#PLEASE don't look at me right now i will be taking NO questions on my state of mind

[roxygen22]

following this beautiful sickness ask trend...female reader fainting due to stress & her having a small argument with/getting scolded by Timothée while he takes care of her?🩷👀

Can't

You could hear the rumble of Timothée voice, but you were unable to focus on his words. While he chattered on while looking at his laptop right beside you, it sounded like he was rooms away. It took all of your energy and mental faculties to focus on just trying to breathe. Black spots crowded your line of sight as you put a hand out onto the counter to stabilize yourself. The motion caught Timothée's attention.

"[Y/N]?" he asked in concern.

"I-," was all you could mutter before your knees buckled. Timothée jumped from the bar stool to catch you as you fainted. "Whoa, [Y/N]! [Y/N]!" He gently lowered you to the ground and laid you on your back. He shook your shoulders and patted your cheeks. "Come on, [Y/N]. Wake up!"

Your eyelids fluttered and he released a shuddered breath in relief. You looked around, momentarily confused.

"You passed out. Again." Timothée looked down at your face in disapproval. "When was the last time you ate anything? Drank any water?" He helped you slowly sit up and lean against the couch.

"I'm fine. Stop fussing," you said, embarrassed.

"Stop fus- Listen here. YOU aren't the one who has to watch YOU faint. It is scary as hell. Every time I am terrified that you aren't going to wake up. One of these days I'm not going to be here to catch you before you hit the ground. Now. Answer me." He furrowed his brow and locked eyes with you. "When was the last time you ate or drank anything?"

Your eyes fell. "I don't know."

"You have to stop overworking yourself. You have to take breaks and take care of yourself."

"I know, but the success of the project I've spent YEARS of my life on comes down to getting this one thing right. I can't stop."

"Dammit, [Y/N], it's not worth your health," he shouted. "You need to slow down. The world, this project, will not collapse if you take 15 minutes here and there to take care of yourself."

"I CAN'T, TIMOTHÉE," you snapped.

Timothée recoiled slightly at your reaction. "And I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore," he said quietly. He got up, grabbed his keys and wallet, and walked out.

You stared at the door with your mouth agape in disbelief for a solid two minutes before tears clouded your vision. You and he have had heated arguments before, but never once had he walked out. He's right, you thought to yourself. You won't be doing anyone any good if you end up hospitalized.

You shakily stood, pushing yourself up using the frame of the couch for support. You slowly walked to the refrigerator and refilled your water bottle. Nauseous and lacking energy needed to make a meal, you opted to snack on crackers instead. You traipsed back to the couch and all but collapsed with your kitchen haul in hand. You hadn't stopped and relaxed in so long, you really weren't sure what to do next. Before you could grab the TV remote, you heard keys unlocking the front door. Timothée stepped through.

"I couldn't leave knowing that I just left you on the floor." He shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to make eye contact.

"I'm glad you did."

His head shot up as he gave you a questioning look, unsure if he heard you correctly.

"It was uncharacteristic enough to shock me to my senses. You were right. No job is worth my health, and certainly not worth losing you over. I'm sorry, Timothée."

"I don't want an apology. I want to see action. Shut down that laptop for the night. Relax. Be with me. Please."

"Deal," you smiled and patted the seat next to you on the couch.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List: @groovyqueer, @bluizh, @jindongdongie, @croatianprincess

[hopleii]

should've said no,

content: dazai x fem!reader, toxic relationship, lovebombing, gaslighting, manipulating, cheating, fighting, swearing, angst no comfort, kinda ooc but kinda not, semi-proofread, trashy writing

a/n: had a mental breakdown abt my ex so i was like 'our whole relationship would be a good story' so yeah!

you knew, you always knew that dazai had a way with women. he was handsome and charming, he could easily get any girl he wanted with just a few words, and that's how he got you.

a year ago, you went to a formal event with your friends. you were third-wheeling with them and their boyfriends, as expected. taking small sips out of your glass, enjoying the tart and sweet taste of wine, you sat there unaware that you had caught someone's eye.

"what's a pretty girl like you sitting alone here?" a feathery voice from behind you snapped you out of your thoughts, you turned back to see a brunette man with a handsome face, no, handsome was an understatement. he was gorgeous.

"my, my...you are indeed pretty," he says in a gentle voice as if you'd float away if he wasn't careful. you got a bit shy and looked away, averting your gaze to cover up the flustered look on your face. "hey...look at me." the man whined,

those were the exact same words he said that pulled you back to reality, stopping your sweet moment of reminiscing on the first time you both met, at a party, where you both danced the night away.

and now you barely even hold each other anymore, "y/n...look at me!" he yells as he grabs your chin to face him, "listen to me! god, what is going on with you?" he yells again.

oh...right. the two of you were in the middle of an argument, it all started off with a backhanded comment, now both of you are fighting in the middle of the night. "what's going on with me? what's going on with you!?" you yell back, "you've been staying out late and you don't even tell me why! don't you know how worried i get?"

"how many times do we need to talk about this...I'm out working okay!? I just got home and you're already yelling at me...give me a break, I've had a long day..." he groans as he adjusts the collar of his blouse, a habit he does when things get too heated. but as he adjusts his collar, something caught your eye, something red.

"what is that?" you asked, dazai's face went pale when he hears your question because he knew exactly what you were talking about, "what's what?" he replied, his tone becoming calmer and quieter to avoid suspicions

"that." you said as you walked over to him and pulled down his collar, lipstick marks.

you let go of his collar as you let out a quivering gasp, tears forming in your eyes. "b-baby...it's not what it looks like, okay!?" dazai gently grabs your shoulders before pulling you into a hug, trying to comfort you and stop you from crying, but instead, it only fueled your anger even more because you got to smell the cheap, floral perfume on him.

"it was for a case at the agency okay? i...i had to get information from someone a-and.." he paused, losing the words he was about to say when he saw your face stained with tears as you looked at him with disgust and betrayal. "baby...just trust me, okay? it was for a mission...nothing more, okay? you're the only one i love." he says as he tightened the hug, making soothing motions on your back to try and comfort you, to earn your trust again.

"believe me..please? I'm sorry I didn't tell you...forgive me please? forgive me if you love me, baby...you trust me, right? because you love me?" dazai shaked your shoulders gently, looking at you with pleading eyes, urging you to believe him.

but you were always an understanding girl, weren't you? you always gave people second chances. and that might've been the worst mistake you made.

"y/n..say something!" he shakes you again, "I..I believe you." you say with hesitation, to be honest, you didn't. but he loved you, right? just like he said in that party a year ago...he loved you.

"r-really? I'm glad...you're not mad at me, right? you don't hate me?" he sighed, relief washing over him. his words made him seem so genuine, his face looked so innocent but there was still a part of you that didn't believe him at all. "fuck...you hate me, don't you?"

you get nervous at his words, your heart ached as he said that, "n-no! no, I believe you...I promise. nothing you do could ever make me hate you.."

dazai smiled softly and kissed you on the forehead, his mood shifting as if none of this happened.

months went by after this incident, he still came home late, some nights he didn't even come home. everytime you tried to talk to him about it, he'd get defensive and start yelling at you, calling you stupid to think that he was anywhere else but work, defending himself when all you did was ask him "where have you been?"

your friends warned you, your parents told you, your colleagues tried to talk to you but dazai had messed up your head so much that you were blinded by a false sense of love,

"so you'd rather listen to your friends than your own boyfriend!? why won't you trust me? y/n...come on, trust me!"

dazai's words echoed in your mind, you wanted to believe him. you wanted to trust that the man you loved wouldn't betray you, that there was a valid reason. his late nights turned into weekends away, excuses grew flimsier, and the distance between you widened with each passing day. yet, every time you tried to confront him, he would turn the tables, making you feel guilty for doubting him, for questioning his loyalty.

your friends' warnings fell on deaf ears, drowned out by dazai's promises of love and devotion. you clung to the hope that things would get better, that the man you fell for would return to you.

as the months passed, the weight of your doubts grew heavier, suffocating you with each passing day. you tried to bury them beneath layers of false assurances and forced smiles, but they refused to stay hidden for long.

the click of the door jolted you from your thoughts, but the sight of dazai didn't bring the relief you craved. his expression was unreadable, his eyes avoiding yours as he shuffled into the room.

"hey, i'm home," he mumbled, his voice barely audible above the silence that hung between you.

you opened your mouth to speak, to confront him, but the words caught in your throat. instead, you watched in silence as he moved past you, his presence heavy with unspoken truths.

"we need to talk," you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

dazai's gaze flickered with guilt, and he nodded wordlessly, the weight of your words settling on his shoulders. you took a shaky breath, preparing yourself for the conversation that would shatter everything you thought you knew.

