t. He shifts my shorts and underwear down my legs and tosses them aside. He’s already naked.

He pulls me in closer to him, pressing my body against his. He lifts my top leg and places it over his hip. Then he positions his dick at my entrance, before sliding himself in gently. A slow rhythm starts between us - hard and fast at first then slowing down to match each other's pace. It feels good to be one with him like this; lying side by side, our noses and foreheads touching, our bodies moving slowly together in unison.

My body responds instinctively, arching into his touch. I try to push my doubts and worries away, focusing on the pleasure he's giving me. But the image of Aja keeps creeping back into my mind, taunting me.

He whispers against my lips, “Let me make you forget about whatever it is you keep thinking about.” He picks up the pace of his thrusts, hitting all the right spots with precision. The tension in my body slowly ebbs away as Chris’ thrusts match his words, bringing me back to the present. Soon enough, all thoughts about Aja fade away and I am consumed by overwhelming pleasure.

Our bodies move together in perfect harmony, skin sliding against skin, breath coming out in quick gasps. I moan softly as Chris' strong hands grip my ass, guiding my hips to meet his thrusts with just the right amount of force. His other hand trails up my spine, landing at the base of my neck. His fingers play with my hair as he buries himself deeper inside me.

“Tell me you love me,” I demand, my hand on his cheek. He pulls back slightly to look into my eyes. He’s usually the one demanding reassurances, not me, so it catches him off guard.

“I love you. Only you, Kay.” I bring my lips to his, kissing him hungrily as I claim him as mine. I already know that he loves me, but hearing him say it in this moment helps to push aside the doubts I’m having.

Chris rolls me onto my back so that he is now on top. He increases the speed of his thrusts, but his lips never leave mine. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in even closer to me.

The intensity between us grows with each passing moment, until we are both lost in each other’s touch. With one last deep thrust, Chris cums inside of me, his rhythmic movements faltering as he rides out his orgasm. I follow closely behind, my body trembling beneath him.

We lay there for a few moments, catching our breaths. Eventually, Chris rolls off of me and pulls me into his chest; our usual after sex position. We lay there silently for a while, just enjoying each other’s company.

Chris finally breaks the silence. “I’m here when you’re ready to tell me what’s wrong.” He kisses my forehead before pulling me into him even tighter. I don’t respond. We stay wrapped up in each other until we both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

[thatgirlinskullz]

i've been reading a lot of reactions and thoughts and reviews of the first 3 episode of Acolyte and i just don't, and cannot comprehend how so many people are just so against this show from the getgo.. some are even reviewbombing other shows and movies called acolyte because they're just so hung up on making this show fail. its sad, to be honest.

Is The Acolyte perfect? No, none of Star Wars is perfect, and i say that as someone who LOVES everything SW that i've seen so far, and if you say that "no, star wars is flawless" you're kidding yourself, but more power to ya i guess. i am not here to argue with anyone on their opinions and i never will, so if thats what you're looking for.. good for you???

anyway, obviously a lot of the "criticism" aka outright hate that Acolyte is getting is rooted in racism, homophobia and misogyny, cuz of course.. BUT ignoring that part, because i just can't deal with that part rn, people are saying that it's "lore-breaking" and that "it destroys anakin's uniqueness and makes him less special" and that it "recycles ideas" or whatever to which i'm just like ??????

i don't see it that way at all.

introducing another witch coven, essentially another religion, that has its own interpretation of the Force is nothing new or lore-breaking to SW. it has been done before when the midichlorians were introduced or when we learned of the Nightsisters and their magiks or when we saw the Mortis arc or The World Between Worlds or when we saw the Force Witches that Yoda meets ??? It doesn't intend on replacing any of the previous concepts we've known so far, it just EXPANDS on the idea of the Force. it builds on it and adds more interpretations.. might i say, "ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW" ?! cuz remember "from a certain point of view" ?? that's been a core idea in SW for so long i don't understand why this is so hard to fathom for some people.

