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[nerdraging4point0]

My hard ass persona at this moment

Scar - Chapter Five

PAIRING: Jolly Karlsson x Sam (ofc)

What if your teenage daughter's fantasy became your reality?

Summary: Samantha surprises her daughter, Lyric, with tickets to see her favorite band for her sixteenth birthday. What's supposed to be one the best days of her daughter's life, also becomes hers.

CW: none, just dadomens trying to find momomens

happy bday jolly💛

Masterlist

word count: 2.3k

Sam’s chest tightens as Jolly’s carefree laughter fills her car. It feels like an eternity since someone other than Lyric was sharing the front seat with her, let alone another man. She tried the online dating thing– but with her crazy work schedule and Lyric’s after-school and weekend practices– it doesn’t leave her much time for dating.

“So how long have you lived here?” Jolly’s sudden and intriguing question softens the pressure in her chest. No other man has asked me that before.

“I grew up here, but left when I graduated high school,” she sucks in a shaky breath as she continues. “Fate would have it that I would come back when James did; we always knew we wanted to raise a family here.” 

“James sounds like a really great guy and a wonderful father to Lyric,” Jolly says softly as Sam pulls into the hotel parking lot. 

“He was the best at everything,” she confesses as she pulls her SUV into the nearest parking spot to park. “The best father, the best handyman around the house, a supportive husband…” Jolly watches as her green eyes shimmer bright before a tear wells and cascades down her cheek. 

Swiftly, he unbuckles slipping from the seat belt to lean closer to Sam. His hands hesitate as he ponders if she is comfortable with him touching her but when he catches the small nod he moves in to cup her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with a gentle brush of his thumbs. 

“Thank you,” her whisper fills the space between them. 

He would give anything to take away her pain and sorrow, but all he can muster is a small smile that he hopes conveys how he feels. As Jolly begins to pull away, he finds moist lips pressed against his. He tenses to the touch at first but when she parts her lips for him, he’s done for. He leans in, mouth hungry, tongue ready to explore more. He licks at her bottom lip, threading his fingers through her hair, pulling her in closer. And he stops. Shit, what if I went too fast? What if I misread the signs? Wait, did she actually kiss me?

Something stirs in Sam when Jolly touches her face. His hands are so warm and comforting that the tears she was holding back finally break. An unfamiliar emotion bubbles in her stomach as Jolly leans forward; the scent of him overwhelms her senses. Before her brain can stop her heart, she leans. His warm lips against hers sparks electricity down her spine. She can’t get enough. She melts into Jolly when he runs his fingers through her strands. His tongue is moist against her bottom lip and she is more than ready to let him in. Her lips still burn when he abruptly pulls away. When her eyes pop open she finds Jolly with a pained expression on his face. 

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “Did I overstep?” His thick accent accentuates the concern in his voice.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sam reassures the Swede with a smile.

Suddenly, the tall guitarist yawns, stretching as best he can in the small space, causing Sam to do the same. “Wanna go up to my room?”  With a shy giggle and a playful punch to Jolly’s arm, Sam agrees. 

Jolly opens the door of his room with a sweeping gesture of his arm, “Welcome to my crib.” His husky tone turns into a snicker when Sam smacks him in the arm as she steps by.

“You’re a dork,” she huffs a laugh as she enters the room. 

“I know,” he winks at her before threading his fingers to hers and leading her further into the room. There’s a large white bed against a navy blue accent wall and across from it hangs a flat-screen TV. An L-shaped couch fills the space under the window next to the bed. 

“This is where the magic happens so make yourself comfy, Sam. There’s water and booze in the mini fridge and the TV remote is on the bedside table. I’m going to take a quick shower.” She makes a small noise in understanding but doesn’t move from the window as she takes in the view of her small hometown. The shrill of the tap turning on pulls her from her nostalgia so she makes her way to the bed. She steps out of her beloved Converse, settles into the covers, and starts to scroll through the TV guide. 

Loud knocking stirs Sam awake. Rolling to her side, something digs into her stomach. Her eyebrows scrunch together when she finds the remote strangled in a death grip. Way to go, Sam, you fell asleep clutching onto the remote, like an old grandpa. 

Groaning, she slides out of bed and stretches rubbing her neck. Fuck me. I’m going to need to see my chiro on Monday. I hope she can squeeze me in. God, I hope Jolly doesn’t think I’m lame. Wait, did we kiss-

“You’re awake!” Jolly’s bright voice breaks through Sam’s post-nap brain fog. When she turns her head following the sound she gets lightheaded. Swaying slightly, she grips the arm of the couch and settles herself onto the furniture, hoping Jolly didn’t notice. If he did, he was gracious enough not to say anything as he continued. “The guys are heading out to see a movie, want to come?” 

“Sure!” she says without hesitation, ecstatic to spend more time with Jolly. But soon insecurity takes its rightful place in the pit of her stomach. “But let me fix my hair real quick,” she rushes by him, nerves bubbling in her stomach– but when Jolly grips her wrist, it’s not forceful, but just enough that she stops dead in her tracks. The setting sun casts a warm glow on Jolly’s long brunette hair forming a halo of light around him. 

“You look beautiful, Samantha.” Jolly takes a step closer closing the space between them. He tucks in a lock of hair behind her ear before brushing the pad of his thumb over her cheek. Sam feels her cheeks warm to the delicate touch and finds herself leaning into him. Looking up at him, his expression is soft- the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles at her. She sneaks a glance at his lips and back at his eyes hoping he didn’t notice. She wants him to kiss her, wants to feel more of his touch, wants to feel love again– but her old heart is so scared. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as Jolly leans down, willing her eyes shut she balls her shaking hands into fists. “Stay”, she tells herself “don’t run.” His hot breath is warm against her cheek. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst from her chest– suddenly she jumps when there’s a knock at the door.

“Hey lovebirds, you two ready?” Noah yells from the other side of the door. Sam’s cheeks flame red at the nickname and she curls into herself overcome with shyness. 

“He’s an ass, isn’t he,” Jolly chuckles squeezing Sam’s shoulders. Her small smile spreads into a wide grin, “yeah he is.” He pulls her into him and she unfurls her arms to hug him back. For a few breaths, they remain as her heartbeat steadies, the scent of him soothing her senses and her nerves. 

“Ready?” he hums as he twirls his fingers in her hair. 

“Yeah,” she says softly pulling from the embrace. This time she doesn’t stop herself from threading her fingers into his as they walk to the door. When the pair reach the lobby Sam finds the rest of the band lounging on various couches and chairs and Matt is pacing. 

“The Uber is late,” Matt groans pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’ll drive!” Sam chimes in as she squeezes Jolly’s hand despite her insecurity still looming in the back of her mind. 

Matt stops dead in his tracks, “Are you sure?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I'm sure,” she lets go of Jolly’s hand to walk past Matt. “Come on.” She waves over her shoulder for the band boys to follow her. Jolly meets up with Sam to open the car door for her. Before he ducks out he pecks a kiss to her cheek. She giggles as she settles in the driver's seat. 

“Alright boys, buckle up please.” She grins, looking up at the rearview mirror as Matt, Noah, Nick, Nicholas, and Bryan pile In.  A mutual groan rumbles through the car. “Yes mom,” they grumble and groan in unison. 

There are a scattering of families and couples in the theater as the pair stroll in behind the rest of the guys. Sam is about to slide in beside Nicholas when Jolly grips the back of her elbow causing her to stop. 

“Come on,” he nods his head to the top dark corner row of seats which happen to be vacant. 

Butterflies dance in her stomach as they ascend the dimly lit staircase. It’s impossibly warm when she sits down and Jolly follows suit, their knees brushing together when he hands her, her drink. Sam takes a few sips hoping the soda will quench her thirst and give her some relief; unfortunately, it does not. 

As the opening credits start, Jolly’s heart pounds in his chest as the opening credits start. He’s been waiting anxiously for this movie for as long as Nicholas has been ranting and raving about it. The one show all of them seemed to like and a tour favorite, so when Noah mentioned the movie, he could only hope that Sam would want to come too. In the corner of his eye, he sees her start to fidget with the popcorn bag nervously. Absentmindedly, he places his hand on her thigh as the scene starts.

Sam busies her hands by eating some popcorn, almost too aware of how she chews, she grips the bag a little tighter when suddenly Jolly’s hand rests on her thigh. Her body tenses to the touch. She wants to say something, to ask him to move his hand, but instead, she goes against every fiber of her being when she sets down the popcorn and places her hand on his.

“Oh, sorry,” Jolly jumps slightly when their hands touch, pulling his hand away. When Sam looks up at him, concern furrows his brows and creases the corners of his eyes. His eyes look nothing like her late husband’s and at this moment Sam has come to terms with it. She finally gives in to what her heart has been telling her all along. The pads of her fingers graze his cheek and for a few heartbeats, they exist in the space between them where nothing else matters. Her gaze drifts to his plump lips and back to his eyes. 

She nods, silently saying Yes! Please! I want to kiss you! Before pulling him in closer, their lips just barely touching. Sam squeezes her eyes shut and presses her lips onto his. When Jolly kisses her back, it’s soft yet cautious. She tilts her head, clasping his head between her hands to pull him in. A giggle erupts from her throat when his stubble brushes against her cheek, making Jolly pull away slightly. He puts a finger to her lips just as a nearby shh echoes from a few seats away. 

Jolly leans in, “I have a way to keep you quiet,” he whispers in her ear, his hot breath and suggestive tone send a shiver spider crawling down her spine. His lips ghost her cheek before replacing the finger to her lip. She invites the heat of the kiss, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt as his tongue parts her lips. When the pair are both breathless, he places a chaste kiss on her cheek. He kisses the tops of her knuckles before they find their resting place on his thigh. The world melts away in their soft embrace, hands entwined and hearts beating as one. 

Sam blinks a few times as her eyes adjust to the theater lights flickering on. Sure she has no idea what happened in the movie, but she couldn’t care less as long as she was next to Jolly. She doesn’t know what will happen next between them and right now she’s okay with that. Jolly gathers their trash and she follows closely until she can slide her hand back into his. When they reach the other guys outside, she spots them climbing into their Uber. Her stomach drops when the reality hits her that Jolly will be leaving too. She can’t help when a lump forms in her throat and her eyes prick with tears. 

“It’s time-” Jolly stops dead in his tracks when he spots the tears cascading down her cheeks. Before his feet step off the curb he turns and pulls her in tight, arms wrapping around her waist. 

“I got you,” he says low and calm as she starts to shake. “I don’t want this night to end either, Samantha. These last few days have been some of the best days on tour and I can’t thank you enough. This is not goodbye, ok?” 

He pulls back to wipe away her tears, caressing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Smile, pretty girl,” he smiles when she giggles and pink washes over her cheeks. “We play only a few hours away tomorrow and I snagged you VIP if you want to come. I know it’s a school night but I still wanted to offer.”  

Sam doesn’t hesitate when she wraps her arms around his neck in excitement. She knows she will be dead tired come Monday morning-thankfully just an in-service day before the end of the school year- so she can show up a little late. 

“Yes, yes I’ll be there!” 

“I can’t wait!” Jolly leans down for one more kiss. “Good night, Sam.” 

“Good night, Jolly,” she says before kissing him back. She watches as the full moon illuminates his path to the others. She smiles to herself, smitten- a feeling she hasn’t felt in so long. 

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💀 Callsign: Motionless 💀

🖤COD! CHRIS CERULLI X READER ONESHOT🖤

You were the new recruit they brought on to assist TF141, and your first week with everyone was supposed to be a guaranteed breeze. There's just one problem: you and the Lieutenant they assigned to train you don't exactly get along...

• fluff; language; slight angst

You hated him.

You'd only been with your task force for the short span of one week, and already, you despised him, with every fibre of your being.

Sure, you were the newest recruit, which meant you still had a lot to learn, but if you were being perfectly honest, Lieutenant Cerulli's teaching methods were a bit... harsh? Grating, unorthodox, even?

"Again."

Ugh, speak of the devil, and he shall appear, right?

Cerulli's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his tone firm and demanding.

You gritted your teeth, sneaking a sideways glare at him out of the corner of your eye. You hated the way he stood there watching you, brown eyes narrowed, him and his perfect tactical vest with the stupid little patch that had his callsign embroidered on it in fancy white letters, 'MOTIONLESS'.

Fuck him and his perfect stupid eyebrows and piercings and ink, and his perfect voice that could simultaneously melt your insides as well as cut you down to the bone.

Your hands curled into fists as you stood up, digging the toe of one of your boots into the protective mat on the floor. The two of you had been at it for hours now it seemed, the private training gym the only witness to the grueling torture Lieutenant Cerulli had been putting you through.

"I don't see why we have to keep doing this, it's-" you began to protest.

"-an important fucking life skill you need to learn. Now quit whining and go," Cerulli cut in sharply. You huffed in irritation, shooting a glare in his direction before charging towards him, your leg up and ready to drop kick him-

And just like the previous twelve times you'd tried, you were down on the mat in an instant, your wrists pinned beneath his, one of his legs keeping both of yours pinned to the mat.

Letting out a frustrated growl, you went to tug your wrists free from his grip, making an attempt to shove him away from you, but Cerulli wouldn't budge.

"No. You're gonna sit here and tell me what went wrong this time," he said with a shake of his head, before helping you sit up.

You avoided his gaze, instead keeping your eyes fixed on the dark blue mat beneath you. "Too slow," you muttered. "No," came Cerulli's instant reply.

Gritting your teeth, you finally let your eyes meet his, both of you staring at each other through narrowed eyes.

"I don't fucking know-"

"Your form is fucking pathetic, you're distributing your weight in all the wrong places, and your attitude fucking stinks," Cerulli snapped.

That was it, you were done.

Pulling yourself into a standing position, you glared down at him. "I'm done," you spat.

His jaw clenching, Cerulli stood up as well, the height difference between the two of you just a little bit intimidating.

"You're done when I say you're done!" he hissed. Your hands curled into fists at your sides again, but you stood your ground, staring him down, refusing to be the first to break eye contact.

You were starting to see why everyone had a rather unpopular opinion about Lieutenant Cerulli. The man was impossible to work with, his teaching methods harsh, his demeanor cold and unforgiving.

On impulse, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind, the two words easily slipping off the tip of your tongue.

"Fuck. You."

A muscle in Cerulli's jaw twitched, his eyes narrowing, the irises seeming to darken.

For the briefest of seconds, you wondered if perhaps you'd gone just a bit too far, until he slowly ran one inked hand through his dyed purple hair, his gaze growing cold.

"Get out. We're fucking done. As of tomorrow, you're no longer my problem," he hissed, pointing towards the doors to the gym.