"hmm? okay..." he hummed as he sat down in front of you, "what did you wanna talk about, pretty? oh, before that, i got you a gift! do you like it?" he says as he presented you a big box of chocolates that would probably take you weeks to finish. he was always like this, wasn't he? showering you with love and gifts, burying you with compliments every time he knows you're about to slip away to make sure you shut up and forget about the messed up things he did.

"it's not about the chocolates, dazai," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

he frowned, confusion flickering across his features before he plastered on a charming smile. "of course, my love. what's on your mind? you know you can tell me anything," he said, his voice oozing with faux sincerity.

you took a deep breath, gathering the courage to lay bare the truth. "i know about the other women, dazai," you said, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "i know about the lies, where you've been going all these nights. i can't do this anymore."

for a moment, there was silence, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. and then, with a scoff, he leaned back in his chair, his smile slipping into a sneer.

"oh, is that what this is about?" he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "you really think you can just walk away from me? after everything I've done for you?"

"i deserve better than this, dazai," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the roaring storm of emotions inside you.

but he just laughed, a cold, mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. "deserve better? you think anyone else would put up with you?" he spat, his eyes ablaze with contempt. "you're lucky to have me, y/n."

with a heavy heart, you rose from your seat, the weight of his words like chains around your ankles. you wanted to scream, to lash out at him for the pain he had inflicted, but you knew it would only fuel his cruel satisfaction.

instead, you turned away, your resolve hardening with each step you took toward the door. his laughter followed you, a haunting echo reverberated in the empty space between you.

"you'll be back," he called after you, his voice laced with venom. "you always come back."

© — hopleii

[scar-lie]

Omega Pt. 13 {Natasha}

Summary : Talking and asking Natasha are hard enough but feeling rejected are even disappointing

Pairing : Alpha ! Natasha Romanoff x Omega ! Reader

Warning : Nothing other than feeling hurt

Word count : 1.596

{OMEGA PT. 12} {OMEGA PT. 13} {OMEGA PT. 14}

No one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know

You're standing in front of Natasha's room, knocking, and when the door opened, you smiled at her, but she just got out of the way so you could come in.

“Sorry, I lost track of time playing with them, but don't worry, they are clean and ready to pick up.” Natasha has had the pups for hours, and she was supposed to bring them back an hour ago for bedtime, but she was just so lost on them that she lost track of time.

“It's ok, actually, uhm...” You shyly shift on your spot, getting nervous about what you're going to ask because, since the talk three days ago, she has tried to avoid the subject and you as much as possible.

“Can we sleep here? ”The question makes her tense and look up at you, shocked and analyzing you, so you quickly look down, knowing asking something like this to the alpha after rejection might not go well.

“I can take the corner, or we if you don't want to sleep next to them,” you fidget the hem of your shirt, getting nervous and expecting her to reject the offer, because for the past 3 weeks all you wanted was to talk to her or be near her, and for James, he put distance between you two because, first, he knows the alpha you want is talk to her or be near her, and for James, he put distance between you two because first, he knows the alpha you want is Natasha, and Natasha wants you, so he distance himself to not make things more complicated than they are, and second, he already found her omega.

“What? ”You grip the hem of your shirt, accepting her response as a rejection, so you sigh and look up at her with a small smile.

“Nothing; can I have them now? .... It's already past their bedtime.” You didn't wait for her answer; you quickly took two to put them in your room and came back to another one.

You're so embarrassed that you almost run just so you could leave right away from her gaze, and when you're in your safe place, your room with your pups, you quickly shut the door, sigh heavily, and start to get ready for the night.

But 5 minutes after you lay down with your pups, there's three soft knocks on your door, making you frown. You're not expecting anyone at this time, not unless Wanda or Yelena need something.

But before you could stand up or shout to the other person on the other side to come in, the door squeaked, making you nervous and scared until it was slightly open. Then Natasha's face was shown, making you sigh in relief.

“Hey, sorry for bothering you at this time, but...” Natasha clears her throat while you sit up on the bed and look at her.

“Can I sleep here instead? "I could take the floor or the couch." You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Natasha has come to you for the first time in 3 days and is asking something so cutely that makes you smile a little, but Natasha feels the opposite; she feels nervous and scared, not sure if this is right that it makes her feel small.

“Or not, it's ok, I’m just going to go back to my room.” Natasha lowered her head, ready to close your door, but you quickly took the comforter off of you.

“No, Nat, wait.” You took her arm and lightly tugged her, so she looked back and looked at your face with a small smile.

“You can sleep here.” You open the door widely and move to the side for her to come in. She smiles at you and holds her pillow tightly, then comes in.

“Thanks, I’ll just take the floor.” You shake your head at her and then take her hand.

“No, you can sleep with us in the bed; there's plenty of room anyway,” you softly said, and when you realize that you're holding her hand, you quickly look away from her but never take your hands off of her.

“It's ok, I’m just going to take the floor, I insist.” You nodded at her and retrieved your hand. Honestly, it's kind of hurtful that she refused to sleep with you and the pups, but you understand her and the situation. I mean, you two weren't mates anymore. 

"Ok,” you go. Take your thickest blanket for her to lay down on and use as a mattress, then a blanket and another pillow for her to use, to at least make her feel comfortable on the cold, hard floor of your room.

You plan to lay it beside you, but when you see her walk to the end of the bed, you quickly go lay it where she is.

“Tell me if you need another thick blanket to lay down or if it's uncomfortable.” You then put the pillow down and stand at the bed, giving her space to get comfortable.

“Thanks, have a good night.” You just give her a small smile and go back to lay down beside your pups.

But the thing is, even if you try hard to sleep, you just can't. The urge to lay beside her makes it so hard to control yourself to just lay beside her and her scents that's lingering in the air of your room. It took every single fiber of your being to not just get up and be with her.

So when the clock hits 2 a.m. You sit up and set your bed to have a barrier around the edges so the pups won't fall down, then you go stand before Natasha with your pillow. You're contemplating whether this is a good decision or not.

“Just do it,” you sigh and slowly crowl next to her, then put your pillow beside hers and slowly lift her right arm since she's lying on her left, then slowly and carefully scoot in the space in front of her, your back facing her front, then gently lay her arm around your waist.

But you didn't expect her to shift, then tighten her hold on you, then pull you closer, cuddling with you while she nuzzles her face in the back of your head, smelling your hair and scent. Your heart flutters and beats faster, happy that she still finds your scent pleasant and is still looking for it, but that’s quickly taken away from you when Natasha sits up and scoots away from you.

“You shouldn’t be here sleeping; you should be in your bed.” You sit up and turn around her, disappointed and hurt while clenching your hands on the comforter in your lap.

“I know, I just want to sleep with you,” you mumble, but she could still hear it. You then bite your lower lips, getting nervous and shy around her.

“Just go back to bed and sleep, please.” You look down, and Natasha is getting guilty by the second, but she doesn’t want you to get a cough or get your back hurt.

“You really don’t want me to at least sleep next to you, do you? ”You chew your bottom lips and play with the comforter while nervously waiting for her response, but that didn’t come; the room became silent once again, and the agonizing silence is enough for you to know what her possible answer is.

But when Natasha was going to answer you, one of the pups started to cry, so you quickly took your pillow, left the comfort of Natasha’s makeshift bed on the floor, and went to tend to the needs of your pups.

“You should go back to sleep; I’ll deal with them,” you said to her. You took him in your arms and lulled him to sleep. You're thankful that he cried because you didn’t know how to get out of that situation, but Natasha didn't. She wants to cradle you in her arms and tell you that she craves your cuddles and touch, but when she notices the distance in your voice and presence, her shoulders slump, and she just lays down to try to get at least a little bit of sleep.

Natasha woke up earlier than you or the pups, and because she didn’t want to wake you up, she neatly folded the comforters and placed them on the couch with the pillow you gave her. She then quietly left the room, going to her room to do her morning routine before going down to take breakfast and go to the gym.

You, on the other hand, are already awake when she’s halfway through folding the comforter, but you pretend to be asleep to escape the embarrassment that’s lingering in yourself, maybe hoping that she at least gives you a forehead kiss or the pups, but that didn’t come, making you sad and disappointed first thing in the morning, so you just sadly smile at yourself while admiring the face of your daughter that’s starting to stir awake, so you scoop her in your arm with the biggest smile you could pull off.

“Hi! Good morning, my little princess. How was your sleep? Was it good? Hmm? ”She coos and giggles a little, pulling a genuine smile out of you and making you happy to see her out of a life-and-death situation, but soon the two boys start to wake up, so your morning turns pretty quickly from sad and disappointed to happy and grateful to wake up another day with your pups.