this also connects to the ridiculous idea that the show "makes the Jedi look evil and destroys their significance" or something. people are saying that the Jedi are supposed to be heroes and the Acolyte shows them as invaders who steal children and possibly cover up crimes.. no, i don't see it that way. we've already known from the prequels and the Clone Wars that the Jedi were not perfect and that their beliefs were very limited to their beliefs and nothing else and they acted like they knew the answers when they obviously didn't. aka they were a liiiitttllee bit problematic, even if the core idea of them was to be "keepers of peace", they didn't always succeed or they took measures that may have been questionable to say the least. so showing a different perspective of the Jedi, in a different era, showing that their corruption and downfall was a loooong process and was building over time, just adds to the Jedi's complexity. they're not villains, but they're also not always heroes. to a family whose children they may "invite" to the Jedi Order, they may actually seem like invaders, because THEY ARE kinda enforcing their own religious beliefs and ideas on these people and especially the small, impressionable children. i don't see this as "lore-breaking" or erasing the Jedi's significance as "the good guys", i see it expanding in the idea of the Jedi and adding more depth to them and showing that there DOES need to be a balance between Jedi or Sith, good or bad, light or dark, one cannot exist without the other.

and the way the Twins in Acolyte erase how Anakin was special, how he was supposed to be the only one concieved of the Force? again, i don't see it that way. i see it as: Anakin was concieved BY THE WILL OF THE FORCE, he is still space jesus, HE is meant to bring balance because THE FORCE WANTS BALANCE. the Twins were concieved USING THE FORCE by the will of 2 mothers who wanted children. those two are not the same in my mind. i feel like until this point Anakin was the only one we knew of who'd been made with/by the Force, but that doesn't mean there had never been another similar case before, right? its just that we weren't aware, now we are. plus, knowing that some witches could use the Force to create life, adds to the idea that Plagueis and Sidius were researching creating life and cheating death, it means what they wanted to do was possible, and maybe they came across these exact witches? or their writings? and maybe used some of their techniques to experiment, maybe these techniques are part of how Palpy managed to return.. we don't know yet, but The Mothers creating the Twins doesn't erase any other previous concept or remove the significance if Anakin whatsoever. in my mind at least..

and the idea that "the show is recycling ideas" aka using the idea of twins again.. have you ever heard of a little quote by George Lucas " It's like poetry, they rhyme" ?? this has been a MAJOR part of SW ever since the prequels and they have been making references and nods and parallels between shows/movies/books/games for decades now and i think its a beautiful part of SW because they need to think of things that can work as "rhymes" in the given contexts, and that is ART in my mind..

yeah, the writing and line deliveries are a little wonky here and there, but it wouldn't be Star Wars otherwise. it has never been 100% perfection and that is fine. and i LOVE Star Wars and i will always sing its praises but i also see its flaws but as someone who has spent years in this fandom and has experienced the ups and downs of the franchise, i still don't see the Acolyte as "bad, lore-breaking fanfiction" as some claim it to be.

anyways, that's just my 2 cents, i don't intend to fight with anyone about this, i just needed to get this out of my system.

if you like Acolyte, cool. if you hate Acolyte, cool.

just.. try not to spread the hate too much? that's one part of SW that i am not proud of, how much hate some of can spew even when one of the main points of the franchise is that hate is bad and dangerous.. oh well.

anyway, again, I love Star Wars.

[vehemourn]

Genuinely I wish people didnt house so much vitriol for Toyhouse given that its like, one of very very very few active artist spaces left, especially one that promotes Business and Art and Money Making... I feel like a lot of people get really fed up by it or caught up on shit like "theres only one mod & the site hasnt changed in 7 years" or whatever which. First of all the site *has* received updates in the memorable past, so jot that down, and secondly its not Wrong that this is someones passion project that they decided to share with us & that we can use? Personally I'm very glad that I can, at the very least, post on toyhouse where Every Other Site Is Suffocating rn. Its a space with artists, for artists, that will show you the art of everyone you want to see art from. In your notifications inbox, just like in the deviantart days, delivered straight to your door, is the art from every person you have notifications turned on for. I Like having the privacy settings so I can watermark the shit out of my work and Also authorize people so they can see it specifically. I LOVE the community on it. I love my friends and peers & the space we've stared to build on it. It's not Just a character storage site, its also a Community site to me. And it's one of very few :(. Its Mostly accessible (you need an invite code which, again, is not a bad thing right now + its easy enough to get one. [if you want one dm me]) and its Free and there are no ads and its highly customizable. Its really frustrating that it feels like it checks all the boxes that you Want as an artist, and a character maker, but since people view it as "their character storage site" it feels like they dont appreciate what this space does offer us and what we'd be losing if it fractured even further. Honestly... It feels like a lot of people feel entitled to it being a "better" site, despite the fact that its Good and thats More than you can ask of most sites right now.