Good fucking riddance, right?

With an irritated glance in his direction, you abruptly turned on your heel, not bothering to look back as you stormed out of the gym, letting the doors slam shut behind you.

Well.

Today's practice could have gone a lot better. No, fuck that, today's practice should have gone a lot better.

After you had left in a huff, Chris had stayed behind, wanting to give himself some time to calm down.

It wasn't that he was mad at you, persay.

It was more so the fact that you had given up so fucking easily, hadn't even tried to give it your all.

Not even a day after you had been introduced to the team, it had been determined that he himself, the one they called 'Motionless', would be in charge of overseeing your training, tasked with the job of shaping you into something more than just a rookie, something better, a valuable asset to their task force.

And it had gone well for the first couple of days. Or at least, he thought it had.

Up until today, that is.

The two of you had been here in the private training gym since 10am, working on turning you from the shiny new recruit into a powerhouse of a cadet. The only problem? You were stubborn as hell, insistent on doing things your way, even though time and effort had shown your methods to be flawed.

He was only trying to do his fucking job, after all. The same job he'd done countless times before, with nearly every new recruit that came into their squad bay.

So why did this particular job affect him this badly?

Why did you affect him this badly...?

It wasn't like he was asking you to move mountains for him, no. He simply wanted someone he could be proud of, someone who could easily defend themselves if their team was down for the count, someone who he wouldn't have to hear had died in action, or been taken hostage, or god knows what.

The mere thought had Chris grimacing in distaste as he sighed, heading for the gym doors. He only wanted you to be able to defend yourself, that was all. The world could be an unkind place sometimes...

"He's arrogant, and cold, and a complete dick."

One corner of your mouth tugged itself up in a brief snarl as you sat there at the table in the mess hall, conversing with some of your fellow team members.

The smallest one, the one you've heard people call Vinny, spoke up, shifting slightly in his seat across from you. "He's not that bad, you just gotta figure him out. Pretty easy to get along with after that," he shrugged.

Easy for him to say, he and the three other people sitting here already had it in good with Lieutenant Cerulli. Upon you pointing this out, Vinny shrugged again, an unbothered look on his face.

"That's because we've been here longer. Give it some time," his teammate cut in, blue eyes finding yours with a wink. You sighed, your gaze dropping from his to settle on the little patch fixed to his tactical vest, the word 'HORROR' embroidered in a neat white font.

That's the other thing that bothered you about Cerulli's teaching methods. Everyone else had a callsign they went by, except for the new recruits who came in. Everybody here at the table had one, 'HORROR', 'SACHETTI', 'SKIEZ', even one with the more normal callsign of simply 'JUSTIN'.

Everybody had a designated name, a sign of place here, a sign that they were acknowledged, respected, valid. But you'd come to discover that here, as a part of this team and this base, titles didn't come easily. You had to fucking earn them.

Every new recruit before you had earned theirs, they had fought and trained to claw their way into the system, they had fucking earned their place here. Cerulli had told you so, himself.

But you?

You were still the fresh, shiny new rookie who everyone assumed knew nothing because you were young, you were small, you had only been here a week...

You'd be lying to yourself if you said it didn't sting a little, the way everyone seemed to view you here. Sure, the teammates sitting here at the table had treated you fairly enough, but everyone else? If you weren't bearing a callsign and a knowledge of how to defend yourself, you weren't worth their time...

"Hey."

Horror's voice cut into your thoughts, making your gaze snap up to meet his.

"I know it might seem like he's riding you a little too hard right now, but... I promise, his heart's in the right place. Give him a chance, out of everyone here, he's your best shot when it comes to training. You didn't hear this from me and if you ever repeat it, I'll kick your ass, rookie... but I would trust Cerulli with my life, more than I'd trust myself."

"We all would," Vinny cut in, both of his teammates beside him nodding in agreement.

"Give him some time. He might seem like a dick, but his methods work," Justin agreed, offering you a light half-smile.

You stared down at the tabletop for a second, not really seeing it as you contemplated what they told you, turning it over in your mind.

You knew what you should do. It wasn't what you wanted to do, by any means. But if what they told you was true, then... maybe it needed to be done.

Maybe you should gather up what was left of your dignity and go crawling back to Cerulli to apologize. Or, at the very least, to see if he'd give you a second chance at training.

You could be the bigger person here, right? Take all of his teachings with a grain of salt, so to speak?

Ugh...

With a groan, you shoved your plate of food away from you, resting your head facedown atop your crossed arms.

"I know, I know. But I'm telling you... if you give him a chance and show him that you actually have a desire to learn? It'll be the best decision you've ever made, rookie," Horror said, his tone laced with amusement.

Would it though?

With another quiet grumble, you slowly lifted your head, exchanging a glance with Vinny, who grinned. "Want me to let him know you're heading down there?"

You immediately shook your head at him, a grimace marring your features. "No, please don't. It's embarrassing enough that I have to go back and apologize to him..."

"Then do us a favor and kick his ass, I guess? It'd be kind of satisfying to know Chris had his ass handed to him by our newest recruit," Horror grinned.

Hmm... that was a rather tempting thought... to take everything Cerulli taught you and really give it back to him...

"Alright, fine. Deal," you agreed, getting up from the table. "Oh and... thanks, Horror. I kind of needed that, I guess," you added softly.

Shrugging, he gave you a light mock-salute in response.

"Sure. And, from now on... no Horror. Only Ricky."

Nodding, you bade your teammates farewell before slinking out of the mess hall, determined to find Cerulli and make good on your promise.

You only hoped he'd actually give you a second chance and not let it go to his head...

"Have Jensen work with you more on it tomorrow, your aim's a little off. Go get some rest."

Chris watched one of the recruits he'd been training retreat into the distance, the smell of smoke and polishing oil still heavy in the air on the rifle range.

And then something caught his eye.

Or rather, someone.

Your figure gradually became more detailed as you approached, and Chris internally groaned.

If you were here to give him more shit and another lovely 'Fuck you', he wasn't having it...

But the look on your face told a different story. Your brows were drawn together in worry, any traces of your usual anger and frustration gone, a look of nervousness in place.

He waited until you were about four feet away from him before he spoke up, his voice cold.

"If you're here to train, go ask someone else."

But your response surprised him a little, catching him off guard.

"I actually came to apologize..."

You... come again??

"What-" he began, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

"No, let me finish. I, um... I talked to Horror, er, I mean Ricky. I talked to Ricky and the others, and... and they told me to come back here and give you another chance. I... I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry."

Huh. Leave it to Rick to sort things out behind the scenes, ever the peacemaker as always....

Silence settled between the two of you for a moment, before Chris spoke up.

"Why?"

That one word lingered there in the air, and your brows furrowed in confusion. "Why, what? Why... am I sorry, or...?" you asked, trailing off.

"No. Why did you give up on me? Why the fuck'd you decide you were done?"

"I..." your voice faltered for a moment, your gaze dropping to stare down at the grassy field, and Chris watched as you frowned, digging the toe of your boot into the grass.

Fourteen.

Fourteen times.

It was a habit he'd noticed you had, whenever you were uncertain or anxious. Not every recruit had little tics or habits they'd pick up, but the few that did? Chris noticed.

He always noticed, especially more so when it came to you.

Fourteen times this past week that you'd been here, fourteen times he'd seen you dig the toe of your boot into whatever surface you were standing on, your hands and fingers fidgeting either in front of you or at your sides.

Fourteen times he'd stopped to watch you, his attention utterly fucking captivated by you.

Slowly, he took one step towards you, followed by another, and still another, until he was a mere foot away from you.

"Is it because you don't think you're good enough? You don't think you have what it takes, or what?" he asked softly, trying to keep his tone gentle.

The way you avoided his gaze immediately after he asked the question told him everything he needed to know.

"Do you really think you're not worthy of a place here? Is that it?" he continued, the mounting tension in the air becoming more palpable.

Almost an entire minute or two went by without you answering him, and he started to repeat the question until you finally did answer him, your voice surprisingly strained and sounding on the verge of breaking.

"No."

You didn't have to specify for him to know what that single word meant.

He could feel it, could see the way you thought of yourself as you stood here in front of him.

And for some reason, he didn't like it.

He hated it.

He hated the newfound knowledge of how you saw yourself, how it seemed everyone else had been seeing you, since the day you'd arrived.

You really didn't think you were worthy of a place here, did you? The thought that he himself might have been a contributing factor in that made him feel sick.

Fuck... if he'd stopped for just a second to try and see things your way, see how it felt to be an outsider-

But he did know how it felt.

Memories of his first week as a frightened, inexperienced new recruit flashed through his mind, images of a young, dark-haired boy who had no clue what the fuck he was doing...

Chris swallowed hard, his gaze locked on you as he spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You... deserve to be here. You know that, don't you?"

"Do I?"

Your immediate response, the way you mumbled the question without even bothering to look at him, it made his insides feel sick.

And he'd been hard on you today...

Granted, he was hard on everyone who fell under his guidance, but... you were different.

More fragile and feeling and human than the others, you had caught his attention almost right away.

And when they'd insisted he be the one to train you-

Holy fuck.

He'd figured it out.

The sudden realization had him internally reeling, absolutely losing it.

He'd been harder on you than the others because... he cared more.

He cared almost too much, surely more than what was appropriate, right?

Fuck...

Swallowing hard, he reached out towards you for a second, his hand lingering there in the space between you, before he let it fall back to his side.

Steeling himself to avoid the tears he could feel burning at the edge of his vision, he gritted his teeth, before gesturing to his left, the movement finally capturing your attention.

"Headphones. Weapon. Now."

Your eyes widened for a moment, your voice faltering as you spoke.

"What are you-"

He cut you off midsentence, his tone hardening, though his gaze remained soft as he stared down at you.

"I'm training you."

"I'm training you."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, catching you off guard and making your breath hitch in your throat.

You'd come out here to apologize, expecting him to turn you away with a refusal of said apology, and instead... he was giving you a second chance?

Swallowing hard, you slowly turned and grabbed a set of the soundproof headphones out of the box nearby, plugging one end of the attached cord into the wireless comm pack, the other end connecting to the headphones themselves, before tucking the comm pack into the front pocket of your tactical vest.

You watched as Lieutenant Cerulli did the same, reaching up with one inked hand to turn on the comm link and adjust the mic, and after doing the same, you could hear his voice come through the speakers.

"Weapon, now."

Without a word, you followed his order, grabbing one of the rifles propped up nearby, the weight of the weapon seeming almost too heavy and unfamiliar in your hands.

You weren't scheduled for rifle range practice until at least a week or two from now, surely he had to have known that...?

Upon telling him so, Cerulli shrugged, casting you a sideways glance before gesturing towards the targets out in the distance.

"Doesn't matter. I'm teaching you now. And I expect you to be willing to learn. I also expect you to hit at least one of those."

You followed his gaze, staring out at the targets sitting on the grassy field. From here, they looked to be at least a mile or more away, surely too far to even graze with a bullet, right?

No, no... you were determined to get this.

This morning's practice may have gone terribly, but that didn't mean this one would.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, you moved to stand where he wanted you, lifting the weapon in your hands.

And almost immediately, Cerulli's voice came through the speakers.

"No. Your stance is off. Here, look."

You felt one of his legs nudge yours apart, correcting your stance, before an inked hand came into view, reaching forward to adjust the position of the rifle in your hands.

"Look through the little lens, until you have the center of the target in your crosshairs. And when you pull that trigger, keep as tight a grip as you can, because there's gonna be some kickback from the rifle. It'll knock you on your fucking ass if you're not paying attention."

You nodded, taking another deep breath before doing as he said, looking through the lens. From here, that target looked so fucking tiny, nearly impossible to hit.

"I can't do this-" you started.

"Yes, you can. You can and you will."

Cerulli's voice was quiet in your ears, his tone gentle, and you could feel the close proximity of him behind you as he reached forward to make a slight adjustment to the rifle again, his fingers brushing briefly across yours before he let go.

"I want you to focus, and really try for me. You can do this, I know you can. Stop second guessing yourself, Y/N..."

His touch, combined with the use of your actual name, instead of his usual 'rookie' pet name for you, sent electric tingles down your spine, your heart stumbling over itself within the confines of your ribcage.

Your throat suddenly felt tight, your mind racing as you tried desperately to remember what he'd told you, how to correctly aim and fire.

Swallowing nervously, you looked through the lens again, taking a deep breath and curling your finger around the trigger. A mere second passed before you brought that finger down a little tighter, squeezing the trigger.

Even with the protective headphones, you could still hear the bullet as it left the chamber, could smell the scent of gunsmoke and oil as it left its home. And Cerulli had been right, there was indeed some kickback from the rifle.

But you dug the heels of your boots into the ground, trying to stay firmly in place. Still, you stumbled backwards a little, your back meeting Cerulli's chest, his hands instantly coming up to your shoulders to steady you.

"Good, but your aim was a little off, I want you to try again."

His tone was far less harsh than it had been this morning, his whole demeanor vastly different.

A part of you wanted to look back, to see if the heat you felt gathering in your cheeks would be reflected in those brown eyes of his.

But the bigger part of you insisted on staying focused, on seeing your training through.

Steeling yourself, you cast a brief glance out towards the target in the distance. He was right, your aim was more than a little off.

You could see from here the impact left by the bullet, the mark nowhere close to the center.

Looking through the lens to correct your aim, you took a deep steadying breath before pulling and releasing the trigger again, preparing yourself for the anticipated kickback.

It came a little easier this time, your weight being distributed a bit more evenly in order to keep your feet firmly on the ground.

And when you glanced out at the target, you found yourself a little too satisfied that the mark had hit a bit closer to home this time.

"Again," came Cerulli's velvet voice in your ears, his presence behind you more noticeable as he took one half-step closer to you.

Trying your hardest to ignore the sudden distraction, you nodded, taking aim before firing again, the crack of the bullet loud in the late afternoon air. You watched the target, taking note of how much closer the bullet had hit.

"Slight improvement, Y/N. Again, one more time."

You shifted your weight a little, taking aim one last time, making sure the target was dead center in the crosshairs before you pulled the trigger, the bullet leaving its mark just a touch away from the center of the target, this time.

You dared to glance over your shoulder for a brief moment, and when your eyes met his, your breath trembled as it left your slightly parted lips. The look in his eyes, on his face, it was the only time you'd ever seen him look even remotely... proud...

The longer you kept your eyes locked on his, the more you noticed the way his irises seemed to darken, one corner of his mouth twitching into what looked like a smirk before it was gone.

"So...?" you asked, your voice coming out in a breathless whisper. You nervously cleared your throat before continuing. "How'd I do...?"

Cerulli's response came in an instant, his voice low and hoarse as he kept his eyes fixed on you.