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

The Vees are Overlords but also a business, therefore they hold meeting and work with clients right and workers? Well what if a Business client or worker unknowingly said something about Retro!Reader in a meeting?

If its before Vox it come be commenting on Retro's cooking, as I see Retro would always ensure Vox had home made snacks for while hes working. Something like "That House Wife of yours is decent in the Kitchen, I see why you keep them there"

If its before Valentino I assume its after Retro brings him something between shoots, some fool would comment on Retro's looks or ask why Retro isn't one of Val's 'Stars' kinda a "Bod like that should be in those sheets"

Velvette would most likely be dealing with jealous models who don't know fully who Retro is but Retro gets to walk in, get the nice personal design treatment from Velvette and not have to talk the cat walk? Bitch fight would incoming.

Hope you don't mind my ramblings and if this sparks something Hooray!

He would destroy the person in question if it’s an insult^

Vox is always boasting about Retros cooking, how skilled and talented they are. He literally never shuts up about it. Now, the demon who said ‘I can see why you keep them there’ might have meant it as a sort of joke or some shit, but Vox would not be pleased. He does not take kindly to people who insult or degrade their partners (ironic, considering Valentino), so someone who’s making that sort of implication about his wife? Death.

He’d sort of chuckle and go ‘excuse me?’, daring the demon to repeat themselves. It’s over for them either way. If the demon backtracks, Vox will very pointedly dedicate the rest of the meeting to bragging about all of Retros other skills, too. He’d try to start by mentioning it off hand, but he’d get so invested in proving a point to the low life that insulted his wife that he’d get carried away. He’d go on and on about how creative and thoughtful Retro is, how nice they are to everyone, including those who work at the company. He would not-so-politely remind everyone that Retro knits sweaters for people at the company picnics, how they always cook at least half the food at the company get together and parties, stuff like that. It’s a stupid move to insult Vox’s wife, but insulting the person who everyone loves just because of how nice and kind they are? That’s ten times dumber.

Valentino would shoot a bitch on sight if they made a comment about Retro in bed. Yes it’s hell, insults and comments like that are to be expected, but he has standards when it comes to Retro. Val is so unbelievably protective of them when they come by the studio, it’s startling. He knows what Vox would do if anything happened, and Val doesn’t want to see Retro in any sort of compromising situation to begin with. He’d do his best to keep everyone in line.

He’d shoot glares and insults at anyone who looks at them the wrong way, anyone who looks at them for too long. Keep in mind, Val is in a wonderful mood whenever Retro visits him at work. They help him with scripting, and he’s always admiring them and gushing over them. He draws little hearts in the margins of his papers and sometimes lets them on set. He’s always nervous about it, but it works out nicely. They usually only help adjust someone’s clothes (with how few they’re wearing, it’s very important), the perspective of cameras, sometimes the hair or makeup (only a little). They know exactly what Val is looking for, and how to get the scene how he wants it. They’re calm and polite and everyone is just so relieved about it. Retro even does their best to make sure the actors are comfortable, the clothes aren’t too tight, the clasps work correctly, things like that. So yeah, if someone makes a comment about them, they’d be lucky to only receive extra hours of work as a punishment.

Velvette? Okay, if Retro was the type to confront people, Vel would record the entire thing. Unfortunately, Retro usually pretends they don’t hear a thing. They’d rather ignore it and keep up the nice and polite house wife routine. They’re probably busy admiring their lovers, anyway. So, instead, Velvette would shoot a model a glare and walk right up to them, demanding they tell her what makes them think they can say such a thing.

Retro gets treated special because Velvette respects them, thinks they’re awesome and adorable and can’t do anything wrong. Mostly. So, the fact that one of her models (people she sees as frequent fuck ups) would try to put themselves on Retros level? The fact that someone would even think they’re anywhere near as good as them, anywhere near as deserving of Velvettes attention and affection as Retro? A ridiculous notion. The model is lucky not to be torn apart by Val. Velvette would go off on the model, listing every single mistake they’ve made in the past hour alone.

The workers at Vee Tower learn not to fuck around when it comes to Retro pretty quick.

[archiveikemen]

『Surprise Bag』 Story Sale: Prologue

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection and is not intended as replacement for official localisation. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Warnings and FAQ

Ever since becoming the Fairytale Keeper, I’ve built some level of resistance to unusual happenings.

However, despite that, some strange things that happen in Crown still manage to surpass my expectations.

…

“Jude” (Ellis): Good morning, Kate. I’m going to make you happy today too.

Kate: … Jude, uhh… did you suffer a blow to the head?

“Jude” (Ellis): Eh? I didn’t take any blows to anywhere, I’m feeling great.

Kate: What happened to your usual scumbag attitude?! Are you sick? Injured, perhaps? We must take you to the hospital at once!

“Ellis” (Jude): Tch, what’s the ruckus about?

“Jude” (Ellis): Oh, Jude.

“Jude” (Ellis): Huh? Why is Jude me?

“Ellis” (Jude): That’s my line. Why are YOU me?

Kate: W-What?

“Elbert” (Alfons): AHHA! This is getting awfully amusing.

Kate: Al… wait, Sir Elbert?!

Kate: Don’t tell me… the one behind you is Alfons?

“Alfons” (Elbert): … When I looked into the mirror, I saw that I turned into Al.

“Elbert” (Alfons): It’s interesting to look at myself objectively.

“Elbert” (Alfons): Oh, El. Please put in more energy when speaking. It’s disturbing to hear myself sound so depressed.

“Alfons” (Elbert): … Energy? … I’ll try.

“Alfons” (Elbert): … ahha.

“Elbert” (Alfons): It was a mistake on my part to expect energy from you.

Kate: Maybe, or not just maybe…

Kate: — Did Jude and Ellis, Alfons and Sir Elbert swap bodies!?

Kate: How did this happen…?

“Ellis” (Jude): Definitely that quack’s fault, I’m going to beat him up.

…

All members of Crown gathered to question Roger, who simply laughed at the situation.

Roger: My bad. I can’t believe it took effect this fast. Aren't I a genius?

Victor: Don't say such things, Roger! Why did such a cute… I mean, serious thing happen?

Liam: Victor, you’re exposing your inner thoughts. Also, your words and facial expression don’t match.

Roger: I was conducting research on whether a curse can be transferred if I swapped the bodies of a cursed person with a normal person.

William: Your insatiable inquisitive mind is truly eye opening, but shouldn't your test subjects be a cursed person and a normal person instead?

Roger: I thought it’d be dangerous if something were to happen to someone who isn’t cursed, so I decided to experiment on these guys first.

Harrison: What do you take us for? We die just like normal people.

“Elbert” (Alfons): Let’s drown that four-eyed musclehead in the River Thames.

“Ellis” (Jude): Yeah. Tie some stone weights onto him and plop him in to make it quick.

Kate: Wait, please don't say such unsettling things with Sir Elbert and Ellis’ faces!

“Jude” (Ellis): But Roger is so cool for being able to make a drug like this.

Liam: … Now Jude is being a softie. Goodness, this is chaos!

Roger: Relax. I’ll produce an antidote if you let me collect the data I need.

Roger: … If I can produce an antidote, that means I can experiment on the others too.

Harrison: … You just said something disturbing.

Roger: I said nothing.

“Elbert” (Alfons): I must say, you have no rights to be bargaining with us. Pardon my vulgar language, but please die.

Harrison: Woah, um… Liam? Oi, oi. — Is he asleep?

“Jude” (Ellis): I touched his head, sorry. I was curious to see if I can use Jude’s curse’s abilities.

Roger: Heh, the curse’s abilities remain in the body, huh. So I am a genius after all!

(This is getting out of hand…!)

Kate: Please give us the antidote immediately, Roger!

Kate: … Oh my goodness, what’s going to happen if this reaches Her Majesty's ears?

Roger: She might fire me for this.

Roger: … That’s why you should help keep an eye on them so word doesn't get out, lil lady.

Kate: Eh? Roger? Hey!

“Ellis” (Jude): Tch… useless. Getting fired just like that.

“Jude” (Ellis): Oh, Jude, body can’t take cig—

“Ellis” (Jude): *cough*... tastes like shit. Ellis, you need to train yourself to take at least ONE cigar.

“Elbert” (Alfons): I could get away with a lot of bad things with this face, don't you think?

Alfons: … Is this spoon beautiful, Kate?

Kate: T-This is driving me insane…!

I so badly wanted it to be some horrible april fools joke, but the scene unfolding before my eyes showed otherwise.

At that point in time, I still didn't know.

— To be continued.