I love toyhouse

[skyesdaisys]

Hi love can you please write some Callie x fem reader hcs

of course!!! writing headcanons is so much faster and easier than actually writing one shots (literally need to write/finish my other two current requests ahsjdjdj) also callie my babygirl, i love her SO bad

your guys' relationship is a bit of a slow burn. because 1. she's with kyle but also 2. mommy issues. she knows her parents relationship isn't as perfect as they make it seem and it takes a toll on her a bit (kind of like nancy wheeler, but at least with callie, jeff actually cares about his family, with shauna.... it's complicated, but we're well aware of that)

even as friends, callie wants to keep her distance. like yeah, she does have alana but with you, it was different. something that was stronger (yet again, i don't think callie let alana sleep over at her house and i wouldn't blame her)

but when you do, callie REALLY wants to make sure you don't come to her house mainly because of shauna. it's just lesbian with mommy issues (callie is a lesbian to me, i will die on that hill)

and well, it takes her a while to build of the courage to tell you how she feels about you. like a loooooooong while. but she does eventually because you help her open up more, making you feel like safe space for her

but it takes a bit longer after you guys get together for her to let you meet her parents

when she does, she literally begs shauna and jeff to not be weird about it at all

jeff tries to keep his cool about it, to be an ally (he literally searches online about "what to do when your daughter brings home a girl?")

shauna, at first, isn't fond of you, but over time, she comes around to the idea especially since you make her daughter happy. like genuinely happy. shauna does live her daughter, she just..... has a hard time showing it

you and callie aren't very touchy, and you guys don't have to be. when you're watching tv together, she has her head on your shoulder (or vice versa)

and if you aren't as affectionate as she is, that's fine. both of you have your boundaries and you set them and respect one another

same if you are physically affectionate. she let's you hug her, lay your head on her shoulder or her lap, cheek kisses, but you don't go overboard. just the small little things she enjoys

it takes her a while to say "i love you" but she eventually does when she feels that you're the one. and you are!

everytime you stay for dinner, jeff always tries to make you feel apart of the family. he just wants his little girl to be happy

and does this mean you'll be dragged into their family messes? yup. you are officially apart of the family, you are joining in their disasters whether you like it or not

and that means bonding with shauna a bit more as she slowly sees you as trustworthy and knows you're a good fit for callie (i know for a fact that she did not like kyle at all when callie was dating him and obviously, she hates that fucking cop and as she should. acab)

honestly, callie's parents become family to you, and accepting you into it because you make her happy (they are a dysfunctional murder family, but they are happy, in a weird fucked up way)

and yes, jeff invites you to holiday dinners, which makes callie flush in embarrassment

did this turn out to be more of you meeting shauna and jeff while dating callie? yes. but come on, the experience would be hilarious like "yeah, i'm apart of my girlfriend's crazy family that covers up murders. no big deal :)"

[contritecactite]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

Thank you for the ask, Quoth! I think you'd be pleased to know that I had trouble narrowing things down (they're all my favorites today), but I got there eventually.

1. Promised Me a Feeling

Ace Attorney, T, 2.8k, klapollo

Post-AA4, Edgeworth accidentally invites himself to dinner with Klavier and Apollo. It's painfully awkward, but it helps him find the courage to take the next step.

I took a huge internet break years ago (my own 7yg hehe) and only returned to fandom in 2021. "Promised Me a Feeling" was the first time I felt genuinely confident in my writing again, so it holds a special place in my heart.

2. Third Time Charmed

Ace Attorney, G, 3k, Maya

Maya visits the building for the "first time" three separate times. Whether it's housing Fey & Co. Law Offices, Wright & Co. Law Offices, or the Wright Anything Agency, it always manages to be just the opposite of what she's come to expect.

In a lot of ways, this was a celebration of being part of a fandom in which I'm "allowed" to enjoy female characters and to place value on non-romantic relationships. Those were two quick ways out the door in my 2008-2012 spaces.

3. And a Borrowed Car

Good Omens, T, 3.6k, A/C (ambiguous)

Aziraphale falls asleep in the stolen Jeep, Crowley remembers that his flat could use some cleaning, and they end up sharing a very nice room somewhere and talking about things they've lost and time they've wasted. It turns out all right in the end.

An attempt to integrate some details from s1&2 into book canon. Casual intimacy, only one bed (because it's what they wanted), soft with an aroma of their inherent angst. Feels like some of my best characterization, but I could be wrong.

4. Anthems of Joy

Ace Attorney, T, 17k, FranMaya

When Maya and Franziska's intention to get married is made public, they get railroaded into using their wedding to generate good press for the district prosecutors' office. Over the next few months, Franziska finds that her relationship with Maya isn't the only one that gets strengthened in the pursuit of happiness. Also, I wrote what feels like half a Sesame Street episode for this. You're welcome/I'm sorry.