"Good- good fucking job, Y/N..."

You barely had time to crack the tiniest of smiles before Cerulli was holding up a finger towards you, reaching with his other hand to unholster the handgun he kept at his side at all times.

With a slight tremble, he reached out with one inked hand to pass the sleek black weapon to you, waiting for you to take it.

"I want to try something new with you..."

"I want to try something new with you..."

The words left his mouth before even he knew what was happening, what he was doing.

But to his surprise, you wordlessly set aside the rifle, taking the smaller weapon from his hand and immediately settling back into your previous stance, your feet firmly planted on the ground, though your gaze never left his for a second.

"Like this?"

Your voice reached his ears through the speakers, your tone soft and tentative, a vast change from the fiery attitude you'd displayed for him this morning.

He nodded, swallowing hard past the new, unfamiliar emotions building up within himself.

His throat suddenly felt dry, his palms unusually slick with sweat, and why the fuck was his heart stuttering every so often instead of beating like it was supposed to-

Oh.

Oh.

Well, fuck.

His eyes widened momentarily before he fought to quickly regain his composure, moving to stand behind you.

Reaching up with one hand, he tried hard to focus on helping you adjust your grip on the handgun, instead of focusing on how he could feel the warmth of your back against his chest, or the way you smelled faintly of strawberries and something slightly floral, was that... roses?

His jaw tensing a little, Chris leaned back, his hand slipping from yours, though his fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary, as he watched you.

"S-same thing as before. Take aim, and... well, you know."

"Fire," came your response, a hint of sudden amusement in your voice. He nodded, unable to keep one corner of his mouth from lifting in a brief smirk.

"Exactly."

He watched as you stood there, inhaling for a second before letting it go, pulling the trigger, the crack of the bullet leaving its chamber a satisfying sound to his ears.

And when he looked out in the distance and saw how close you'd come to hitting that target dead fucking center...

You were a quick learner, once you got out of your own head and stopped being so stubborn. He could see it now, anyone could.

Hell, if you'd let him, he could probably shape you into one of the best recruits he'd ever taught, turn you into an absolute powerhouse of a soldier, maybe even help you earn Ghost status on TF141, a position that was highly strived for and sought after by many, but earned by so very few.

You didn't even have your callsign yet, you hadn't quite earned it yet. But by the time he was done with you...

'Bet you could have her coming undone for you...' the sudden errant thought slipped unbidden into his head before he could stop it, and he could feel the heat rush to his face.

Fuck, he needed to quit thinking like that, he knew it was wrong, it was so fucking wrong, and besides, would you even feel the same way he did-?

The sharp crack of another bullet leaving the chamber snapped him out of his thoughts, and he watched in shock as this time, finally--

Holy fuck.

It hit dead center in that target.

He stood there, his eyes widening, mouth slightly open in surprise as you immediately turned around, the biggest grin on your face.

"Bam. Dead center!"

The excitement in your voice was all too infectious, and he found himself starting to smile, a sense of newfound pride for you welling up inside him.

And when you locked eyes with him, giving him a wink and another excited little smile, something inside himself clicked into place, the decision made before he could stop it.

So it was just like that, all too suddenly, without practically any warning, that he was leaning down towards you, moving his and your mics out of the way, his mouth finding yours in the briefest of kisses, and oh fuck, what the fuck was he doing, what if you didn't-

But then there you were, yet again catching him off guard today, kissing him back, your mouth soft and yielding against his, your body arching into his touch, the handgun slipping from your fingers to land in the grass at his feet, your hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging softly-

Fuck, you were like heaven to him-!

The softest of groans left his throat, and he could've sworn he heard his name fall from your lips for a moment, before the two of you finally parted, standing there staring at each other, breath coming out in quiet gasps.

He could see the heat flooding your cheeks, could feel the warmth coming from you, took notice of the way your eyes darkened with barely concealed desire.

So it wasn't just him, then.

You could feel it, too...?

Almost like you could hear his unspoken question, you gave a slight nod, your breath coming out in soft pants before you spoke.

"That was... um, yeah. Fuck. Wow."

It wasn't enough, hearing your voice filtered in through the speakers, Chris needed to hear it in person. Reaching up to shut off the comm link on his headphones, he tugged them off, watching as you did the same, discarding them back in their bin, before retrieving his weapon from the grass and reholstering it.

"You, uh... job well done today, Y/N," he said, awkwardly extending a hand out towards you. You eyed it dubiously, not shaking it and instead raising a brow at him as you gave him a confused look.

"We're back to formalities now...?"

The way you asked the question, the slight tinge of poorly concealed hurt starting to reflect there in your eyes, Chris didn't like it.

"I- you-" he scrambled to try and find a proper response, not wanting to leave you hanging. "We... we can't do that again-" the words seemed to tumble from his mouth, one right after the other.

And the injured look on your face, the way you swallowed hard, your eyes taking on a glassy look before you quickly blinked, hoping he wouldn't see-

Fuck. It was a lie, and he knew it. He couldn't do that to you, couldn't lie to you like this, it wasn't fair to you.

"I- Y/N, sweetheart, look at me. I... can't be the reason they make you leave. Because they will. And... and you won't get your callsign, you-"

"I don't care."

You cut him off midsentence, those three words giving him pause.

"You- what?"

You repeated those three words, your gaze hardening as you stared up at him, your resolve never wavering even as your eyes remained on the verge of swimming with unshed tears.

"I... I think maybe I thought, if I hated you enough, it wouldn't matter how I felt about you. I thought maybe if I didn't let myself care enough, it wouldn't fucking matter someday, if we were out in the field together and one of us went missing. It wouldn't... hurt as much.

"And... and I know that's not an excuse for why I was probably one of the brattiest recruits you've ever had, and I know it probably doesn't make it any better, or any easier-"

"Stop," Chris cut you off mid-rant, his voice on the verge of breaking.

So that's why you had been so difficult to work with during your first few weeks here.

It wasn't because you hated him, not truly.

It was the exact opposite.

It was because you... cared too much for him?

"I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner, I... you made it too easy to hate you and I... I didn't like the idea of becoming too attached, of caring too much, of..." your voice trailed off at the end, your gaze dropping to stare down at the grass.

And then you did the one thing he'd gotten so used to noticing, one of the many things about you that he found a little too endearing.

You nervously dug the toe of your boot into the grass, your fingers fidgeting in front of you.

"Of what?" Chris asked softly, urging you to continue.

And your next words nearly broke him.

"Of falling in love with you."

Brown eyes widening, Chris took a step towards you, taking both of your hands in his, and giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, look at me. I..." he broke off with a gentle sigh before continuing, "it's not that I don't want this, I promise you, I do. There's so many things about you, tiny little things that other people don't notice, that I find adorable and endearing and- Y/N, sweetheart.

"I... I think maybe I might be falling for you too. But as badly as I want this to work, I also want to see you come out of this as part of our team, I want so many things for you. I want you to be able to have your own callsign to go by, I want to see you leave my care as one of the best recruits this place has ever had, I want..."

He trailed off, his thoughts racing at a million miles an hour. What was it exactly that he wanted, more than anything else, more than he'd ever wanted anything?

The answer was both simple, and at the same time, not simple.

He wanted you.

"What, what do you want?"

He pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his words coming out mumbled and broken.

"I want you."

"So have me..."

Your response, the way you said it, the way you moved to gently card your fingers through his hair, almost as a semblance of trying to comfort him, he wasn't expecting any of it.

Lifting his head to gaze down at you, he swallowed thickly past the raw emotion he could feel building up inside.

"But it's not that simple, Y/N-"

"Okay, and the life I've chosen here, with you and everyone else, isn't simple either. But... maybe we can figure it out... together..?"

Your voice held so much conviction, your tone determined, your demeanor suggesting you weren't about to back down. It reminded him so much of your first week here, of how training this morning had gone.

You'd been so defiant, determined then, too.

You were really pushing for this to work out, weren't you? He had to admire your tenacity...

With a soft sigh, he met your gaze, silently pleading with you. "What if this doesn't work-?"

You cut him off midsentence, taking the lead for once and standing up on your tiptoes to capture his mouth in the softest, gentlest of kisses, both of your hands briefly moving to cup his face between them, the gesture utterly pure and wholesome.

When you pulled back to look up at him, he wasn't surprised to see that same conviction had settled there in your eyes, one corner of your mouth lifting in a wry smile.

"Then we keep trying until it does work? Just like my training?" you whispered.

He couldn't help the laugh that slipped free from his lips; the comparison was too perfect. But maybe you were right...

Maybe if the two of you kept trying, eventually things would work themselves out...

He just had to try.

"Okay," he sighed softly, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Is... is that a yes, or...?" you asked, casting a tentative sideways glance up at him, and he nodded, trying not to laugh at the way you were failing to hide the sly smile on your face.

"It's a yes, rookie..."

🥀 SIX MONTHS LATER 🥀

"And it is with the highest, greatest honor, that we present this new recruit with their place on our team, here as a part of Taskforce 141. With many months of training and guidance under the care of our own Lieutenant Christopher Cerulli, this recruit has proven themselves beyond the highest measure.

"It is with much respect that we announce to you all how proud we are to acknowledge the new addition to our team."

Horror and his teammates sat there in the audience, his blue eyes fixed on the scene before him and everyone else, on the small recruit standing up there on that stage, with the tall Lieutenant standing proudly beside her.

And it was with the greatest sense of pride and love that he sat there, watching as you finally, finally got the one thing you'd been wanting since you first joined their base: to be a part of their team, to just belong.

Chris had been right about you from the beginning; with more training and devotion and care, you would indeed grow to be one of the sharpest recruits they'd turned out in a long time. He'd also noticed the way your relationship with his best friend had blossomed, how close you and Chris had gotten over these past six months.

Vin and everyone else had made cracks about it, that they'd known all along something was going on between you and Chris, it had just been a matter of time. He knew better than that though, the dynamic you and his best friend had, it went so much deeper than that.

Anyone could see it if they looked hard enough, really. He could see it.

The way Chris stood there, his hand clasped tightly in yours, the proud Lieutenant and his newest recruit, one bearing the familiar patch with the callsign 'MOTIONLESS' embroidered in pristine white letters... and the other bearing a callsign of her own, 'GREMLIN'.

Horror couldn't help but smile at the slight irony as he sat there; how fitting the name was for you. Tiny recruit, sure, but full of fiery passion... with a knack of never backing down, always ready to go head to head with anyone on their best day, or even their worst day...

"Welcome to the team, rookie... you made it."

💀 TAGLIST: @synthetic-wasp-570 @nixwolfe @th4t-em0-k1d @tearfallpixie @ladyveronikawrites @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @circle-with-me @motionlessomens @thatchickwiththecamera @skulliecadaver-blog @embracethereaper42 @talialovesmiw @bxrnthyfears @cookiesupplier @bobateaandchocolatepudding @somewhere-diamond @beaker1636 @ciginatree

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[nerdraging4point0]

PSA

Good day to all.

I apologize for being radio silent, I recently moved and unpacking amongst work has taken most of my time.

With that being said, I wanted to leave an update for the fans on the status of each story.

The loyalty clan: @ladyveronikawrites @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @synthetic-wasp-570 @beaker1636 @thesazzb @itsjustemily @vinyardmauro @circle-with-me @tearfallpixie @cookiesupplier @th0ughts-pr4yers @concreteemo @meliferafaerie @letmeadoreyoux

Power Play

Next part is in progress and should be done by the end of this week. I appreciate everyone's' patience.

@curse-bearing-hips @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @moranastray @collective-heartbreak @littlefoxkota @somebodyels3 @thisbicc @jakeygvf21 @cind6547 @lma1986 @loeytuan98 @xxkittenkissesxx @darkmxgician @sammyjoeee @malerieee @embracethereaper42 @nerdywitch20 @graveatspeople @sacredthefran @dominuslunae @skulliecadaver-blog @anameunmusical @thatchickwiththecamera @missduffsblog @jessicafg03 @lilrubles @iknownothingpeople @talialovesmiw @deathofpeaceofmiiind @shaydayhere @wild-child-7747

Blood of Eden

I have taken a short break on this one-pieces come as they come and I cannot definitively tell you when the next part will be.

@mysticdoodlez @itsafullmoon @transparentwitchnightmare @spicywhenspeaking @somewhere-diamond @iknownothingpeople @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls

Mad Hearts and Temptations

Currently in process. Date of release is still undetermined but I should hope by next week.

@meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @littlefoxkota @silentglassbreak @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @catharsis-in-darkness @dsireland86 @skulliecadaver-blog @laurpartyprogram @faceless-mirror @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @thisbicc @embracethereaper42

Scorpion and Scales

Please check out the recent release of Chapter Nine here.

@latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @concreteemo @emofangirl02 @rumoured-whispers @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @dominuslunae @sunsshinesunny @jilliemiw86 @h0rr0rqu3en @yournecessaryevil @bloody-delusion-expert @mortallyuniquepeach @missduffsblog

[nerdraging4point0]

The Scorpion and the Scales // Chapter Nine // Polyverse AU

Tropes and Tags: why choose romance, MF, MFM, MFMM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed musicians, polyverse, friends to lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), threesomes, light BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, partner sharing, jealousy, angst.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @synthetic-wasp-570 @beaker1636 @thesazzb @itsjustemily @vinyardmauro @circle-with-me @tearfallpixie @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @emofangirl02 @rumoured-whispers @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @lma1986 @cncohshit

Rick’s POV

I leave the post office with the boxes of merch that were delivered to me while we were out of town rattling in my backseat as I take the winding curves of the streets back to my house. I barely registered the quick interaction between myself and the post office lady, my mind still stuck on the awkward end of our recent tour. The last week of our quick spring and summer tour was tense, to say the least. I avoided making eye contact with Chris whenever possible, and luckily he was hardly ever around so I could avoid him altogether. We had separated for a couple of days of R&R and Chris decided to go visit his girlfriend during the break. In a moment of tipsy foolishness after a couple glasses of wine with the other guys - a solid reminder that I need to quit drinking - I made some offhand, crass comment about how Chris should send us single guys some inappropriate videos to "enjoy" while he was gone. It was a completely disrespectful, thoughtless response and I never should have said it. Not only was it demeaning to Chris's girlfriend Eve, but it also made me look like an asshole and a creep, which I never want to come across as, especially not unintentionally. Never did I actually expect Chris to go through with the vulgar suggestion I had idiotically thrown out while buzzed.