[hwanchaesong]

Quintessence (Forbidden Love) Preview

pairing: Sunghoon X F!Reader

synopsis: He was a king, you were a queen. A perfect match? No. Not when the heavens and earth collide within him. When that happens, are you ready to stand in between the stars and dust to stay by his side?

word count: tba

genre & warnings: angst, smut, fluff, lowkey (?) inspired by Queen Charlotte, warnings tba

a/n: this is a teaser for the upcoming Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels series that i've been working on. i hope y'all look forward to it. please don't hesitate to tell me if you wanted to be added to the taglist. tysm 🩷

"I said, leave! I don't want to see you here! I don't want you near me!" Sunghoon yells, slamming his hands down the table, turning to you with his eyes ablazed as he points towards the door.

He stays rooted on the wooden floor when you shook your head, fire raging within your veins as well as you proved your will to him.

"I will not be going anywhere, Sunghoon." you fought back, the clacking of your heels thumping through his brain.

"Did you not heard or understand what I said?!" his booming voice echoed around the observatory, one would think that he's angry. But you know him well enough to recognize the hint of desperation, the laced sadness and disappointment in his tone.

You know him well enough to understand that he says the most absurd things out there whenever he's building a wall around him.. a wall that will shield you from his insanity.

"I heard you loud and clear, Sunghoon." you replied, voice unyielding while your gaze is trained on him and only him. "You told me to leave. That you don't wan't to see me. That you don't want me near you. What I have not heard is that you don't love me." you matched his roaring volume, not caring about the servants outside the building that might hear the commotion.

Sunghoon held a hand up, a silent order for you to cease your steps towards him, "Please, Y/N, listen to me for once."

"I have listened to you, your family, your mother, the whole nation the whole time!" you bellowed, coming face to face with him and swatting his hand away, you stare right into his eyes, challenging him into a duel.

"This time, it is you who should listen to me. Sunghoon, do you love me?" you inquired, your hands shaking, tears making your eyes glossy but you wouldn't back off now.

"You are a mere vessel for the next king, know your place. A foreign human like you isn't suitable for His Majesty, be grateful enough that you were graced with a royal bloodline in your country."

"Y/N, don't do this. I beg of you." Sunghoon rubbed his face in frustration, he doesn't want to fight with you. He doesn't want to face you like this.

"Sunghoon! I won't do thi-, I'll leave right now if you answer my question. I'll live alone, I won't bother you. I'll make the most of what I have to get by in the Decelis Palace only if you tell me what I'm asking for. Do you love me?!"

The way your voice broke in the middle of your sentence was what got to him.

He was fixing himself for you. He doesn't want to hurt you. He wanted to be with you when he's sure that he can protect you, take care of you. He'll go to you when he's sure that he can be the man that deserve you the most.

But you break him, shatter him like a bullet and the small rope that he's hanging on to was severed in half.

Sunghoon seethed, shouting at the top of his lungs, "I love you!"

taglist

@lilyuwon @ramenoil

[cha-melodius]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks to @ninzied for the tag!

How many works do you have on ao3?

120!

What's your total ao3 word count?

1,371,932

What fandoms do you write for?

RWRB, TMFU, Lokius

Top five fics by kudos:

Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood

Nova, Baby

Class(room) Warfare

All the Old Showstoppers

Always Where I Need To Be

Do you respond to comments?

I try. I used to be very good at responding but my backlog has gotten extreme (1491 unanswered comments as of right now, if you're curious) so at this point I pretty much only answer if it's a chapter in an ongoing multichap, or someone asks a question.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have a caradin fic that's straight up a break-up fic with no resolution, but I still feel like my angstiest is probably Black Moon (napollya), because they're in love but the situation is so fucking bleak. Sorry guys.

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

Any of them that end with a proposal lol? I've got a lot of fluffy fics and all of my long fics end with pure fluff, so I don't think I could pick out one.

Do you get hate on fics?

I have been lucky not to really get any, at least lately. I've gotten... less than polite comments, of course, but no outright hate (knock on wood).

Do you write smut?

Yes, although I would not say it's an integral part of my writing tbh.

Craziest crossover:

Craziest might be Maybe, This Time, which is a Mandalorian/BSG crossover that involves dimension-hopping lol.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I've had a few of my TMFU works translated and now there's someone in the RWRB fandom that translates most (!!) of my fics into Mandarin, which is mind blowing and flattering and I'm so grateful because I've gotten comments from people who have read them translated and loved them.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet!

All time favorite ship?

I don't think I can pick one; some of my past ships are just that—past—but there are a few I will carry in my heart forever.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

If I want to finish it, I will, even if it takes a long time. I might stop wanting to finish a wip, but that's not the question is it?

What are your writing strengths?

Banter/dialogue, action, pacing, plots. People have told me that they can picture my scenes like a movie because of the description and that makes me feel good.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Although I have my moments, I don't really tend to think of my writing as beautiful. I'm just not that poetic/lyrical.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Sure! If it's in my own fic I usually have a native speaker look over it (I haven't done this lately but I have gotten Russian consults for TMFU fics).

First fandom you wrote in?

Xena: Warrior Princess, back when that show was airing. Fanfic primarily distributed over internet mailing lists and posted on your own website.

Favorite fic you've written?

Stealing Nina's idea and doing one in each of my main fandoms I've written in because it's hard to pick (even then this was rough).

Nova, Baby Series—Spy AU, Firstprince

Love is a Losing Game—Chess AU, Napollya (SHOCKER I KNOW)

What Makes a Good Man Series—Spy AU, Lokius

Here It Goes Again—The Mandalorian (Caradin but mostly Din character study in a time loop)

I'm not sure who's been tagged and who hasn't or even everyone who has done this, but a few tags below the cut. If you'd like to do it, jump in!

@kiwiana-writes, @rmd-writes, @three-drink-amy, @cricketnationrise, @14carrotghoul

@leaves-of-laurelin, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @inexplicablymine, @firenati0n, @liminalmemories21

@orchidscript, @sparklepocalypse, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites, @heytheredeann

@nicijones, @justabigoldnerd, @myheartalivewrites

[mj-iza-writer]

Warning: Eye Whump and Amputation mentions. Drugging Sorry I forgot this before.

Whumpee jumped when their cell door opened.

"M-may I ask who is coming in?", Whumpee whispered. A blindfold had been tied to their head from a recent eye removal surgery to help stop on infection from spreading.

"It's Dr. Yeld and two guards. Whumper would like to run some tests, so we are taking you to the lab. I need to ask the typical questions", Whumpee felt the scientist pat their head, "are you ready?"

"Yes sir", Whumpee nodded.

"To begin with... How does your head and eye sockets feel?", Whumpee allowed the guards to begin shackling them.

"They ache a little and feel crusty and itchy", Whumpee whispered hoarsely, "I think the blindfold is stuck to the crust, I tried hard not to touch it, like you said."

"Okay I'll make a note to change that for you", Dr. Yeld wrote a small note, "why do you sound so hoarse? Do you feel sick?"

"I-I couldn't find my water, I felt around a little in here, but I think it's missing", Whumpee frowned.

Dr. Yeld looked around, "you're right, I'm sorry that happened. We'll get some water before the test."

Whumpee nodded, "please and thankyou."

The last few questions were asked and answered satisfactorily.

Whumpee allowed the guards to lead them to the lab.

"Dr. Yeld", Whumpee whispered as the guards strapped them in, "I'm scared."

"It's okay Whumpee, Whumper said it's going to be minor tests today. Nothing big. I think they want to see how you're healing as well."

Whumpee nodded, "okay, may I have water?"

"Yes of course. I'll be right back", Dr. Yeld stepped away.

Whumpee felt a part of their back start to itch.

"May I have help?", Whumpee requested to anyone listening.

After a minute, Whumpee realized they may have been alone or people around were too busy to help the lab rat.

Whumpee was strapped down onto the metal slab table in a vertical position.

They started to wriggle around in an attempt at scratching their back.

Suddenly, Whumpee's hands slipped through the straps, and they fell to the floor. Their feet tangled into the straps and twisted opposite their natural direction. They hit the floor with a thud.

"Ah, ah, oww", Whumpee cried out, only drowned out by an alarm.

Whumpee heard guards running to them, but they were preoccupied by the shooting pains running up and down their legs.

"He-help, help.... help me please", Whumpee cried out.

Whumpee winced as the guards lifted them up. Their legs were unstrapped and they were laid on the ground.

"What the hell is going on in here?", Whumper's voice could be heard above the alarm.

"The test subject attempted to escape", one of the guards announced.

Whumpee's head shot up quickly, "n-no I didn't."

Whumpee heard someone approach, dress shoes clank against the tile floor.