A weirdly personal fic that was a long time in the making. I don't know what I can say about it concisely except that I hope someday I can let go of as many hangups as Franziska.

5. Competitive Inhibition

Good Omens, M, 15k, A/C through the ages

In biochemistry: a phenomenon in which a molecule is blocked from binding to an enzyme by another molecule with a similar structure—like a demon preventing an angel from binding completely to Heaven or, more to the point, doubt and fear keeping an angel from wholly welcoming a bond with a demon. Or: The ups and downs of sharing 6000 years of life on Earth with an angel who wants desperately to be doing Good.

Written for a gift exchange, this ended up being a long series of vignettes that alternate between good times and bad times (with a hopeful ending). I even did some (very) cursory historical research! I'm very proud of it despite it apparently not having very broad appeal.

[hel-phoenyx]

Nicomaque and Andreas belong to @soupedepates, Hei, Wren, Ocean, Sora, Maria Suzanna and Augusta to @noa-de-cajou and Natsuki and Fyodor to @corneille-but-not-the-author

____

I'm already beginning to feel tired. But Livia is too happy about that little outing, and Hope started smiling for the first time in months when I mentioned the idea of that general children-of-former-Ultimates playdate.

To be fair, it wasn't my idea. It's just that we, by pure coincidence, have a tendency to put our children in the same school and daycare, and today it's one of the events of said school. The school fair. And since I am trying very hard to be a good parent, and to give a safe space for children that don't have that luxury, I had to invite several people I didn't want to see.

It's for the children, mine as much as theirs. And because it was my idea, I have to assume the consequences.

So I swallow both my pride and honor, and sit down on the bench next to the only parent no one wants to approach but everyone needs to keep in check. Always for me the ingrate tasks.

"Don't make such a face, dear," Nicomaque laughs while putting out another cig. "I'm starting to think I am unwanted here."

"You are. Andreas isn't."

Said Andreas is currently running around the playground with Hei, Livia behind them holding one of those fake swords they sell at the fair. I'm sure Sachiko bought it for her because Thibault would find it too sharp, too violent, too dangerous for our little eight-years-old nightmare. She almost caught up to Andreas, who seems to have even less endurance than Hope. It may be the paleness of his skin, or the faint dark circles under his eyes, but it makes me wonder if he's taken care of properly.

Thinking about it, probably not. The one that knew how to left some time ago.

The father of that child chuckles, eyes locked on the playground.

"That is very rude, Blondie. Do you like me only for my child ? Didn't take you for THAT sort of people."

"I know what word you had in mind, and trust me, I didn't go from afraid of children to fucking pedo, thanks. I just want to make sure Andreas is supervised at least for a moment."

And I'm not the only one. Thus, explaining Augusta's presence, that is throwing daggers through her eyes at us since the beginning of the playdate. Maria-Suzanna is currently building a twig and pebble fort, probably to help defend against the assaults of my terrible daughter. I am not idiot enough to think the glaring of her mother is only for my current bench buddy.

She never got exactly why I stayed. I'm sure she had a lot of opinions in her mind, cowardice, weakness, evilness being the most common words, especially after what he did to Elvira and Fyodor. I don't intend to tell her I don't know.

Nicomaque is still smiling, even though contrary to me, he avoids this part of the playground like the plague. I am not in the right mood to turn the knife in the wound, especially with children present, so I don't make any comments.

A sigh escapes his lips.

"Come now, I am perfectly able to watch over my child."

"Me when I lie. What time did he go back to your house yesterday ?"

"That's just having freedom."

"Freedom at that age is the occasional allowance and the ability to go out alone with the certitude you're gonna be safe and someone is backing you up. Not being up doing you-know-what and hang out with you-know-who."

"I don't want to hear anything from the sheltered child."

"Maquo, sweetie, we were both raised in isolation and control. The only difference between us is that you were a product of emotionnal incest and I ended up tossed aside when proved useless."

That remark makes him shut up. About time. Livia is running towards me, with her cousins and Hope behind her. Andreas is following, albeit shyer. I think he's not used to so many children with temperaments such as the van Heels'.

"Papa, papa, can we get bubble waffle ? There is a stand held by Sora nearby, and I've been DYING to eat some !"

Hope is signing with her only arm something that looks like "me too" in arab sign language. Apparently she's not the only one interested, because the words "bubble waffle" is making my niblings vibrating with excitement, other children such as Wren, Ocean and Natsuki are joining the crew, and far away Maria Suzanna is looking at us with expectant eyes.