It was a normal night off for me, settling into my bed, I was ready to read and forget the multiple projects I metaphorically had stacked on the table when I opened the shared file Chris sent; my post-apocalyptic book forgotten as I was completely transfixed by what he’d sent. They were sitting on the couch Eve perched perfectly in Chris’s lap. I can hear someone else talking but the interference sounds like it’s on another phone or TV. I didn’t take the time to piece it together watching her and Chris make out had my undivided attention. They kiss for a while undisturbed before Chris breaks away kissing down her neck, hands disappearing under her shirt till he is gliding the fabric up and over her head tossing it somewhere and all I can see is her shirtless body. No bra, completely exposed, I watch Chris cup her breast bringing her taut nipple to his mouth before enclosing over it hollowing his cheeks and her head falls back.

 As I continued to watch the intimate scene unfold before my eyes on the screen, I was mesmerized by the passion and intensity of their connection. Her breaths come faster, more urgent, as he focuses his attention on her breasts, caressing and teasing her nipples with his tongue. Eve arches her back, consumed by pleasure, as Chris worships her body. They move together in perfect sync, their chemistry electric. I am voyeur to their intimacy, unable to look away from the raw sensuality of their encounter.

She moaned and mewled for him and I could feel my dick stretching and twitching in my pajama pants. I didn’t react, not at first, I couldn't. My mind argued with me, my complex telling me it was wrong, but my ego telling me “Why else would he have sent it to you, dumbass?” 

Chris’s mouth was still wrapped around her breast when a voice came through the speakers, again like it wasn’t there but there all the same. 

“Fuck baby,”  it said. I could almost recognize it, like a distant memory “I bet you’re soaking wet, huh?” Eve nodded in response, Chris traced his fingers along her skin, circling her pert nipple before pinching it between his fingers. The way her back curved and arched into his touch, craving more contact. Reaching lower, Chris slid his hand beneath the waistband of her sweats, as she bucked wildly in his lap as his fingers made contact, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

 "So wet," Chris groaned.  

I watched him guide her, rolling her over the hand hidden beneath the fabric on her legs and I sat there silently begging him to take them off.  "I bet I could make you come like this," he growled. 

"Please," The way she begs, her voice cracking with need, it’s exhilarating for me. Watching her come undone excites me in a way I don't expect, making me want to participate, to share in the ecstasy they're experiencing. I want to see her shatter for him, for us, lost in unbridled passion. The thought thrills me, sparking my own desire. 

“Fuck,” the voice growls, his words louder this time. “Beg for him again baby.” 

“You gonna be good and come for us, pumpkin?” her bottom lip between her teeth she furiously nods her head, dropping her forehead on Chris’s shoulders. Her long hair falling over her face hid the redness in her cheeks. 

Watching them, I was consumed by lustful envy, craving those swollen lips and hooded eyes for myself. I longed to be the one drawing such heady reactions from Eve's perfect form. Unable to resist,  I gathered saliva in my palm, slick and warm, before wrapping my hand around my stiffening shaft. My eyes never left Eve's writhing body as I pumped myself in time with Chris' ministrations. I was lost to desire, drunk on the vision of Eve's building pleasure and the promise of her eventual ecstasy. I moved faster, chasing my own peak even as my imagination supplied Eve's moans and the taste of her skin. We spiraled higher in tandem, three bodies united by passion if not physically together. I relished every gasp, every quiver of Eve's body, determined to memorize this exquisite torture. We balanced on the knife's edge of bliss, so close to release. All that remained was the final push over the brink into dizzying rapture.

The video ended long before I was finished and I tossed the phone off of me, tipping my head back as I imagined that face taking my cock in her mouth bobbing back and forth as I held her soft long hair between my fingers. I was spent in seconds. It wasn’t the last time I watched the video either, it was like I was a teenager who just found his favorite porn video. Sneaking off to my room–in a house I share with no one–to choke my dick in my hand to the video over and over again.

I became obsessed with the video, replaying it constantly to watch the woman's full lips wrapped around my throbbing manhood as her head bobbed rhythmically. Her long, silky hair cascaded over my thighs while I gripped it tightly, lost in ecstasy. I couldn't get enough, sneaking away whenever I could to relive those blissful moments of imagined oral pleasure. Alone in my room, I stroked myself furiously to climax again and again as the video looped, consumed by lust like a hormone-ridden adolescent who just discovered internet porn. The rapturous release was always fleeting before I craved yet another viewing. No matter how many times I watched, it never failed to transport me back to that vivid fantasy of holding her head while she eagerly pleasured me with her warm, wet mouth. My depraved fixation was out of control, but I was powerless to resist.

I take the boxes into my apartment, careful not to drop the ones stacked on top. Three large boxes almost tower over me as I walk in the door. I kick the old wood closed with the heel of my boot, just as I'm setting the boxes on the floor my phone pings from my pocket. I pull it out the screen, lighting up with a new text message from an unknown number. Probably spam, I think to myself as I open it anyway. My heart stops as I see the text realizing who exactly it is texting me.

 I click the phone shut instantly, staring at the walls like someone is watching me, realizing I had read the text but didn’t even process the words entirely. My hands shake slightly as I reopen the text taking in each word as if it’s a foreign language. 

Did you watch the whole thing? Be honest with me.

Should I respond? The phone feels heavy in my hand, her message waiting expectantly for a reply. My thumb hovers over the keyboard as I debate how to respond, if at all. 

Three dots fly on the screen loading and unloading as she types away and I can feel myself growing more anxious by the minute. With each dot's appearance and disappearance, my heart races faster. I grip my phone tighter, palms clammy with anticipation. What will her message reveal? My thoughts race, imagining the countless possibilities, each one making me more on edge. The wait feels interminable. I take a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm my nerves.

Did you enjoy it at least?

I type back a swift “yes” it seems that is a sufficient answer to both her questions. I didn’t exactly have to tell her how many times I watched it, but at this point, it isn’t lying either. I did enjoy it. I still enjoy it. 

How much?

What do you say to that? “Enough.” “I like it.” god way to sound like a dick. But if I tell her I get off to it almost twice a day then I’m gonna sound like a creep. I debate responding at all, is it Chris playing a prank on me? Seeing how loyal I am? How loyal she is? 

My fingers fly across my keyboard typing out my message reading each sentence and then rereading to make sure I clearly make my point. 

It’s good. I like it. But if you want me to delete it from my phone I will. I mean, to be honest, you should talk to Chris about this. 

She doesn’t respond right away and I start opening boxes and sorting through the merch I’ve ordered making sure everything is as I want it to be before releasing it on my website. My phone finally pings and I reach out opening the text with anticipation. 

Show me.

What? I furrow my own brows to the question as if she can see me from the other side of the world or maybe a few towns over, to be honest, I have no idea where she and Chris are; he’s always been an extravagant traveler. 

I don’t think it’s appropriate…

That's all I can say to her. I can’t throw Chris under the bus and I can’t criticize her for asking. It’s hard to be polite when really you have nothing polite to say, not everyone is as much a fan of brazen conversation as I am. 

Why not? Because Chris sent the video and you think I didn’t know? I’m curious, we Gemini’s are like that, I want to know. Do I have to be blunt, Rick? Then fine, I'll be blunt. How many times have you watched it? How many times have you stroked yourself to it? Does watching me get fucked turn you on?

My mind feels electrified, sparking with curiosity and a hunger to delve deeper into meaningful discussion. I crave more of this intellectual high. In the past, my ex’s never were able to meet my expectations with conversation, and for me I always felt frustratingly opaque. Previous partners tip-toed gingerly into heady topics, expecting me to read between the lines of their coy allusions and subtle hints. I played along in these tedious games of cat-and-mouse, but they always left me unsatisfied. While those shy, demure ladies had their appeal in certain moments, I yearned for a partner who could be blunt and direct with me. I wanted someone confident and comfortable enough in her own skin to plainly state her thoughts, opinions, desires, and needs. I am a meticulous, detail-oriented person at heart, and nothing gets me more excited than when someone paints me a vivid, explicit picture with their words. I don't want to have to parse and analyze hidden meanings or vagueness. Just give it to me straight. 

I can feel my cock twitching in my pants growing hard as I read and reread her texts. The vivid images from the video replayed in my head like a home movie. I've seen them so many times I could recall the details easily. I unbutton my pants and pull them down just enough to let my dick and balls free, bunching my hand underneath my balls to give them a lift like I've seen so many women do with their tits in photos. I stare at myself for a minute, slightly unimpressed with how it looks, but that’s my own vanity I suppose. I feel self-conscious as I take my phone in hand, snapping a photo of what is in front of me. 

She asked. I reiterate to myself as I stare at the photo, the lens changing how it all looks and I analyze my own photo with critical eyes. I could spend hours critically telling myself it could be better, maybe from a different angle, like there is any angle that is gonna make a dick look appealing to a woman. I sent the photo anyway, turning my status to ‘Do Not Disturb’ before retreating to my room to watch that stupid video all over again. 

Eve’s POV

“Why is there a picture of Rick’s dick in your texts?”

The loud accusation cut through the quiet kitchen air as I stood at the sink, my hands plunged in soapy water as I scrubbed the remnants of our dinner from the pots and pans. I didn't even turn to look at Chris, continuing to methodically circle the sponge over the cast iron skillet, removing the last bits of melted cheese. "Because," I replied evenly, keeping my voice calm despite the anger rising within me. "It's only fair that I get some kind of enjoyment out of it."

“But, you didn’t say…” 

I spin around, dish brush in hand, fixing him with an obvious look of irritation. He pauses, seeing my expression. “No, you asked if you could send the video," I begin, "but you knew damn well I wasn’t the only one you needed to ask. So when I mentioned it to Noah, he was understandably upset. It took him a few days to cool down, but after all that drama, I started wondering if Rick actually hated the video or secretly enjoyed it. So I asked Noah if I could text Rick and ask him directly, and Noah gave me permission to do so. So I did."

"But you didn't ask me," he replies, clearly upset but keeping his voice level.

"How does it feel?" I shoot back, feeling petty and vindictive.

"That's very petty of you," he says, stepping closer with his arms crossed over his bare, tattooed chest. "You talk about boundaries and respect, and now you pull this shit."

I stay silent because he's right. I acted petty and angry, lashing out without really understanding why. My actions contradict my values of open communication and mutual respect within relationships. Even though I felt justified in the moment, I can see now that I should have talked to him first before contacting Rick behind his back. 

As he whips out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen, I can only imagine the venomous words he is unleashing towards Rick in a private text - petty payback for some perceived slight or disagreement between them. A tense silence descends, broken only by the tapping of the phone keyboard. He stops abruptly, turning his back on me as he returns to his video game, the sounds of simulated violence punctuating the room. My heart sinks as my own phone vibrates, signaling an incoming message. Drying my hands, I cross the room to retrieve it with a growing feeling of dread. As I open the text, the tears well up in my eyes. 

Chris has created a group chat featuring myself, Noah, himself, and Rick. I can already envision the hurtful words and accusations that will be lobbed between them like grenades, inflicting emotional shrapnel on us all. Glancing up, I see Chris hunched over his game controller, blasting away at pixelated enemies, oblivious to the damage he has just unleashed in the real world.  But as I open the text and read his words  my heart stops.

I’m sorry I overstepped. I was inconsiderate of boundaries and hope that you can accept my heartfelt apology. 

I flip my phone down on the table crawling slowly, almost timidly, over the back of the couch, seeking to mend the rift between us. As I settle in next to him, I drape both of my arms around one of his, hugging it close to me. I nuzzle my face against his shoulder, breathing in the comforting, familiar scent of his shirt. The muscles in his shoulders, knotted and tight just moments before, begin to loosen and relax. My silent snuggles tell him how sorry I am for the harsh words spoken earlier.

“I love you pumpkin,” his words make me still next to him, his game paused but his eyes still focused on the screen in front of him, “And I am so sorry.” 

I nuzzle into his arm again pulling him into me tight. Hearing my phone vibrate in the background the sound echoed by Chris’s own device and I know the group chat has a response-but even if the boundaries were broken and not all could be forgiven I knew in this moment there was only one thing to be said, one thing that mattered. “I love you too, Chris.”

[nerdraging4point0]

okay so @as-above-so-below1000 sent me a post and some thoughts and it had triggered some Noah brain rot. plz enjoy these thoughts. this is fucking filthy, sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

NSFW under the cut ◡̈

Noah who doesn’t like to think about how you come undone on any toy when he’s gone, because only he’s supposed to make you do that. so when you mention you need to get off to him a day before he gets home, he’s kinda fuming. he’s gonna play it cool though. he’ll ask to see how well the dildo fits in your cunt just because he “misses the way you take him”. but really he’s scheming. he’s planning a way to show you, he’s better than the toys you have.

Noah who texts you when he leaves the airport to be naked in bed when he gets home, because he has to have a taste.

Noah who walks in his room to see that stupid fucking toy on the nightstand where you left it last night and all plans go out the window, because now he’s just mad. so ya know what he does? he grabs the dildo off the nightstand before setting himself between your legs.

Noah who tells you to close your eyes, before he’s running the toy through your folds just so he can hear the whine fall from your mouth. “What’s wrong bunny? Thought you loved this thing?”

Noah who teases your hole, until you’re begging him to do something. “I usually like hearing you beg for me, but I think this is just slutty. Don’t you? begging me to fuck you with a toy, when i’m right here. it’s a shame really, i was real excited to feel you squeezing me.”

Noah who finally pushes the toy inside you, only to hear you mumble “not enough.” Just to flip you over, and shove your head into the pillow.

Noah who teases your asshole with this thumb while he’s slowly fucking you with your dildo.

Noah who gets you so close to the edge, just to push his thumb into your tight hole and hear you moan out “oh god.”

Noah who smirks down at you, “that’s it, baby. why don’t you pray to your god. why don’t you beg him for forgiveness?”

[nerdraging4point0]

Oh the feels!! I need the whole thing!!

Another sneak peek of "Callsign: Motionless" for you guys. I'm determined to break you ALL with this fic. 😉🤭

[nerdraging4point0]

Vinny Vault release

MIW Royalty: @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @ladyveronikawrites @emofangirl02 @collective-heartbreak @cookiesupplier @rumoured-whispers @somebodyels3 @cncohshit @loeytuan98 @Mortallyuniquepeach @viofcrows @embracethereaper42 @wild-child-7747 @yournecessaryevil @beaker1636 @synthetic-wasp-570 @tearfallpixie @thesazzb @itsjustemily @circle-with-me @vinyardmauro @throwingmetothelions

[nerdraging4point0]

Love that I was tagged not once but twice! Playlist games are my favorite!!

I was tagged by @sitkowski and @cncohshit thank you so much!

shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people:

Breathing Underwater-Hot Milk

Hole in your head- Ekoh

Cannibals -Of Virtue

There's fear in letting go-I Prevail

Sinner -Of Virtue

Misery- Memphis May Fire

Daggers- We came as Romans

Hypocrite- Of Virtue

Legends are made- Sam Tinnezz

Bloodmoney- Poppy

Tagging: anyone who wants to play!!