Whumper knelt down and placed two fingers under Whumpee's chin to lift their face, "then why are the alarms going off? Why are you on the ground Whumpee", Whumper questioned.

"M-my back was itchy, and no one was available to help me. I was wriggling around on the table to try to itch it. Then I fell", Whumpee winced, "m-my legs hurt."

Whumper reached another hand up and patted Whumpee's head, "so my little rat wasn't trying to run."

"No Master, where would I go?", Whumpee whispered.

Whumper chuckled, "good point Whumpee", Whumper stood, "Dr. Yeld, please check Whumpee's legs, and let's see what happened. Today's test will be rescheduled for now."

"I'm sorry Master", Whumpee felt someone starting to pick them up.

"It's okay Whumpee, let's get your legs taken care of. Then I'll check your eyes", Whumper sighed, "I may have to talk to my staff and see why you aren't being taken care of."

"I'm a rat Master, that's why", Whumpee sighed.

"You are... but you are my lab rat, and I expect my staff to take care of you", Whumper frowned.

Whumpee now lay on the metal table again.

"Don't move Whumpee, we're scanning your legs", Dr. Yeld ordered.

"Yes sir, ma-may I have water after this", Whumpee pleaded.

"Oh geesh, Whumpee I'm sorry", Dr Yeld frowned, "just two seconds and done."

Whumpee felt a straw press in between their lips. They quickly drank.

"Careful Whumpee, you're going to ch..", Whumper was interrupted when Whumpee started to choke, "see."

"I'm sorry.... thirsty", Whumpee struggled to catch their breath.

"I don't see any breaks, but you more than likely sprained both legs", Whumper frowned, "you did a number on yourself. See these strains here."

"I didn't mean to, I don't know how I fell. I think my hands slipped", Whumpee whispered.

Whumper stepped over to the table Whumpee lay on and looked it over.

"Try to slip your hands back into the straps", Whumper ordered.

Whumpee quickly did as they were told.

"Someone didn't do a good job strapping you in", Whumper frowned as they watched Whumpee's hand go into the strap with minimal struggle, "who were the guards who helped you bring Whumpee. I need to have a chat with them."

Whumpee shook, "please don't kill them Master."

"I won't kill them, but they may find themselves fired from this lab", Whumper sighed, "I don't like when my little rat gets injured by someone else, especially when it messes my plans up."

Whumpee felt someone sitting them up. They allowed their body to bend to the persons will.

"Let's put them in a soft cast for now. Revisit an x-ray and muscle scan in a week or so. Whumpee, let us know if you have any strange pain, just like normal", Whumper started to leave.

"Master?", Whumpee whispered.

Whumper stopped and turned, "yes Whumpee."

Whumpee shyly fiddled with their fingers, "may I, uhm, may I go outside today?", they kept their head lowered.

"Whumpee it's cold out right now, plus you'll have cast on your legs", Whumper walked back to the table, "I forgot to check your eye sockets."

Whumpee felt Whumper lift their head, and start removing the blindfold.

Whumpee whimpered a little as the cloth was gently pulled from the wound.

"I don't like that it's sticking to the wound sight", Whumper frowned as they took a closer look, "Whumpee I will allow you to pick something fun though, you have had a harder week then we normally give you."

"May I have chicken nuggets for lunch", Whumpee asked excitedly.

"You know what, you absolutely can", Whumper chuckled, "how about I order you chicken nuggets, fries, a dessert, and you can even have soda pop today", Whumper rubbed Whumpee's cheek gently, "how does that sound."

Whumpee melted into the touch, "that sounds yummy", Whumpee moaned tiredly.

"Is my lab rat sleepy?", Whumper chuckled.

"Yes Master, it's difficult to sleep now", Whumpee yawned.

"Hmm", Whumper hummed.

Dr. Yeld set to work wrapping the bandages on Whumpee's legs, "please Whumpee try your hardest not to walk on your legs. They definitely need some rest, you don't want to stress them", Dr. Yeld watch Whumpee nod.

Whumpee reached their hand up to touch where their eyes where.

"Ah ah", Dr. Yeld warned, making Whumpee jump, "don't touch there. That is still fresh, you could cause another infection."

"I'm sorry, it's just weird. It's not even pitch black like you'd think. It's nothingness", Whumpee explained, as they tried to touch the area again."

"Don't touch Whumpee", Dr. Yeld grabbed Whumpee's hand and pulled it away, "I don't want to straightjacket you."

Whumpee nodded, "I'm sorry."

Whumpee heard Dr. Yeld step away.

They sat quietly and listened to the multitude of sounds in the lab.

Suddenly Whumpee felt someone stop in front of them. They were handed a bag and a cup, then the person seemed to climb up on the metal table and sat beside Whumpee.

Whumpee felt confused.

"I-I'm sorry.... who's their? A-and what's this", Whumpee shook.

"As promised, your chicken nuggets, fries, and drink. I have your desert chilling in the freezer for when you want it", Whumper's voice sounded as though they were smiling.

Whumpee quickly opened the bag and pulled out a handful of fries.

"Thankyou Master, I appreciate this gift", they grinned before stuffing their mouth.

"You're welcome Whumpee", Whumper chuckled.

Whumper studied Whumpee while they ate, "I see Doc bandaged your legs."

"Yes Master", Whumpee nodded, "they said not to use them as much as possible."

Whumpee reached up absent mindedly and scratched around the wound on their eye.

"Whumpee... don't touch your eyes", Whumper tried to pull the hand down but was too late.

Whumpee screamed in pain as Dr. Yeld hurried over.

"What happened?", Dr. Yeld pulled Whumpee to lay down.

"It stings", Whumpee cried. Tears started to come out of Whumpee's eye sockets.

"I bet you they bothered it, but got salt on the wound from the fries", Whumper held Whumpee's hands down so they wouldn't do it again or fight Dr. Yeld from disinfecting the wounds."

"Ow", Whumpee screamed, "it hurts."

"I know Whumpee, I wasn't quick enough to stop you", Whumper frowned, "when Doc gets you cleaned up we will put an eye cover on you, I found a better one that hopefully won't stick."

Whumpee shook violently as they were cleaned up.

"Let's place Whumpee in their cell. Let's do a straightjacket for right now", Whumper started to let go. I'll go in and finish feeding them. Then they can have their dessert and I'll put the new eye cover on them, it needs to get cleaned before they wear it."

"Please no straightjacket", Whumpee pleaded.

"I'm sorry Whumpee, it's for your own good", Whumper turned and walked away.

Whumpee sobbed as the straightjacket was buckled, "I'll be good", they pleaded, "please I don't want this."

"I'm sorry Whumpee. You keep touching your eyes. If you keep doing that, they won't heal", Dr Yeld patted their shoulder, "I know you don't like this fact, but you really don't get a choice on the matter."

Whumpee fell quiet except for their sobbing.

Dr. Yeld frowned when he realized what he said, "Whumpee I-I'm sorry.... I."

"Why did I lose my eyes.... was it your fault?", Whumpee shuddered, "because I didn't get a choice."

"I-I don't know why that infection happened, we had to remove the eyes though, it would have spread, and could have killed you."

"What life d-do I have anyway... I'm just a measly lab rat", Whumpee sobbed as they were lifted from the metal table and placed in a wheelchair.

"I didn't even get to eat all of my special treat either", Whumpee cried a little louder.

Dr. Yeld felt guilt crawl up his throat and leave a knot, "I'm sorry Whumpee, but Whumper did say he would go to your cell and help feed you the rest of your meal. You even get a desert, isn't that exciting?", Dr Yeld reached for the cup of soda, "here have a drink of your soda", Dr Yeld held the straw for Whumpee to drink.

Tears continued from small gaps while Whumpee drank a few sips. Their breathing was labored.

"Why am I still able to cry without my eyes?", Whumpee asked while they were wheeled through the hall.

Dr. Yeld was deep in guilty thought on how to make this up for Whumpee.

"Dr. Yeld? I thought he came with us", Whumpee sighed.

"I'm sorry Whumpee, I was just wondering how to make this up to you", Dr. Yeld walked beside the chair, "what was your question?"

"Why am I able to cry without my eyes?", Whumpee asked again.

"We were able to leave your tear ducts in tact", Dr. Yeld smiled, "you still have the ability to produce tears and cry."

"Oh", Whumpee kept their head down.

Whumpee was laid on their mattress in their cell.

They rolled over and tried to sit up.

"Ugh", Whumpee sighed as they fell back down, "I can't see. I can't walk. I can't use my arms."

The cell door opened again, and closed.

"I heard you were pretty upset", Whumper talked from the entrance, "Dr. Yeld and a few other scientists and guards felt bad."