I guess Augusta told her to stay away. Fair.

Turning away from the deadbeat next to me, I smile.

"Do you intend for me to pay for all your little crowd ?"

"Well auntie Mareva said it's your turn to open your bank account, whataver that means. Can we, can we, can we ?"

Andreas looks towards me with glimmer in his eyes. He doesn't even spare a look towards his father, probably because he knew he already has his permission.

Nicomaque is not even affected by that lack of acknowledgement.

My heart can't help but tighten. In what world will that child grow up ?

I get up, with victory shouts of all the crowd.

'Alright, you little cockroaches. Let's get you something to eat, and me too for that matter. You want something, Nicomaque ?"

"Never gonna pass an occasion to eat the Ultimate Chef's food, especially if you're paying. Bring me a beer, while you're at it."

"Sure," I say, with absolutely no intention to comply. "Let's go, children, time for snack!"

[issuesdolly]

VERY sad recent personal experience- need to vent

hey folks.... I had to vent to the empty Tumblr space about a very upsetting/confusing recent experience. I have a TikTok where I make JD/Korn related content as well as vids of myself about my life and some comedy stuff of me.

Well, few months ago, a guy found my videos and followed me and seemed to care deeply about the health advocacy videos I put up regarding my terminal + chronic pain illness. He invited me to speak with him and after seeing him on vid + in person, he looked VERY VERY SIMILAR to Jonathan Davis in his 30s... as well as being a huge JD/Korn fan. So yeah him 36 me 33.... living nearby each other. He could even do some good JD vocal immitations when we'd be singing along to the songs together and stuff lol. So.... y'all can imagine how that made me feel lol.

He told me for months he thought I'm beautiful... that he likes me and wanted to get into a relationship. I was pretty much blown away. I was like "seriously????" cuz... it felt like a dream or something haha. I explain over and over again about my failing health and educated him on all that is wrong with me.. testing him....and he was still supportive saying he accepts that that's where it's at for me and still wants to be with me. When I'd had worse flairups he said lovely things like "I wish I could take your pain away," and I would say stuff like "you do... as much as anyone can." Which was true. I was falling for him for sure.

We started spending more time together and he started talking about wanting to hook up. Obviously, I wanted that more than ANYTHING IN THE WORLD HAHA. But... I got scared saying "you are extremely attractive to me but I'm afraid to just hook up.... I'd like to get to know you better first??" because believe it or not... as pervy as I am in my writing, I'm VERY careful in my real life where my physical safety/men are concerned. And where my heart is concerned.

BECAUSE this guy was SO good looking I had to think "I wonder how many women/people he's trying this with????" Him being single and wanting to spend his life with a dying lady seemed too good to be true. He also spends a lot of time out with friends and going to concerts and clubs while I'm bedridden so I had to wonder what he's really up to when I'm not around. Basically I was being appropriately skeptical. And also didn't want to get heartbroken if he saw the vulnerability of my situation knowing I'm very sick/depressed and he reminds me of JD.

I admitted I'm VERY attracted to him and definitely want to fuck him lol.... but want to be careful and spend more time with him before getting into that.

Obviously after I wasn't moving "fast" enough... the JD- lookalike guy has kinda stopped responding to my messages or caring as much. He went from bombarding me with conversation to ghosting for days. Which obviously means he never cared about my health problems + life in the first place. I've been pretty devastated...Since obviously my fondest hope before death would be to meet someone awesome who REMINDS me of Jonathan or the things I like about Jonathan (or at least appreciates his music).. Feeling STUPID and pretty heartbroken. I was with one man for 10 years and that relationship ended this February but what has transpired now has actually cut me deeper than the end of my 10-year relationship.

Also this JD look alike guy has been the ODDEST experience of my life too BTW.

NOT even kidding that dude:

-came out of nowhere.. messaged me

-pursued ME not the other way around

- looked JUST like Jonathan besides dreads but he has long black hair, thick rim black glasses, same height/build/facial hair and how he had it cut. I even asked friends and family showing them pics like "AM I NUTS OR DOES HE LOOK LIKE JONATHAN????" and they were like "he could be a fucking impersonator of early 2000s JD . WTF no you're not nuts"

And yeah this dude spent months acting like he cared about me saying stuff like "I'm always here for you... you can always reach out to me...." "Anyone who loved you would never leave you due to poor health and I accept your health problems and still REALLY like you and want to be with you" or "I'm grateful you're in the world don't give up." FML.