I was tagged by @itconsumes you ✌️💕 thanks so much!

shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, then tag 10 people:

Rain - Sleep Token

Hell - The Home Team

Porcelain: Ricky Motion Picture Collection - Motionless in White

Dethrone - Bad Omens

COLORS - HEALTH & The Soft Moon

Throat - Salem

Monster - MILCK

Easier Than Lying - Halsey

Burn - Too Close To Touch

Blood - In This Moment

tagging (no pressure or skip if ya got it already!) @circle-with-me @darksigns.exe @viofcrows @kava-kitty @broken0mens @ofthe-abyss @rumoured-whispers @familiarscarsxelectrichearts @tearallpixie @nerdraging4point0

[nerdraging4point0]

I got MIW one shots in the vault

[nerdraging4point0]

I'm feelin' TS albums.

I wanna shitpost, something akin to my Bad Omens Tiger Beat mag or the Bad Omens as Taylor Swift Albums. But what? 🤔

[nerdraging4point0]

Y'all got no idea how much I need this right now.

Sneak peek of "Callsign: Motionless" for you all! Enjoy! 🤭

[nerdraging4point0]

I need a one shot of this....so hard!

It's too fucking perfect!

Had a thought so I’m making a headcannon about it

Being neighbors with Ricky Olson without knowing he’s in a band would include:

• waving to each other while he’s out writing on his porch as you do yoga on your own porch

• him asking you to water his plants while he’s gone on a “business trip”

• inviting the other over for dinner if one of you made too much food

• seeing all the guitars in his house and asking about them to which he replies “yeah I play, it’s an old hobby”

• talking to each other loudly from across the porches rather than just meeting in the middle of the shared backyard

• turning to a random channel on the tv only to see Ricky performing Rhea Ripley’s entrance for Wrestlemania

• seeing him the next day and remarking playfully: “you know playing for 70,000 people at Wrestlemania is a bit extreme for a hobby”

[nerdraging4point0]

Mouthful

Nicholas Ruffilo x Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x Noah Sebastian

Content warnings: oral sex (m receiving), hand jobs, come swallowing, (slight) come play

Contains sexual situations between fictionalized versions of real people. This isn't real, none of this happened. But feel free to hit the back button if this isn't your thing.

<Summary> Noah teaches Jolly how to suck a dick.

thanks to @rottingfern for giving this a look through and catching my mistakes.

tagging: @ladyveronikawrites @throwingmetothelions @cncohshit @jxstthisonce @shaydayhere @kingdomof-omens @agravemisstake @deathblacksmoke

if you'd like to be on a taglist, feel free to reach out to me and let me know 💕

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~

The hands in Jolly’s hair are gentle, as is the voice coaxing him on as he closes his mouth over the head of Nicholas’s cock. 

“There we go.” Noah praises in his ear just as Nicholas groans. “That's it. Just focus on the head a little, run your tongue right under his tip…” He does as Noah says, slipping his tongue across the ridge along the bottom of Nick’s cockhead. Nick’s breath catches and his hips shift as Noah chuckles darkly beside him, “Yeah, see, he likes that.”

“Shit,” Nick gasps, and the word goes straight to his groin. His fingers flex in Jolly’s hair for a second before he lets go, sliding backwards through the strands in apology.

Noah’s chest is warm against his back as he moves closer with a hum. “Good, good,” he coos, “do you want to try taking a little more?” 

Jolly nods as well as he’s able to, relaxing his jaw a little when Noah tells him to as he glides his mouth farther down Nicholas’s shaft. He can feel Noah’s burning gaze as he tries to meet his lips with the hand he has curled about the base of Nick’s cock. His eyes water, but he keeps going, trying to fit as much as he can until it becomes too much and he coughs, dropping Nick from his mouth as he pulls back spluttering. 

“Hey, you good?” Noah’s hand is warm, comforting, on his back and Jolly nods as he catches his breath. “Nick likes the back of the throat, but let’s warm up to that okay? We’ll get you there, promise.”

This is a newer side of Noah that Jolly’s never had directed at him before. This gentle, soft side of Noah that’s usually reserved for Nick alone. His chest feels heavy, as something he’s not ready to think about settles warm in his bones and adds to the arousal pooling in his gut. 

Jolly clears his throat, hoping his face isn’t as flushed as it feels, gesturing back to Nicholas. “Can I?” 

Noah’s beaming smile is blinding. “You don't have to ask if you want to keep going,” he says with a shrug, “because I'm sure that's exactly what Nick wants.” 

The man in question’s hands dig into his own thighs, eyes pleading as he whispers, “Please.”

Those same hands cling to him desperately as Jolly takes him into his mouth again, and it’s not as intimidating this time, now that he kind of knows what to do. He tries to think about how he likes it; letting his hand follow his mouth to jerk Nicholas as his head bobs up and down. 

Pride swells in his chest when Nick’s hips kick up minutely followed by Noah’s sultry laugh. 

“You’re a fast learner aren’t you?” His friend asks, and Jolly can’t do anything but blush because even if he knew how to respond, he really doesn’t want to let Nick out of his mouth long enough to do so. So he nods instead, letting himself get lost in the way Nicholas’s breath catches when he moves his tongue around his shaft every time he pulls back, trying to take more with every pass. 

He understands now why Noah is so willing to get on his knees for him. Why he eagerly pulls Nicholas away whenever they have the time, just to get his mouth around him, because even though his jaw is starting to ache and he can feel the tears leaking from his eyes, he realizes he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“You’re doing such a good job,” Noah croons, wiping away a stray tear from the corner of his eye, “he’s a lot to take, I know, but you’re doing so good. Isn’t he, Nick?” 

“I -” Nicholas grunts, mumbling a mess of words so jumbled together, Jolly can’t even begin to decipher. 

“Mmm look at that.” Noah murmurs, “You’re doing such a good job, he can’t even speak.” The flush on his face grows, spreading to his neck, and farther down to his chest when he feels Noah’s long fingers slither down to his lap. They slip under the waistband of his sweatpants, searching until they find the gap in his boxer briefs and he groans when the soft skin of Noah’s palm runs over the sensitive head of his cock. 

It’s almost too much. 

He pauses, keeping his hand tight around Nick’s shaft when he pulls his mouth off, slowly jerking him as he tries to get himself under control. But Noah doesn’t make it easy. He hooks his chin over Jolly’s shoulder as he pulls his cock free from his sweats. The kiss of cool air against him makes him hiss, eyes slipping closed as his head falls back to rest against Noah’s shoulder.

“He’s close, you know,” Noah whispers into the shell of his ear. “It won’t take much at all to get him there.” Even through his lust-addled brain, Jolly knows what Noah’s implying, and he finds himself nodding along in agreement. “You finish him off, and I’ll finish you off, how does that sound? Good?”

The hand stroking him disappears, but not before a thumb swipes across his tip, and he opens his eyes just in time to see Noah’s tongue sweep across the pad. His own dick kicks, aching at the sight, and Jolly’s pretty sure his swallow is audible before he turns his attention back to Nicholas. 

Strangled whimpers and bitten off curses fall from his mouth as Jolly massages his shaft with the flat of his tongue, hollowing his cheeks. A hand settles on the back of his head, fingers weaving through his hair, finding purchase and tugging enough to guide his eyes upward. 

“This is always my favorite part.” Noah says, “He’s always so pretty when he cums, I’d hate for you to miss it.” 

When Nick’s half-lidded gaze meets his, Jolly can’t help but think how right Noah is. Especially when the man’s eyes roll skyward, a choked cry falling from his lips, eyes rolling skyward as his release floods into Jolly’s mouth. 

Jolly thinks back to all the girls he’s been with, how most of them have swallowed him down with ease, and he tries. Tries to emulate them and swallow what Nick’s giving him, but he can’t. Not all of it, anyway. Nicholas slips from his mouth, still twitching, pearlescent beads gathering at his slit and as he thinks about going back to finish the job, Noah’s there, leaning forward to wrap his own lips around Nick. 

Jolly’s stuck, unable to do anything but watch as Noah licks and sucks everything he left behind, groaning as if Nick is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s mesmerizing, so much so that he’s taken by surprise when Noah turns back to him and crashes their mouths together. 

Noah’s tongue sweeps into his mouth, bringing with it the salty tang of Nicholas’s release. He pulls away, briefly, to spit in his palm, before closing his hand around Jolly’s aching cock, jerking him with quick, harsh strokes. Jolly’s fairly certain it’s the roughest anyone has ever been with him and every pull of Noah’s hand drives him closer to the edge.

“I’m… I’m gonna--” 

Noah’s forehead presses against his temple, breath fanning across his face. “Yeah?” Jolly nods, face screwing up, moaning as his gaze slips down to where Noah’s working his cock. “C’mon man,” Noah coaxes, “let me have it.” 

He does as he’s asked, closing his eyes against the tide as his orgasm rips through his body and he ruts into Noah’s fist, chasing every bit of ecstasy until he has nothing left. Spots dance across his vision and his ears ring, his spent cock twitching in a valiant attempt to harden again as he watches Noah fingers disappear into his mouth one by one, until they're clean. The look on the other man's face is fond as he tucks Jolly back into his sweatpants before kissing him softly. 

The tender touch makes Jolly's insides warm, as does the hand that settles on his shoulder.

“Now that was almost as hot as getting my dick sucked.” Nick interrupts, pulling his attention from Noah with a soft hold on his chin. 

For the first time of the night, self doubt creeps in and he has to ask. “It, uh, it was okay, right?”

“Dude, are you joking?” Nick asks with a laugh, quirking his eyebrow. “That was amazing… and I wouldn’t say no if you ever wanted to try again. In fact, I don’t think Noah would either.”

“But for now,” Nick slips to his knees, fisting a hand in Noah’s shirt to pull him in for a quick dirty kiss and Jolly wonders if Nick can taste him in Noah’s mouth. “Mmm,” he hums when they part, licking his lips, looking over his shoulder at Jolly as he pushes Noah to his back. “You’re more than welcome to watch how I do it.” 

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter Seven // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV. 

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @curse-bearing-hips @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @moranastray @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @collective-heartbreak @littlefoxkota @somebodyels3 @thisbicc @jakeygvf21 @cind6547 @lma1986 @loeytuan98 @xxkittenkissesxx

Despite having no obligations or reasons to rise early, I find myself waking before dawn, a nagging sense of unfinished business rousing me from slumber. I rummage through the cluttered closet, pushing aside the detritus of my old life to unearth a relic from simpler times: my pristine white ice skates, barely used since training gave way to textbooks and 12-hour shifts. Running my fingers over the smooth leather, I marvel that they have waited so patiently while life pulled me away. I dress in fleece leggings and a sweater as I grab my purse and head to the car. 

The rink should be empty, the guys left around four this morning, as I pull into the parking lot it’s already six. I see some of the players' cars parked in the garage as I head to the elevator to enter the rink. The lights are on, but that’s to be expected, with the team gone, deep clean can commence. Yet as I walk through the quiet, empty halls of the arena, the familiar sounds of hockey emanate from the rink ahead. The rhythmic slapping of a composite stick striking a frozen puck echoes down the corridor. Scraping, swishing - the nostalgic melody of steel blades carving arcs across the freshly resurfaced ice. I push through the heavy wooden doors and gaze out at the rink. There before me a solitary figure glides smoothly about the ice, stickhandling a puck through an intricate array of cones.

Noah isn't in a uniform, just his athletic wear and skates, simple winter gloves on his hand as he skates around. The cold air nips at my cheeks as I observe him gliding effortlessly across the smooth, glassy ice. He looks so graceful and at ease, carving gentle curves with each push of his skates. I suddenly wonder if I should continue with my plan. It's been years since I've set foot on the ice. The last time I tried skating I clung desperately to the wall, my ankles wobbling with each tentative stride. I was that bumbling, awkward beginner all over again. What if I make a fool of myself out there? What if I slip and stumble repeatedly in front of Noah, struggling just to stay upright while he floats by with poised confidence? The thought makes me hesitate. I don't want to embarrass myself or look incompetent compared to Noah's natural skill.

"What are you doing here?" I call across the rink, seeing him turn and find me by the benches. He pushes the puck back and forth between his stick, the repetitive motion seeming to soothe his obvious frustration.

 "Medics benched me for two games, to make sure my shoulder isn't seriously injured," he responds, and I can hear the pain in his voice - not physical, but emotional. Being forced to sit out is agonizing for any athlete, but especially for someone as passionate and competitive as him. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to watch his teammates head off without him this morning, their bus pulling away as he stood there, barred from joining them.

“Why are you here?” he ponders the question to me and I feel my cheeks go red as I stammer a response. 

“Came to um-um-skate. But I didn’t expect…it’s okay, I’ll go.” I turn to leave. But I hear the hard scrape of blades on ice as Noah skates to the wall close enough to me I can smell the scent of his body wash from his shower. 

“Where you going? Let’s see what you got, little fox.” I feel my heart race and my palms grow sweaty as Noah's intense gaze bores into me. His muscular frame towers over me, broad shoulders and chiseled torso accentuated by his tight black shirt. I'm frozen in place, mesmerized by his masculine beauty and commanding presence.

“Lace up. Get out here." he teases as he skates out to the rink, picking up the cones he'd laid out. I am not sure what propels me but I do as he says, slipping into the leather slippers and double knotting the laces. I stand on the blades feeling the unusual balance of them as I take long steps to the ice. The blades touch the ice and suddenly I'm wobbling on my knees as one hand grips the wall and the other wraps around myself trying desperately to hide the embarrassment. The empty ice rink echoes with each scrape of his skates as he circles me like a predator stalking prey.

I tentatively step onto the icy surface, the razor-sharp blades beneath my feet gliding smoothly at first. But as I push off, my ankles wobble precariously, threatening to tip me face-first onto the cold, unforgiving ice. I flail my arms, grasping for something, anything to steady myself. My hand finds the wall just in time, saving me from a humiliating fall. Meanwhile, he is gliding effortlessly around the perimeter, his strong strides propelling him forward with ease. I watch enviously as he picks up speed, the toes of his skates carving graceful arcs into the glossy surface. My own skates feel awkward and foreign beneath me, the thin blades clacking loudly with each uneasy step. I wrap my free arm around my middle, trying in vain to conceal my evident lack of skill. This was a mistake. I never should have let him goad me out here. 