"I'm sorry Master, I didn't mean to say all of those mean things", Whumpee tried to sit up but fell back again.

"I know Whumpee, you're having a hard time settling in again. You've had a busy week, and today didn't help with your legs getting injured", Whumper stepped over and knelt by the mattress. They lifted Whumpee so they could sit up.

"Thankyou Master", Whumpee sighed in relief.

"Alright I'm sitting down next to you, let's finish your lunch", Whumper plopped down on the mattress, "let's see how you feel after this. You can have the dessert later if you're not hungry."

Whumpee nodded, "may I have another drink please?"

"Of course. You are doing so well with your manners", Whumper held the cup for them, "I'm very proud of you."

"Thankyou master", Whumpee squirmed excitedly.

"You're welcome, it looks like you have a few more nuggets. I think your fries were all gone before the eye accident", Whumper held a nugget to Whumpee's lip.

"If you don't feel like dessert I have a packet of gummies you can have instead. Maybe we can go that route, have your dessert later tonight", Whumper grinned.

"Yes Master", Whumpee agreed.

"Alright that was your last nugget", Whumper chuckled, "how was your lunch.... is it what you wanted?"

"Yes Master", Whumpee smiled, "thankyou."

"Here are the gummies", Whumper fiddled with a packet, "I have a few sour ones as a treat. Your face is funny when you eat sour candies."

Whumpee smiled, "thankyou."

Whumper started to put the candies one by one in Whumpee's mouth.

Whumpee made a face, "that one is really sour", they gasped.

Whumper chuckled, "I know."

Whumpee felt tired after a few minutes.

"Master I'm sleepy", Whumpee interrupted Whumper from their rambling.

"I know Whumpee", Whumper sighed, "I slipped you a gummy to help you go to sleep."

Whumpee struggled to get away from Whumper.

"No, no... none of that", Whumper held them down, "you can't use your legs right now. Earlier you said you were having trouble sleeping, I can't have you being tired unless I'm testing something that requires you to be tired."

Whumpee sobbed as Whumper pulled them to lay down. Their head now rested on Whumper's lap.

"It's just a light drug, I need you to sleep", Whumper rubbed Whumpee's head, "you'll wake up in a few hours. I'll let you have your dessert then."

Whumpee heard the door open.

"Ah, Dr. Yeld, you brought the eye cover", Whumper grinned.

Dr. Yeld looked at Whumpee sadly then handed the cover to Whumper.

"These are nice, and padded. They should lay on your skin nicely and not get stuck to the wound.

Whumper lifted Whumpee's almost limp body and slid the covers on their head and over their eyes.

"There we go", Whumper adjusted the tightness.

After a few minutes of hearing Whumpee's snores. Whumper rested Whumpee on their pillow and covered them up.

"I-I didn't know you were serious about drugging them", Dr. Yeld watched Whumper as they stood.

"They need to sleep, it is harder for blind people to sleep sometimes. They are getting use to this new life", Whumper sighed, "I wasn't acting out of anger and meanness. I truly need them to sleep. I do care for my lab rat. Though I know I have a weird way of showing it."

"I said something to them though, I wanted to apologize", Dr. Yeld frowned and watched Whumpee's steady breathing.

"Oh I heard what you said. I was quite amused actually", Whumper laughed, "I guess you will need to wait until they wake up."

Dr. Yeld made an angry face at Whumper.

"Will you ever tell them you're the reason they got that infection? You're the reason they lost their sight.", Dr. Yeld crossed their arms.

"No, and neither will you. You've done some horrid test on them yourself, remember. If you say anything, I will kill you."

Whumper walked past Dr. Yeld as they exited the room, "remember our agreement and your place in this lab."

"Yes Master", Dr. Yeld cowarded away and looked back at Whumpee.

"Come along", Whumper stood by the door, "we have plenty of things to do."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems @lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

[venus-celestial]

Did I fall asleep in the middle of writing and completely forgot to post when I finished why yes yes did

Do I have any idea what to do for day five no no I don't

But anyway here's day four of @nestaarcheronweek with the prompt lover

Sun kissed

Nesta looked at herself in mirror and felt well.. Many things warm nice and maybe slightly nervous for what was happening tonight

it be the first time in a year and a half she would see the night court again and she was nervous especially considering her current attire

It was nice a was a knee length dress with a short v-neck it was white with gold accents detached sleeves and a two layered skirt her hair was down within small gemstones woven In

and sitting atop her head was a golden circlet with a amber gemstone in the middle it was undeniable where and with who she now wished to remain

Gods she was a nervous wreck as she looked at herself in the mirror she looked like the lady of day and if her beloved had anything to say about it which he did considering he was the fucking high Lord she would be

but despite everything he had done for her still did despite his countless words of affirmation and love and the way he looked at her life she was the sun itself she still felt like she was not enough

She was not enough Elain not enough for Feyre not enough for the rest of the redt of the inner circle and never fucking enough Cassian

If she wasn't even enough for a general how was she ever going to be enough for a High Lord the second most powerful High Lord no less

What if he grew tired of her what if found another what if he saw what the night court did what if agreed whatever insults would get thrown her way tonight what if he sent her back what if-

"Sunshine?" The voice broke Nesta From her spiral she hadn't realized she'd been having she quickly turned her head to Helion was entering the room his face concerned

He quickly made his way over to her and cupped her face in his warm hands "My love what's wrong why are you crying" he asked thumbs wiping at her cheeks gods she hadn't even realized she'd started crying

"I-I" She didn't have words to describe her fears her worry so she said the only thing she could think of the only thing she wanted "P-please D-Dont leave me" it came out choked and desperate

Helions heart broke and he quickly scooped her into his arms as she devoled into sobs that wrecked her entire body

He quickly walked over to bed sitting down and cradling her head against his chest as he rocked her back and forth making quiet shushing sounds to clam her

"Sunshine Nesta My love I'm not going anywhere I'm not leaving I promise" He soothed "Darling tell what happened what caused this is it about the night court coming tonight" he asked

"What if I'm not enough for you" Nesta said through tears "what if I'm as horrible as they say I am what if I deserved their treatment" she paused "What if I don't deserve you because of it" She breathed voice pained

Helion had never wanted to murder a group of Fae more then he did right then but right now his Nesta his lovely strong beautiful Nesta needed comfort.

He gently kissed the top of her head before pressing a sweet kiss to her lips and whispering "You do deserve to be here with me my Sunshine" He told her softly

The words made Nesta cry harder "But you're the High Lord I'm- Helion cut her off "Perfect" He said simply "Beautiful Smart Strong" he continued "and I don't care what the Night Court says otherwise"

"You deserve the world my sun and I'll spend everyday giving it to you" He said "You are everything I want and I'll shall make you my High Lady someday" he promised.

Nesta's eyes widen at those words her breath catching "Won't I-" she was cut off

"No I already have you you'll only have to take a vow my love" He said softly "This what we have is right and I don't want you to question it ever" he said

"I want you as you are as my wife my high lady as my everything" he said gently.

There were few words Nesta could come up with on the spot that would fit as she looked into his and saw nothing but love she smiled

Helion smiled warmly his fingers carding through her hair he kissed her forehead again.

"Now" he said "Shall we go show the night court what they so foolishly lost" He asked kissing her nose voice teasing Nesta giggled

She nodded leaning closer into his warmth he wrapped an arm around her "Yes yes let's" she said and as they made their way out of the bedroom to face the night court Nesta's heart was full and warm

That's all I hope you enjoyed this ship probably has like 2 shippers but I am definitely for it

Also it was originally supposed to be sumt but I decided to make it fluffy and hurt/comfort instead

As always please ignore any spelling mistakes and have a lovely night

[hbyrde36]

for @penny00dreadful

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 <-

Chapter 4: No Place Like Home

WC: 5496 | Ch 4/4 | AO3 <-

It was a surprisingly smooth landing as Steve was brought into the highest tower of the Witch’s castle through a large open window, caught in the exceptionally strong grip of the two flying monkeys who carried him there. 

Eddie had arrived the same way only a moment or two ahead of him, and was now struggling against his own guard monkey's hold, trying to get to Steve while being dragged out of one of the room’s two doors.

“It’s so kind of you both to visit me in my loneliness.” The Wicked Witch cackled, standing in the middle of the chamber next to a huge crystal ball, the image displayed within it fading before Steve could suss it out. 

“What are you gonna do with Eddie? Where are they taking him?!” Now that his feet were on solid ground, Steve tried to fight back, but couldn’t seem to shake his captors.

The Witch waved a dismissive hand. “Never you mind about that.”

“Give him back to me!” Steve raged.

“Certainly, certainly, as soon as you give me those slippers.”

Steve swallowed hard, hesitating. He knew what Eddie would probably say, that it was a terrible idea to give her even more power—to give her what she wanted. 

At his silence, she turned, addressing a few more of her little monsters that were waiting on standby around the room. “Very well. Boys?”

The flying monkey’s ears perked up. 

“Hurt him.”

Steve braced himself as The Witch’s henchman quickly moved to follow her command, but it wasn’t him they were coming for, instead they raced out the same door Eddie had just been forced through.

“No!” Steve shouted, willing to risk anything if it kept Eddie safe.  “Take the damn shoes, I don't care! Just don’t… don’t hurt him, please.”

She shot him a cruel grin, and the monkeys holding him finally let go, backing away as she stalked closer. “That’s a good boy.” 

Steve snarled, briefly considering kicking her right in her smug face as she bent down, but thought she might be less likely to let Eddie go if he did. 

Begrudgingly, he held himself still as she reached out her hands, but before she could even lay a finger on the shoes, there was a flash of light, a spark like electricity crackling, and a force lashed out to zap her. 

The Witch jumped back, hissing. “Curse you!”

“That wasn’t me! I swear!”

“No, but I should have known. My sister must have put a spell on them. They’ll never come off… as long as you’re alive.” She circled him slowly, tapping the end of her pointed chin. “Now the only question is how to do it.”

“Oh for the love of—” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just kill me if you’re going to kill me, alright? Why do you people always have to drag shit out?

“What people?”

“Bad guys!”

She huffed, straightening her cloak. “These things must be done delicately, or you hurt the spell.”

“They're always monologuing about their evil plans too. I mean, what’s up with that?” Eddie’s voice rang out from where he had suddenly appeared in the doorway behind The Witch, somehow having given his guards the slip.

She stomped her feet. “I don’t mono—” She began, then gasped, spinning around. “How did you get free?!”

Steve wracked his brain to come up with some kind of distraction, anything to keep her busy long enough for them to get away. 

“Hey, Witch!” He called out as he squatted to pick up the massive crystal ball he’d noticed on arrival, even heavier than it looked, and began to carry it towards one of the  windows. “You don’t need this for anything important, right?” 

“Put that back! It’s priceless!” she shrieked.

“It’s pretty heavy, I don’t know if i can–” Steve cut himself off, pretending to stumble, and tossed the ball as hard as he could, hoping she’d try to catch it.

She dove, and in an impressive show of strength and dexterity managed to get under the ball before it hit the ground, preventing it from breaking. She looked stunned from the fall, the weight of the crystal pinning her to the ground for the time being.

Steve made to run to Eddie’s side, but just then, the other set of doors burst open and half a dozen very tall foot soldiers in ornate uniforms, furry helmets, and with the same bright green skin as their ruler, spilled into the room, rounding on Steve and cutting them off from each other. 

“Just go!” Steve shouted.

Eddie shook his head, eyes darting from the door behind him to what he could see of Steve between the soldiers. “I’m not running away and leaving you here!”  

“Get out and find help! It's not running away if you’re coming back, right? Now— go!” 

“Damnit, Harrington.” Eddie cursed, taking a few stumbling steps towards the way out. “I am coming back.”

“I know.”

With one last tortured look Eddie took off, his pounding footsteps echoing as he ran through the hall and down what sounded like a set of stairs. Half the guards took off after him while the others remained with Steve, backing him into the wall.

Steve craned his neck, near enough to a window to peer out, hoping to catch a glimpse of Eddie’s escape and know first hand that he’d gotten away. 

“Come on, come on,” he chanted quietly to himself, even as the soldiers started trying to pull him back over to The Witch, who was unfortunately back on her feet again. The castle doors began to close as he watched, and for a second Steve thought all hope was lost, but then he spotted it—moonlight shining on dark curly hair, slipping through the opening just before the door slammed. 

Steve’s heart leapt, and he finally let himself be led back over to The Witch. No matter what else happened here, at least Eddie had made it. 

“You’ve been more trouble to me than you’re worth, brat!” 

“Heard that before.” Steve mumbled to himself. He didn’t fight as the hands on him shoved him down into a chair, figuring it was smarter to save his strength for now.

“But, it'll all be over soon,” The Witch added as she snatched a giant hourglass off a nearby shelf, flipping it over onto the table in front of him. “That’s how much longer you've got to be alive. When the sand runs out, I'll have made my preparations.”

With that, she and her soldiers left, locking both doors up tight, leaving him alone in the tower.

Steve didn’t waste time wondering why he wasn’t tied down or handcuffed, and was out of his seat in a flash. First he checked the doors because, duh, but they were, indeed, locked. He then ran back over to the window, wondering if he’d survive the drop. It didn’t seem likely—even if he did, there was no way he’d walk away from that kind of fall without needing serious medical attention, and he had yet to see a single hospital in Oz. 

His next move was to search the room for weapons, something to break the doors in, or anything he might be able to use to climb down. The curtains proved to be useless, moth bitten and too slippery to really tie together, and apart from a chair leg he managed to break off that doubled as a wooden stake, he found nothing else useful to defend himself with. 

Time passed slowly.

And yeah, Steve had been through a lot in his life, but he’d never been kidnapped before. He never would have imagined it could be this… boring? 

There was only so long you could stand at attention, waiting for your captor to come back before your eyelids started to droop. He wound up sitting at the windowsill, head resting on his arm as he gazed out at the night sky, letting his mind wander. He didn’t really believe this was the last night of his life, he’d survived too much to be taken down by some psychotic pea-soup looking bitch, but any hope he had of seeing home again was gone.

He thought back on all the time he’d wasted—squandered opportunities to tell the people he loved just how much he loved them, the number of times he blew Dustin off to go on a date with some girl he couldn’t give two shits about, all these months since Vecna with Eddie, unable to accept his own feelings, and too afraid to admit them aloud. 

He was so lost in it all that he almost didn’t hear the sound of someone pounding on one of the doors. Reasonably sure The Witch wouldn’t be knocking in her own castle, he ran to it, pressing his ear to the wood. 

“Steve?!” A muffled voice shouted from the other side. 

Eddie!

“It’s me, yes! In here!”

“Stand back, I’m going to chop through the door!”

Steve stepped back, watching in awe as the wood slowly splintered away with each blow, until finally he could see Eddie’s face through it, distantly thinking it looked like he had some sort of animal resting on his head. 

A few more chops and there was a hole big enough for Steve to squeeze through. 

Once on the other side, he saw that Eddie wasn’t alone. The Tin Woman, The Scarecrow, and The Lion were all with him—all dressed like The Witch’s soldiers.

“Costume change?” Steve asked.

“Long story.” Eddie let out a shaking breath as he tore the fuzzy hat from his head and flung it aside, managing to shrug out of his big coat just in time to catch Steve as he threw himself into the other boy’s arms. 

“I wasn’t sure I'd ever see you again.” Steve whispered with his face pressed into Eddie’s hair. 

“You didn’t think I was really coming back?”

“I knew you’d try, even if I hoped you wouldn’t.”

Eddie squeezed him tighter. “You’re such a self sacrificial ass.”

“Takes one to know one.” Steve pulled back, punching him lightly in the shoulder before turning to The Scarecrow, drawing her into a quick hug too. “I can’t believe it, you’re really okay?”

“Might be missing a little stuffing here and there but, these two did a great job getting me back in one piece.”

Their reunion was abruptly cut short by shouts in the distance.

“We gotta get out of here!” The Lion roared.

“What about the broom?” Steve said.

Eddie grabbed his hand. “She wants to kill you, Steve, fuck the broom! We’ll find some other way home.”

The group of them flew down the stairs back towards the way they’d come in. By some miracle they didn’t see a soul along the way, but as they raced across the foyer, just before they reached the exit, the doors swung closed, right in their faces.

“Going so soon?”

Steve turned at The Witch’s voice, spotting her standing on a balcony above looking down at them, laughing, as soldiers began spilling into the space from every direction. They were surrounded, though oddly none of the green men actually attacked, only approached slowly and menacingly.

“That’s right,” The Witch praised her guards. “Don’t hurt them right away, we’ll let them think about it a little first.”

Steve rolled his eyes. 

Eddie raised the ax he still held, as though he would take on the entire brigade himself, but The Scarecrow snatched it out of his hand. 

“What the–” 

She swung it around, chopping and cutting a rope tied to the wall that Steve hadn’t even noticed, and sent a giant chandelier falling from the ceiling to land on a large group of the soldiers. 

“Good thinking!” Steve said, and they used the momentary distraction to flee, running up a different set of steps to get away since it was the only path that was clear. They had no idea where they were going, and up didn’t seem likely to lead out, but they had little choice now. 