Noah skates around me, effortlessly turning his feet outwards to slow himself before sliding to a smooth stop, sending ice shavings scattering across the glossy surface of the rink. He looks back at me with a playful smile, taking in my awkward, shaky form as I struggle to maintain my balance on the slippery ice. I clutch the wall, my legs stiff and tense, my movements rigid and unstable. Noah glides back over to me, the blades of his skates slicing rhythmic patterns into the ice, and holds out his gloved hands, wiggling his fingers invitingly. "Here," he says, his voice warm and reassuring.

I eye his outstretched hands warily, hesitating. A painful memory surfaces of myself as an awkward thirteen year old girl, when a boy in skating class had offered to help me up, only to let go and trip me instead. I had fallen hard on the unforgiving ice, the wind knocked out of me, my pride injured far more than my body. I had never forgotten that humiliating experience, and since then, I harshly refused any offer of help when trying to skate, not trusting anyone to not let me fall.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Noah grumbles, breaking me out of my bitter recollections. Not waiting for me to decide, he takes my hands firmly in his, enveloping my fingers in the soft wool of his gloves. Then he begins skating backwards, pulling me along with him, his strokes smooth and steady. My legs tremble violently, overtaken by the fear of falling and I cling to his hands for dear life, as if I'm moments from plunging to my death. My ankles wobble and feet slip on my first few strides, struggling to find my balance. But Noah's graceful momentum carries us, and slowly I feel my legs begin to glide in sync with his, my rigid muscles easing. My confidence builds as Noah patiently guides me around the rink, the ice smoothly passing beneath me.

“I figured the coach’s daughter would know how to skate.” he teased. I rolled my eyes at his assumption that just because my dad was the hockey coach, I would naturally be an expert skater myself. Sure, growing up as the coach's daughter, I had spent countless hours at the rink, watching practices and games from the stands. And yes, I had even taken some basic skating lessons as a kid. But that was years ago now, and so much had changed since then.

“It’s been a while,” I countered, “I had other things going on.”

“Let me guess,” he looked at the white leather of my skates and smiled, “Figure skating.” 

“Nope. Just lessons.” The truth was, once I hit high school, skating had faded into the background. I became absorbed in academics, friendships, and other activities that didn't involve blades on my feet and cold rinks. Sure, I had taken some recreational lessons here and there to appease my dad, but nothing stuck. “Dad really wasn’t a fan of figure skating, some unspoken rivalry with Hockey I think.” 

My hold on Noah’s hands relaxed as we glided hand-in-hand across the ice rink, my fingers barely holding onto his gloved hands anymore. As we swayed our hips in unison, Noah gently turned our wrists, overlaying our hands before interlacing our fingers together. His soft yet firm grip provided a sense of security and balance as he led us around the rink, periodically looking back over his shoulder to navigate and ensure we wouldn't crash.

“And mom?” 

“Mom wasn’t, the mom type.” I confessed with a sigh.  I felt a familiar pang of sadness in my chest at the thought, dropping my head a little in shame. Noah raised an eyebrow, prompting me to reluctantly explain further. “Divorce. Just before I was twelve. Mom moved down to Florida with her new boyfriend, got the occasional birthday card then silence.” 

“I get that,” Noah nodded in understanding, releasing our clasped hands so we could skate shoulder-to-shoulder, my legs now gliding on their own as we lazily circled the rink.

"Your mom too?" I asked gently. 

"Dad," he replied tersely. "Wasn't the dad type. Mom did her best, but I lost her." His words sank in, my own petty grievances seeming trivial in comparison. While my mother may have been absent, at least she was still living. Noah had no one left, both parents gone, leaving him truly alone in the world. A swell of empathy rose within me, along with a new appreciation for the family I still had, dysfunctional as we may be.

As we glide, our skates' soft swish and measured breathing form a quiet harmony. All too soon, our wordless waltz comes to an end. I make my way to the bench on rubbery legs, fumbling with the laces and easing my numb feet from the rigid boots. Noah gathers his stick and returns to his solitary target practice, slapping puck after puck into the empty net with a methodical rhythm. The sharp crack of composite meeting vulcanized rubber echoes through the cavernous arena. I watch him for a moment, marveling at his self-contained focus. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I turn to leave, savoring the lingering chill on my cheeks. But then his voice stops me - that gentle tenor tone that never fails to make me shiver.

"Sarah," he says, my name emerging soft as a caress from his lips. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

[nerdraging4point0]

Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter Three // Wonderland AU

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

A.N.- Although Characters may have face claim to the Bad Omens band as well as Poppy, I have changed their names for the sake of the story. Despite this change I hope everyone still enjoys the story as a whole!

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people's faces but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @poisongirl616 @ladyveronikawrites @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @littlefoxkota @silentglassbreak @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @catharsis-in-darkness @dsireland86 @skulliecadaver-blog @laurpartyprogram @faceless-mirror @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @thisbicc @cncohshit

The wind rushes past my ears as I plunge deeper and deeper into the abyss. With each passing second, the light above grows fainter while the darkness below swallows me whole. I’ve lost all sense of direction, unable to discern up from down in this vortex of shadows. My stomach lurches with each flip, tossing and turning without control. Strands of hair whip wildly across my eyes, blinding me further in this endless freefall. I flail my arms, grasping at nothing but air that slips through my fingers.

I feel the need to scream but nothing comes out.

The grey swirling mist around me gives way to dark tree branches as I see the forest come through around me. My heart leaps into my throat as I desperately grasp at passing branches and shrubs, trying to slow my momentum. Just when I think my fall will never end, the sleeve of my cardigan snags on an outstretched tree limb, abruptly halting my descent. I dangle helplessly in the air, my feet kicking below me as I struggle to regain my composure. Adrenaline courses through my veins from the sudden shock of my fall and narrow escape. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, clinging tightly to the branch as it sways under my weight. The quiet creaking barely registers before an ominous snap pierces the silence. In an instant, the branch gives way and I plummet the remaining distance to the forest floor. I land flat on my back, all the air forced from my lungs on impact.

My eyes focus on the sight above me, gloomy grey clouds swirl in whirlwind circles above me, like the way a hurricane might look - dark, menacing, and ominous. As I take in the dreary sky, the clouds appear to be spinning faster and faster, morphing into a giant whirlpool directly over my head. I can almost feel the power emanating from their rotation, like a vacuum trying to suck me up into oblivion. Sitting up slowly, I feel the soreness in my bones, as if I had slept on the hard ground all night long. The aching penetrates deep, making even the slightest movements arduous and painful. I check for broken bones wiggling my fingers and toes, bending my arms and legs, nothing is seriously damaged. 

My hands are covered in dirt from the forest floor, if a forest is what you call it, I brush the soil from my hands as I scan the dreary trees around me. The floor is not covered in grass or moss, but a dark and crumbling soil that clings to my skin. It is as if the very life has been sucked from this place, leaving only dust in its wake. The trees that surround me are gnarled and twisted, with branches like boney claws grasping desperately at the oppressive gray sky. They are barren - not a single leaf or bud in sight, just rough bark that seems to slough off in scales. There is an unnatural stillness here, and a damp chill that seeps into my bones. The only movement comes from the fog that swirls eerily between the skeletal trees. It dances just out of reach, sinuous tendrils of mist that seem to have a mind of their own as they curl and twist. The fog circles me like a predator, watching closely but never coming close enough to touch. There is something sinister about this place, as if the very air is heavy with malice.

The world around me is eerily quiet - it's as if someone has hit the mute button on life itself. No birds singing, no rustle of leaves in the breeze, just deafening silence. All I can hear is the rhythmic ticking of a clock, though I see no timepiece nearby. The steady ticks seem unnaturally loud in the void of sound, almost oppressive as they count away each passing second. 

I stand from the floor whipping my head around slowly to find the source of the ticking sound, when she surprises me, stepping out from behind one of the trees. Her long blonde hair cascades straight down to her waist, and I see her soft caramel eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of my dirt covered self. I jump back in surprise as she stands still where she is, her nose twitching ever so slightly. I relax a little recognizing the girl from the coffee shop as she steps around the tree, a lace gloved hand still holding to the black bark as if it will save her should I be dangerous.

I feel the panic set in when I see what she is wearing, even more so what rests on her head. Platform shoes that are taller than her feet are wide support her, white stockings disappear under periwinkle leather shorts, which cling tightly to reveal subtly muscular legs. A navy and white corset pulls her narrow waist in dramatically, leaving her body in a perfect hourglass figure. The long tail of her navy trenchcoat brushes the back of her knees as she walks, the black lace at the hem an elegant and beautiful touch. On the top of her head protruding from the platinum locks are two white bunny ears, they stand straight up twitching as she stares at me intently. She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out a silver pocket watch placing it in the palm of her lace gloved hand. Regarding the time, one of her ears flops over as she tsks softly and looks back up at me, stating simply in a melodic voice, "You're very late." I stare in bewilderment, wondering if I'm hallucinating this strange yet alluring sight before me. The girl tilts her head quizzically, bunny ears perked up once again, as she waits for me to respond.

“I…I…late for what?” my voice cracks a little, I have been sucked into this dream again and it’s starting to get old. 

The young woman smiles trotting over to me before taking my upper arm, pulling me along as she skips merrily down the forest path, her sheen white hair bouncing with each step. "Come now. So very little to do and so much time," she sings, her voice light and melodic. I hurry to keep up, worried she'll twist an ankle in those heels as we push on through the uneven ground littered with sticks and stones. She stops abruptly and I nearly crash into her back. Turning to me, her face grows pensive, her brows knitting together in concentration.

 "So little time, so much to do. Yes, yes, that's it!" she exclaims, having sorted out some internal debate. She resumes her brisk pace, heels clicking on the hard dirt before sinking into the soft soil.

 "You should have come through the door. You would have been closer to Hatter that way," she advises as we walk. "But the mirror will do. They are tricky, tricky, tricky. You could have come through completely upside down!" She elaborates on the precarious magic of portal mirrors - how I might have emerged feet where my head should be, eyes planted squarely on my chin. Such a disturbing image, but she seems utterly unfazed by the prospect of such chaos.

 "Upside down?" I ask, unable to grasp how that would even work. 

"Oh yes!" she readily confirms, no trace of doubt in her voice. Stopping short again, she spins to face me, eyes narrowed.

 "Let me see your hands," she demands. I hold them out obediently as she inspects them for the proper number of digits. Satisfied, her expression clouds again. She leans in close, peering at my face intently, and whispers "Do you have hands on your feet?" Mystified, I shake my head no, and she relaxes, beaming.

 "Good!" she declares cheerily before pirouetting away once more down the path.

"I'm sorry,"  Her brisk pace through the winding forest path leaves me struggling to match her graceful steps. She glides effortlessly over fallen branches and mossy stones while I stumble clumsily behind, longing to pause and catch my breath. The further we go, the more I yearn to turn around, retrace my footsteps and return to the place I began. But the mysterious maiden shows no signs of slowing, so I press on, determined not to lose sight of her flickering white dress between the trees up ahead.

"Who exactly are you?" I ask. She giggles white lace glove covering her soft pink glossy lips. My blunt question elicits a melodic laugh as she conceals her mouth with a dainty hand. I fail to grasp what amusement my inquiry brings her. With an elegant twirl, she stops abruptly and faces me, throwing her arms out wide as if presenting herself to an invisible audience.

"I am all that I am and all that I will be. I am Melina, herald to the late white queen," her face falls a little growing somber as she delivers her final line, "and the great red queen." Her prideful introduction gives way to melancholy, ears falling ever so slightly as she seems to choke on the word ‘great’. 

After sharing a somber beginning to our encounter, her demeanor suddenly shifts as a radiant grin spreads across her face, lighting up her cheeks with a rosy flush. Her long, snowy rabbit ears, which had drooped mournfully just moments before, now perk up with delight. With renewed enthusiasm, she begins merrily spinning and skipping down the forest path, practically bounding with each step. Her movements are graceful and spirited, reflecting her improved mood. I hurry to keep up as she continues on ahead, but struggle to match her graceful, nimble movements.

“Okay,” She effortlessly scurries up the side of the path, climbing over a large fallen tree blocking our way with ease. I attempt to follow her over the obstacle, but cannot mimic her graceful agility. “Next question, where am I? How did I get here? Isn’t this just a dream?”

Stumbling clumsily back onto the path, I watch her continue on, now skipping backwards so she can face me as we talk. Her mood is clearly much improved from when we first met, transformed from melancholy to positively gleeful in mere moments. Yet while her sadness has passed, my confusion remains. I hurry after her down the path, determined to make sense of this strange world I've found myself in.

“That is three questions, shall I answer in order or answer the ones that would make more sense?” she giggles continuously. 

“Nothing makes sense!” I argue looking directly at her soft white bunny ears knowing for certain no person could have ears like that all the time. 

"Well, you will never know that something makes sense unless it is said." Her response is not wrong but it doesn't sound right either, I can feel my head splitting already as I touch my temples. Her cryptic words echo in my mind, their meaning just out of reach.

“Where you are is, Otherland. I already told you how you got here-or how you should have come here.”

“The door,” I nod along as she speaks, acting as if I comprehend, but my confusion only grows. Her guidance feels less like truth and more like riddles. I want to believe her, to latch onto any clarity amidst the haze enveloping my mind. Yet as much as I strain to assemble the fragments, the full picture eludes me.  “But, I can never open it.”

“Well, now you couldn’t, not with red queen guarding it with her life.” Her elusive responses just leave me grasping at ghosts, the truth always dancing out of reach. If only she would just tell me plainly, perhaps then I could make sense of this madness.

"I hear what you’re saying, but none of it is making sense." I try again to comprehend the confusing words and concepts she is conveying, but they continue to elude me, slipping through my grasp like smoke. She lets out a soft sigh, her eyes rolling upward in frustration as if searching the empty void above for divine inspiration.

Realizing the futility of her abstract explanations that seem clear to her but remain a jumble to me, she concedes: "I am horrible with explanations, too many thoughts scampering about in my head. Dax is far better, he should be with the hatter now. We should keep moving." 

At the mention of "the hatter," vivid images from my shadowy dreams flood my mind - a tall, lean figure lurking in the darkness, clad in an impeccable black suit and glossy top hat. Could this be the mysterious man she is referring to? As I recall his chilling words uttered to me in the dead of night - "Ember, set me free" - a shiver runs down my spine. I sense this puzzling dream world and obscure reality are somehow connected, but the link remains just out of reach, as obscure to me as my companion's convoluted elucidations. 

We delve deeper into the sinister forest, the canopy now so dense above us that not even a sliver of the gloomy sky peeks through. All around us come unnerving cries and screeches from unseen creatures lurking in the shadows. I flinch with every sound, imagining the unseen horrors to be stalking us, waiting to strike. Never could I have imagined that venturing farther into the impenetrable darkness would reveal such thriving, albeit twisted, life. A screech erupts frightfully close by and I can't help but let out a yelp of fear.

"What was that?!" I exclaim, my voice quivering.

"Bandersnatches," Melina replies matter-of-factly, not missing a beat in her brisk pace. "They roam wild in these woods but won't bother you if you just keep moving." I scurry to stay right on her heels, her flowing jacket now within arm's reach. If any nefarious creature is out to get me, I want to stay as near as possible to my guide through this nightmare realm.

Without warning, another shriek pierces the stillness, causing Melina to halt abruptly in her tracks. Her tall white ears stand erect, nose twitching as she scans the darkened trees around us. I stop short as well, peering anxiously into the shadows, though I know my human eyes are no match for her heightened animal senses. Through the tense silence, the forlorn howl of a hound echoes.

"And that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I follow the mysterious girl through the dark forest. She pauses and turns back to me, silver hair glinting as if it is radiating it’s own light.

 "Harlan," she says just as quietly, a hint of urgency in her tone. "The hunt has begun." Her words send a chill down my spine as somewhere in the distance, I hear the baying of hounds. "No, no, no, I'm late," she mutters, checking the silver pocket watch she wears around her neck repeatedly, mumbling "no" to herself as she scrambles up the mossy forest walls on either side of the narrow path.

"Wait!" I cry out desperately, stumbling after her, not wanting to lose my strange guide in this ominous wood. But she halts and holds out a slender hand to stop me as the chilling howl of the hound cries out once more, closer now. She looks frightened, almost torn between staying to lead me through the dark trees and fleeing from some unseen pursuer.

 "No. Stay on the path. Move with haste, but stay on the path," she instructs firmly, her luminous eyes boring into mine, willing me to heed her warning before darting off into the blackness of the woods. I'm left alone on the winding trail, my heart pounding as the baying grows louder, wondering who or what hunts these woods at night and what fate awaits if I stray from the path.

I continue the way we were headed, my feet moving with much greater purpose now. The sounds disappear behind me and I feel my heart rate slowing, the dark forest breaks free and I can see the sky once again. The winding forest path stretches on endlessly before me, narrowing as it snakes between the ancient, towering trees. Their gnarled branches reach out overhead, blotting out the moonlight that had briefly illuminated my way. The ground underfoot grows more treacherous, littered with loose rocks, tangled roots and fallen limbs that threaten to twist my ankles with every hurried step. I've been walking for what feels like hours now, though it's impossible to tell in this timeless dreamscape where minutes blend seamlessly into days.

I look down and I no longer can see the clear path in front of me, I panic just slightly turning to see where I may have lost it and think I can retrace my steps to find it again. But behind me the fog has curled over the path like a cat curling around my legs, obscuring any signs of the trail in a thick, milky haze. All I can see now are mangled branches and other forest debris emerging from the mist. Oh fuck, I'm lost.

 I turn on my heel, ready to run back and find the path again, afraid I may no longer know my directions in this featureless sea of black. What if I am lost among this forest forever, doomed to wander endlessly through the featureless void? I'm stopped only by a soft whisper, turning I can see the fog whispering in curls as if the wind is blowing through it. The whisper is a soft low sound, rhythmic, like snoring...no, purring. 

"I wouldn't if I were you," the disembodied voice purrs, its notes echoing off the trees and curling around me like the fog itself. The voice seems to emanate from the fog itself, surrounding me with its hypnotic susurrus.

"Going back would be cat-astrophic."

[nerdraging4point0]

Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter Three // Wonderland AU

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

A.N.- Although Characters may have face claim to the Bad Omens band as well as Poppy, I have changed their names for the sake of the story. Despite this change I hope everyone still enjoys the story as a whole!

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people's faces but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @poisongirl616 @ladyveronikawrites @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @littlefoxkota @silentglassbreak @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @catharsis-in-darkness @dsireland86 @skulliecadaver-blog @laurpartyprogram @faceless-mirror @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @thisbicc @cncohshit

The wind rushes past my ears as I plunge deeper and deeper into the abyss. With each passing second, the light above grows fainter while the darkness below swallows me whole. I’ve lost all sense of direction, unable to discern up from down in this vortex of shadows. My stomach lurches with each flip, tossing and turning without control. Strands of hair whip wildly across my eyes, blinding me further in this endless freefall. I flail my arms, grasping at nothing but air that slips through my fingers.

I feel the need to scream but nothing comes out.

The grey swirling mist around me gives way to dark tree branches as I see the forest come through around me. My heart leaps into my throat as I desperately grasp at passing branches and shrubs, trying to slow my momentum. Just when I think my fall will never end, the sleeve of my cardigan snags on an outstretched tree limb, abruptly halting my descent. I dangle helplessly in the air, my feet kicking below me as I struggle to regain my composure. Adrenaline courses through my veins from the sudden shock of my fall and narrow escape. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, clinging tightly to the branch as it sways under my weight. The quiet creaking barely registers before an ominous snap pierces the silence. In an instant, the branch gives way and I plummet the remaining distance to the forest floor. I land flat on my back, all the air forced from my lungs on impact.

My eyes focus on the sight above me. Gloomy grey clouds swirl in whirlwind circles, like the way a hurricane might look - dark, menacing, and ominous. As I take in the dreary sky, the clouds appear to be spinning faster and faster, morphing into a giant whirlpool directly over my head. I can almost feel the power emanating from their rotation like a vacuum trying to suck me up into oblivion. Sitting up slowly, I feel the soreness in my bones, as if I had slept on the hard ground all night long. The aching penetrates deep, making even the slightest movements arduous and painful. I check for broken bones, wiggling my fingers and toes, bending my arms and legs, and nothing is seriously damaged. 

My hands are covered in dirt from the forest floor, if a forest is what you call it, I brush the soil from my hands as I scan the dreary trees around me. The floor is not covered in grass or moss, but a dark and crumbling soil that clings to my skin. It is as if the very life has been sucked from this place, leaving only dust in its wake. The trees that surround me are gnarled and twisted, with branches like boney claws grasping desperately at the oppressive gray sky. They are barren - not a single leaf or bud in sight, just rough bark that seems to slough off in scales. There is an unnatural stillness here, and a damp chill that seeps into my bones. The only movement comes from the fog that swirls eerily between the skeletal trees. It dances just out of reach, sinuous tendrils of mist that seem to have a mind of their own as they curl and twist. The fog circles me like a predator, watching closely but never coming close enough to touch. There is something sinister about this place, as if the very air is heavy with malice.

The world around me is eerily quiet - it's as if someone has hit the mute button on life itself. No birds singing, no rustle of leaves in the breeze, just deafening silence. All I can hear is the rhythmic ticking of a clock, though I see no timepiece nearby. The steady ticks seem unnaturally loud in the void of sound, almost oppressive as they count away each passing second. 

I stand from the floor, whipping my head around slowly to find the source of the ticking sound. When she surprises me, she steps out from behind one of the trees. Her long blonde hair cascades straight down to her waist, and I see her soft caramel eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of my dirt-covered self. I jump back in surprise as she stands still where she is, her nose twitching ever so slightly. I relax a little, recognizing the girl from the coffee shop as she steps around the tree, a lace-covered hand still holding to the black bark as if it will save her should I be dangerous.

I feel the panic set in when I see what she is wearing, even more so what rests on her head. Platform shoes that are taller than her feet are wide support her, white stockings disappear under periwinkle leather shorts, which cling tightly to reveal subtly muscular legs. A navy and white corset pulls her narrow waist in dramatically, leaving her body in a perfect hourglass figure. The long tail of her navy trenchcoat brushes the back of her knees as she walks, the black lace at the hem an elegant and beautiful touch. On the top of her head protruding from the platinum locks are two white bunny ears, they stand straight up twitching as she stares at me intently. She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out a silver pocket watch placing it in the palm of her lace gloved hand. Regarding the time, one of her ears flops over as she tsks softly and looks back up at me, stating simply in a melodic voice, "You're very late." I stare in bewilderment, wondering if I'm hallucinating this strange yet alluring sight before me. The girl tilts her head quizzically, bunny ears perked up once again, as she waits for me to respond.

“I…I…late for what?” my voice cracks a little, I have been sucked into this dream again and it’s starting to get old. 

The young woman smiles trotting over to me before taking my upper arm, pulling me along as she skips merrily down the forest path, her sheen white hair bouncing with each step. "Come now. So very little to do and so much time," she sings, her voice light and melodic. I hurry to keep up, worried she'll twist an ankle in those heels as we push on through the uneven ground littered with sticks and stones. She stops abruptly and I nearly crash into her back. Turning to me, her face grows pensive, her brows knitting together in concentration.

 "So little time, so much to do. Yes, yes, that's it!" she exclaims, having sorted out some internal debate. She resumes her brisk pace, heels clicking on the hard dirt before sinking into the soft soil.

 "You should have come through the door. You would have been closer to Hatter that way," she advises as we walk. "But the mirror will do. They are tricky, tricky, tricky. You could have come through completely upside down!" She elaborates on the precarious magic of portal mirrors - how I might have emerged feet where my head should be, eyes planted squarely on my chin. Such a disturbing image, but she seems utterly unfazed by the prospect of such chaos.

 "Upside down?" I ask, unable to grasp how that would even work. 

"Oh yes!" she readily confirms, no trace of doubt in her voice. Stopping short again, she spins to face me, eyes narrowed.

 "Let me see your hands," she demands. I hold them out obediently as she inspects them for the proper number of digits. Satisfied, her expression clouds again. She leans in close, peering at my face intently, and whispers "Do you have hands on your feet?" Mystified, I shake my head no, and she relaxes, beaming.

 "Good!" she declares cheerily before pirouetting away once more down the path.

"I'm sorry,"  Her brisk pace through the winding forest path leaves me struggling to match her graceful steps. She glides effortlessly over fallen branches and mossy stones while I stumble clumsily behind, longing to pause and catch my breath. The further we go, the more I yearn to turn around, retrace my footsteps and return to the place I began. But the mysterious maiden shows no signs of slowing, so I press on, determined not to lose sight of her flickering white dress between the trees up ahead.

"Who exactly are you?" I ask. She giggles white lace glove covering her soft pink glossy lips. My blunt question elicits a melodic laugh as she conceals her mouth with a dainty hand. I fail to grasp what amusement my inquiry brings her. With an elegant twirl, she stops abruptly and faces me, throwing her arms out wide as if presenting herself to an invisible audience.

"I am all that I am and all that I will be. I am Melina, herald to the late white queen," her face falls a little growing somber as she delivers her final line, "and the great red queen." Her prideful introduction gives way to melancholy, ears falling ever so slightly as she seems to choke on the word ‘great’. 

After sharing a somber beginning to our encounter, her demeanor suddenly shifts as a radiant grin spreads across her face, lighting up her cheeks with a rosy flush. Her long, snowy rabbit ears, which had drooped mournfully just moments before, now perk up with delight. With renewed enthusiasm, she begins merrily spinning and skipping down the forest path, practically bounding with each step. Her movements are graceful and spirited, reflecting her improved mood. I hurry to keep up as she continues on ahead, but struggle to match her graceful, nimble movements.

“Okay,” She effortlessly scurries up the side of the path, climbing over a large fallen tree blocking our way with ease. I attempt to follow her over the obstacle, but cannot mimic her graceful agility. “Next question, where am I? How did I get here? Isn’t this just a dream?”

Stumbling clumsily back onto the path, I watch her continue on, now skipping backwards so she can face me as we talk. Her mood is clearly much improved from when we first met, transformed from melancholy to positively gleeful in mere moments. Yet while her sadness has passed, my confusion remains. I hurry after her down the path, determined to make sense of this strange world I've found myself in.

“That is three questions, shall I answer in order or answer the ones that would make more sense?” she giggles continuously. 

“Nothing makes sense!” I argue looking directly at her soft white bunny ears knowing for certain no person could have ears like that all the time. 

"Well, you will never know that something makes sense unless it is said." Her response is not wrong but it doesn't sound right either, I can feel my head splitting already as I touch my temples. Her cryptic words echo in my mind, their meaning just out of reach.

“Where you are is, Otherland. I already told you how you got here-or how you should have come here.”

“The door,” I nod along as she speaks, acting as if I comprehend, but my confusion only grows. Her guidance feels less like truth and more like riddles. I want to believe her, to latch onto any clarity amidst the haze enveloping my mind. Yet as much as I strain to assemble the fragments, the full picture eludes me.  “But, I can never open it.”

“Well, now you couldn’t, not with red queen guarding it with her life.” Her elusive responses just leave me grasping at ghosts, the truth always dancing out of reach. If only she would just tell me plainly, perhaps then I could make sense of this madness.

"I hear what you’re saying, but none of it is making sense." I try again to comprehend the confusing words and concepts she is conveying, but they continue to elude me, slipping through my grasp like smoke. She lets out a soft sigh, her eyes rolling upward in frustration as if searching the empty void above for divine inspiration.

Realizing the futility of her abstract explanations that seem clear to her but remain a jumble to me, she concedes: "I am horrible with explanations, too many thoughts scampering about in my head. Dax is far better, he should be with the hatter now. We should keep moving." 

At the mention of "the hatter," vivid images from my shadowy dreams flood my mind - a tall, lean figure lurking in the darkness, clad in an impeccable black suit and glossy top hat. Could this be the mysterious man she is referring to? As I recall his chilling words uttered to me in the dead of night - "Ember, set me free" - a shiver runs down my spine. I sense this puzzling dream world and obscure reality are somehow connected, but the link remains just out of reach, as obscure to me as my companion's convoluted elucidations. 

We delve deeper into the sinister forest, the canopy now so dense above us that not even a sliver of the gloomy sky peeks through. All around us come unnerving cries and screeches from unseen creatures lurking in the shadows. I flinch with every sound, imagining the unseen horrors to be stalking us, waiting to strike. Never could I have imagined that venturing farther into the impenetrable darkness would reveal such thriving, albeit twisted, life. A screech erupts frightfully close by and I can't help but let out a yelp of fear.

"What was that?!" I exclaim, my voice quivering.

"Bandersnatches," Melina replies matter-of-factly, not missing a beat in her brisk pace. "They roam wild in these woods but won't bother you if you just keep moving." I scurry to stay right on her heels, her flowing jacket now within arm's reach. If any nefarious creature is out to get me, I want to stay as near as possible to my guide through this nightmare realm.

Without warning, another shriek pierces the stillness, causing Melina to halt abruptly in her tracks. Her tall white ears stand erect, nose twitching as she scans the darkened trees around us. I stop short as well, peering anxiously into the shadows, though I know my human eyes are no match for her heightened animal senses. Through the tense silence, the forlorn howl of a hound echoes.

"And that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I follow the mysterious girl through the dark forest. She pauses and turns back to me, silver hair glinting as if it is radiating it’s own light.

 "Harlan," she says just as quietly, a hint of urgency in her tone. "The hunt has begun." Her words send a chill down my spine as somewhere in the distance, I hear the baying of hounds. "No, no, no, I'm late," she mutters, checking the silver pocket watch she wears around her neck repeatedly, mumbling "no" to herself as she scrambles up the mossy forest walls on either side of the narrow path.

"Wait!" I cry out desperately, stumbling after her, not wanting to lose my strange guide in this ominous wood. But she halts and holds out a slender hand to stop me as the chilling howl of the hound cries out once more, closer now. She looks frightened, almost torn between staying to lead me through the dark trees and fleeing from some unseen pursuer.

 "No. Stay on the path. Move with haste, but stay on the path," she instructs firmly, her luminous eyes boring into mine, willing me to heed her warning before darting off into the blackness of the woods. I'm left alone on the winding trail, my heart pounding as the baying grows louder, wondering who or what hunts these woods at night and what fate awaits if I stray from the path.

I continue the way we were headed, my feet moving with much greater purpose now. The sounds disappear behind me and I feel my heart rate slowing, the dark forest breaks free and I can see the sky once again. The winding forest path stretches on endlessly before me, narrowing as it snakes between the ancient, towering trees. Their gnarled branches reach out overhead, blotting out the moonlight that had briefly illuminated my way. The ground underfoot grows more treacherous, littered with loose rocks, tangled roots and fallen limbs that threaten to twist my ankles with every hurried step. I've been walking for what feels like hours now, though it's impossible to tell in this timeless dreamscape where minutes blend seamlessly into days.

I look down and I no longer can see the clear path in front of me, I panic just slightly turning to see where I may have lost it and think I can retrace my steps to find it again. But behind me the fog has curled over the path like a cat curling around my legs, obscuring any signs of the trail in a thick, milky haze. All I can see now are mangled branches and other forest debris emerging from the mist. Oh fuck, I'm lost.

 I turn on my heel, ready to run back and find the path again, afraid I may no longer know my directions in this featureless sea of black. What if I am lost among this forest forever, doomed to wander endlessly through the featureless void? I'm stopped only by a soft whisper, turning I can see the fog whispering in curls as if the wind is blowing through it. The whisper is a soft low sound, rhythmic, like snoring...no, purring. 

"I wouldn't if I were you," the disembodied voice purrs, its notes echoing off the trees and curling around me like the fog itself. The voice seems to emanate from the fog itself, surrounding me with its hypnotic susurrus.

"Going back would be cat-astrophic."

[nerdraging4point0]

THIS! I am in love, and totally forgot to reblog it. But here I am now!

hocker player!Noah x reader !!! This is an 18+ fic. Anyone who interacts with this fic/my profile and does not have an age in their bio will be blocked. This is also a work of fiction, with a fictionalized version of a real person. If it isn’t your thing, don’t read. Summary: He’s an idiot in the streets, a freak in the sheets, and a 10 in the rink. And you’re kind of into it. Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings/Tags: p in v smut, aftercare, fluff, dumb hockey boy noah gets his own warning.

Author's Note: I post ONE DRABBLE!!!! ONE BRAINROT IDEA ROLLING AROUND IN MY HEAD!!!!!!!!! And we end up here. I'm not complaining though. Betas: None. We die like men. Banner: moi Tags: @silentglassbreak @nerdywitch20 @rottingfern @the-way-of-words

It started as a one-night stand.

The brewery was louder than usual, no thanks to the horde of men crowded around the corner table, hooting and hollering as they clinked their shot glasses together.

“Bachelor party?” You quirked an eyebrow at the bartender, Maisy, to which she shook her head.

“Hockey season’s done. This is the team’s ‘after-after-after party’, in their words.” She did air quotes as she walked to the front to close out a disgruntled-looking customer’s tab.

It was this, or going back home to a broken A/C unit. You figured you’d do your usual thing - watch whatever the fuck sport is on one of the TVs (that night, it was rodeo for some goddamn reason), and keep Maisy company.

Time dragged past. Maisy griped about customers hitting on her, you watched rodeo, you mindlessly scrolled social media. Every once in a while, a warm breeze carried through the open garage door. It played with your hair, washed over your skin, and felt like a blessing compared to being in your stuffy apartment.

But your stuffy apartment didn’t have loud men in it.

Here and there, you’d tune into the boisterous conversation from the hockey player’s table, but each time you tuned in, there wasn’t much substance - talk of “free agents, rink rats, wheeling snipes” is all you caught. Even if you understood the slang, none of it sounded that appealing.

About an hour and a half in, they started cheering one of their buddies on, but you didn’t bother turning to see what the commotion was about - turns out, you didn’t have to.

“You into rodeo?”

You turned in your stool. He towered above you, all smug smirk, elbow propped on the bartop, brown eyes flicking over your body flirtatiously.

It didn’t take any mental strain to figure out where he wanted to take this. Typically, you’d tell him to fuck off, not wanting to be treated like a cut of meat available at his beck and call.

But his eyes were kind, even though his gaze was raunchy. He spoke with such a seemingly innocent tone, one that hinted at genuine kindness. He looked warm and tall, and his short hair framed his face so perfectly.

The selling point? He was covered in tattoos.

And it had been so, so long.

“I like watching it.” You replied.

“I’m no cowboy, but I can give you the ride of a lifetime.”

It took everything in you to not laugh. He delivered it so cooly, punctuating it by poking his tongue in his cheek as he scanned you again. Thankfully, your lip bite looked more seductive than it did a means to be polite.

You glanced past him, finding a table full of eyes on the two of you, all of them waiting with bated breath for the show to begin.

Lucky for them, you were feeling particularly performative. You looked into his brown eyes with your best submissive, doe-eyed gaze as you slowly trailed an index finger down his chest.

“Well, tiger…” You purred, taking a moment to let your eyes wander to his bulge (which his black sweatshorts didn’t emphasize, much to your disappointment) before meeting his gaze again.

“Saddle up.”

He booked an Uber to his place, and you learned his name when he asked the driver “For Noah?” before getting in. You volunteered your name in the car, where he apologized for not introducing himself.

“I’m Noah.” You gave his extended hand a shake.

“I know, I heard.”

“Oh, haha…right.”

His home was ten minutes from the brewery, overlooking Venice Beach, where you had middle-of-the-road sex for hours. Hockey player stamina, you guessed.

But he was so handsome with his tongue on your cunt while he worshiped you with his dark, puppy dog gaze. He sounded so pretty as he grunted your name while hammering into you. You took him, tallboy length and girth (a pleasant surprise after the shorts mislead you) in your mouth ‘like a champ, sniper, God damn’ - those were his words, right before coming down your throat. He stroked your hair so tenderly as you came down from your only orgasm of the night, and told you how pretty you were in his arms.

As you walked out the door in the wee hours of the morning, he gave you a pass for the upcoming season. You took him up on the offer, though you knew you’d never see him again. He was a complete airhead, a needy fuckboy looking for his ‘puck bunny’ - another term you learned when you googled what ‘sniper’ meant in hockey slang.

Unfortunately, he was becoming a regular at the brewery. You ran into him on the patio again a couple weeks later, the direct sunlight revealed the faintest of freckles on his shoulders, and you were pulled right back in. It went from a one night stand, to one night a month, then one night a week.

The sex was boring, nigh formulaic the first couple times you met: he’d give you head for two minutes, jackhammer in missionary for ten, then maybe jackhammer in doggy for five more… if he didn’t come during missionary. Rinse and repeat four or five times in one night.

After the sixth hookup, you cashed in on the offer for the season pass. Seats were in the 100 section, which was more than fine by you, considering that “fucking a hockey player” wasn’t on your life’s bingo card.

The games were more enjoyable than you anticipated - especially when the fights broke out. On occasion, Noah would appear on the Jumbotron. There was one moment where he was benched, resting his elbows on his knees, sulking while gnawing on his mouthguard which hung like a fishhook out the side of his mouth.

Normally, you’d find it pitiful. But there was a disappointment paired with the frustration in his eyes that tugged at your heartstrings. You found yourself going to games more often.

It’s been seven months. You’ve lost count of your hookups with him, but it’s easily upwards of fifteen, and he’s certainly upped his game. You’ve been fucked in the backseat of his car, fucked in the showers long after practice, had a puck wedged into your mouth to muffle your cries, been told more than once that you look “so fucking sexy bouncing on me”, had your bare tits pressed against the glass of his hotel room window while he rolled his hips into you, and you’ve soiled his bedsheets…more than once.

But it's just a fling, only a fling. Nothing more - according to him, at least.

"Gotta keep my head focused on the game - I want to get us to playoffs," he'd said. "Can't get into a relationship. Hope that's okay."

Sure. Sure, that’s fine. And why are you still here, giving him the time of day?

Maybe it’s because one night, when it became weekly, he made some off-hand remark about your smile giving him a second wind whenever he saw you in the stands. Maybe it’s because sometimes he looked at you a little too long…though it was usually followed with an innuendo when you caught him.

Maybe it’s because each time you found a hole in the fence of his stupid, sexy exterior and were able to peek through, you saw a heart of gold, a well-to-do man.

But if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was an absolute ass with the way he’s throwing punches on the ice right now.

Tonight’s game has been a gongshow. Multiple fights throughout the game, chirps thrown from the sidelines, all of it culminating with one of Noah’s teammates scoring a beautiful tie-breaking buzzer beater.

He ambles out of the locker room, and your heart sinks. Sweet baby looks miserable - so bruised, so swollen, and tired; the bags under his eyes are more prominent, his lower lip fat on one side. But when he finds you, a lopsided, sleepy smile forms.

“Hey, champ,” You smile back sympathetically as you wrap him in an hug. “How you doin’?”

“Happy with the win, but ready to go.” He slurs, chin digging into the top of your head with each syllable.

“My place?” You ask, giving him two quick pats to end the hug.

“If that’s okay,” He steps back, offering his white jersey to you, spreading his hand open to show you the bloodstains below the neckline. “Can we use the magical, whatever-the-hell stain remover you have on this, please?”

“Of course.” You smile, taking the jersey in one hand while offering your other hand for him to hold - mainly because he looks like he’ll fall over if you don’t. “C’mon, let’s make like a tree.”

You’re pretty sure the joke went over his head, because he doesn’t say anything when takes your hand, feet dragging on the carpet as you walk to the exit.

“Just want to be inside you, snipe," he mumbles as you cross the threshold. "Won't be anything wild this time, though. Hope that’s okay.”

“No complaints from me.” With a gentle squeeze, you let go of his hand as you walk to the driver’s side. He throws his gear in the backseat before plopping into the passenger's side, and even with the seat back, he’s still bending awkwardly to fit into your car.

The drive to your place is quiet, save for the hum of your car radio and the road noise. You’ve gone home together after games, but this feels different, more solemn than the other times you’ve gotten together post-game. Maybe because he’s taken more of a beating than usual. But you’re thinking about that goofy ass smile he flashed as soon as he laid eyes on you tonight, the way he let himself relax in your arms, the way he asked you to take care of his jersey.

After a second, longer shower, he ambles into the bedroom, grey sweats hanging low on his hips. There’s a smattering of green and purple bruises all over his upper body from games past, and twice the amount of red spots that will be dark by morning.

“C’mere.” You hold your arms out, waggling your fingers to invite him into your embrace. He falls forward, crawling up the foot of the bed, coming to a stop as he props himself on his elbows above you.

With one hand, he drags his sweats down, not bothering to pull the waistband further than the crease below the swell of his ass. He takes hold of his heavy cock, and slowly sheathes his semi inside, forehead dropping to your chest as he exhales with a soft moan.

You press soft kisses to the top of his head as you run your fingers through his soft, mostly dried hair, then down his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back. His skin is still tacky from the warm shower, goosebumps forming in the wake of your touch. His cock twitches involuntarily, harder now as his fists clutch the bedsheets in want - a subtle telling of his desire to put you through the mattress.

"Fuck, sniper..." He sighs, his torso falling flush with yours as he relaxes further. "I think I might be in love with you."

Silence. Heat floods into your hands and stomach, your hand stopping mid stroke on his back, and he goes still in response. As he lifts his head, his dick flexes inside of you, and normally it would pull a moan out of you, but all you do is stare at him in disbelief.

He analyzes you, his concerned gaze trying to gauge if he misspoke.

“Fuck, I’m sorry -“ He shakes his head, the same disappointment you’ve seen on the rink in his eyes, and your heart sinks.

“I think I am too.” It tumbles out before you can think too hard about it.

It’s his turn to be stunned into silence now.

Long division isn’t his specialty. He once wore a polo to a black-tie event. He mispronounces words that were on your seventh grade spelling test. He thinks with his cock.

But he calls his friends to check on them, he admits when he’s wrong, and he makes sure you feel safe.

“Say it again.” He whispers.

“I think I’m in love with you too.” You smile, placing both hands on either cheek, stroking the smooth skin under one of his eyes with your thumb.

He lifts himself off of your torso, enough to tenderly lock lips with you as he slowly rolls his hips back. The drag of his cock is slow, intentional - like he’s focused on giving everything he can to you rather than taking your pleasure all for himself.

There’s no rush, no race to get the other to come first - just slow, passionate rolling of hips, and the exchanging of deep, deep affection for the other via kisses, nibbles, and licks.

He rests his forehead against yours, warm breath fanning your chin and neck. His mouth is open like he wants to speak, but after a few breaths, he presses his lips against yours, pressing his tongue past your lips, all the while seemingly unbothered by the bump of his swollen lip.

When you come, with your soft whines and hands wrenched in his hair, he doesn’t follow far behind. He pulls out, groaning and rutting against your stomach as he comes in warm spurts.

When he has nothing left, he collapses next to you, lazily grabbing the pre-wet washcloth on his nightstand to clean you. You’re still catching your breath as he slowly cleans up, doing his best to ensure that even in his pussy dumb, love-drunk haze that you are taken care of.

When he tosses the cloth in the corner of the room, you roll onto your side, resting your head on his chest while draping an arm across his stomach.

The two of you are silent for a few seconds as you regulate. The rise and fall of his chest pushes your head, a movement akin to a boat bobbing in the ocean. His heart starts to go from a quick “ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump” to a slower, waltz-like cadence.

“I want to date you.” He murmurs, still working to catch his breath.

You smile, giving yourself a moment of silence to let the gravity of his ask register.

“Good.” You prop yourself on your elbows, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear as your smile becomes a grin. “Take me for the ride of a lifetime.”