The soldiers unaffected by the chandelier attack gave chase, and the five of them ran down corridor after corridor before finally spilling out onto the battlement, a part of the wall where soldiers patrol. It was a dead end and quickly they found themselves backed into a corner, soldiers on both sides, The Wicked Witch among them. 

“Well,” she sing-songed as she zeroed in on Steve, “ring around the rosie, a pocket full of spears. Thought you’d be pretty foxy didn’t you? Well the last to go will see the first four go before him.”

Eddie leaned into Steve’s side, whispering, “What the hell did she just say?”

“I have no idea.” Steve said.

“I think she’s going to kill the rest of us first and make you watch.” The Scarecrow guessed.

“Right you are, Scarecrow. So how about a little fire?” The Wicked Witch raised the head of her broom up to one of the many torches that ran along the length of the wall, lighting it.

There was no way Steve was letting her anywhere near The Scarecrow with that thing, she’d go up in seconds and unlike being disassembled he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to come back from that. He lunged for the broomstick before she could lower it, grabbing it in the middle and fighting for control. 

The next thing Steve knew he was being soaked in water like he was a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest.

The fire was put out instantly, the broomstick clattering to the ground as The Witch started screaming bloody murder. 

“Look what you’ve done! I’m melting! Who would've thought two pretty-boy-brats like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness.”

It was only water—from the now empty bucket Eddie was holding that he’d found god knows where—but as though she’d been dipped in the most corrosive acid known to man, The Witch began to sizzle and smoke, and truly did melt away into a puddle on the stone floor, leaving nothing solid but her clothes behind.

“She’s dead, you killed her.” One of the soldiers blurted out.

Steve hovered, trying to shield Eddie, unsure of how this was going to play out. The witch might have been gone, but they were still sorely outnumbered if her henchman’s loyalty extended past the grave. 

But Eddie wasn’t having it. He remained in front, tilting his chin up. “Honestly, it was an accident, but she did try to kill us first, so—fair is fair.”

There was a moment of absolute silence before the entire army, monkeys included, let out a deafening cheer. “Hail to Steve and Eddie! The Wicked Witch is dead!”

Eddie looked back at him, jaw dropped, and Steve could only smile.

When the cacophony died down, Steve approached the first soldier who spoke, supposing he might be the leader or general or something. “The broomstick, can we have it?” 

“Yes, of course! Please, take it with you.”

After a short reunion with a certain stunned-to-see-them-still-alive guard, fresh off what must have been an epic frolic through the poppy field and subsequent mystical slumber—if the state of his very red and heavy lidded eyes was any indication—Steve, Eddie, and their companions once again entered The Wizard’s throne room.

“Why have you come back?!” The deep voice of the Wizard rumbled through the air.

“We did what you asked.” Steve said simply, holding the Witch’s charred broom above his head.

They all waited with bated breath for some kind of response, but were met with nothing. After a few long moments Eddie took the broomstick from Steve and stepped forward. 

“The Wicked Witch is dead, and uh, we brought you the broomstick.” He cleared his throat loudly, unceremoniously tossing the burnt bit of wood in the direction of the dais. “So, make with the wish granting, yeah?” 

“I’ll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow.” The voice eventually responded.

“Tomorrow?!” Eddie snapped.

Steve shook his head, hands balled into fists at his sides. “But we wanna go home now!”

“We did everything you asked!.” The Tin Woman argued.

“Yes! At least send them home! They deserve it after performing such a great public service!” The scarecrow added, staring defiantly up at the floating head. 

As the others jumped in to help argue their point, Eddie began to look around the room, searching, and beckoned Steve to follow him. They quickly found something odd tucked in a dark corner that seemed not only out of place, but frankly looked like an obvious control center of some sort hidden behind a green curtain. How hadn’t they noticed it before?

Together they crept closer, each grabbing one side of the cloth, and on a silent count of three…

“Do you dare to criticize the Great Oz? Think yourselves lucky that I'm giving you an audience tomorrow instead of twenty—” 

…Flung the curtain back to reveal a young girl, about their age, with red hair, a bowler hat, and an all around Molly Ringwald vibe.

“...years from now.” 

She swiveled in her chair as she finished her sentence, the words a strange mix of the booming voice they’d been hearing, and her actual voice coming through as her mouth got further from the contraption she was using to alter it.  

“Ah, shit.” The girl, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Robin’s almost-girlfriend Vickie, sighed as she spotted the two of them, realizing she’d been caught in the act.

The others came over to join the party just as Eddie got up in her face. “Who the hell are you?” 

She looked down, fingers playing with the hem of her top. “Would you believe… The Great and Powerful Oz?”

“What a scam! You’re a phony!” Steve shouted.

“I am, yes.” Her shoulders slumped. “These are all tricks I learned working with a magician at the State Fair.”

Eddie fumed. “You sent us on a suicide mission!”

“And I'm very sorry about that!” She said quickly, holding her hands up. ”In my defense, I didn't actually expect you to go after The Witch, I thought if I gave you an impossible task you would just give up and not come back. Then my reputation could stay intact.”

“I suppose this means no brain for The Scarecrow, or heart for me, or courage for The Lion?” The Tin Woman said. 

“You don’t need me for that, you already have all those things. Think about it, Tin Woman. Was it not for the love of your friends that you helped them to get here, and to defeat the Wicked Witch? Someone with no heart wouldn’t do that.”

The Wizard smiled, rising from her chair, facing The Lion next.

“And you, Lion. What, you think just because you’re afraid that makes you a coward? You still did it, you still stood by your friends. See, the trick isn’t to not be scared, it’s to be scared and do it anyway. That’s courage.”

The Wizard turned lastly to face The Scarecrow and audibly gasped, her face turning an incredibly bright shade of red. “You, um, you helped to argue your friend's cases well, and I-I think it’s quite clear that you have a-a brain.” She paused, swallowing hard. “A b-big gorgeous brain, with, just—so many thoughts. I… sorry I don't usually—”

She trailed off, completely flustered and unable to look away from The Scarecrow’s face. 

For a moment The Scarecrow looked equally entranced by the Wizard, but then she frowned, looking back at Steve and Eddie. “But, what about the boys? They want to go home.”

The Wizard bit her lip. “Well, I might have a way to get them there, but it would mean taking them myself, never to return.”

“Will you?” Eddie asked.

“Of course,” She said hesitantly, looking from him and Steve to The Scarecrow and shook her head. “I—of course. I used to live in Indiana too, y’know. I was working at the fair, like I said, and one morning the boss asked me to test the propane tanks in the hot air balloon. I didn’t know what I was doing but it seemed easy enough. Damn thing took off on me, and just never came down. I got caught in a wind storm and landed here in Oz, came up with this ruse about being a Wizard and, well, you get the idea.”

“Do you still have the balloon?” Steve asked.

She grinned. “How do you think we’re getting you home?”

-

Steve and Eddie finally leaving Oz turned out to be a grand spectacle, with every citizen wanting to thank them for ridding their lands of not one, but two Wicked Witches, in such a short span of time. Even Glinda had made the journey to see them off. 

The balloon was set up in the middle of the square, and as The Wizard checked and re-checked her equipment, Steve and Eddie set about saying their farewells.

They hugged The Tin Woman and The Lion, and while It was difficult to say goodbye to them, it was nothing to the way Steve felt about leaving The Scarecrow. He had his own Robin, his best friend, waiting for him back home, but he felt connected to this version of her almost as strongly. 

It didn’t help that he’d seen the way she and The Wizard had been looking at each other since the moment they’d met. 

“Alright boys, ready to go?” The Wizard asked, looking sad.

“No,” Steve answered, turning an apologetic look on Eddie. “I can’t. I can’t ask her to leave forever, not if…”

“It’s okay, Steve. I saw it too. I want to go home, but I feel terrible.”

“Maybe Glinda can help?” Steve said.

One mention of her name and suddenly The Good Witch was right beside them, as if she’d been waiting for this moment. “You don't need to be helped any longer. You've always had the power to go back to Hawkins.”

Steve blinked at her. “I have?”

“Then why didn't you tell him that before?!” The Scarecrow asked. 

“Because, Steve had a few things he needed to figure out first. Isn’t that right?”

Steve gulped, giving her wide eyes.

“I don’t get it.” The Lion said. 

The Tin Woman shushed him, patting his hand. “I’ll explain it to you later.”

Eddie tilted his head. “What does she mean, Steve?”

“Well, I-I.” Steve stammered, eyes darting between Glinda and Eddie.

The Good Witch smiled, nodding encouragingly. “If you are ready to accept the truth, those magic slippers will take you home in two seconds.”

Steve but his lip. “Eddie too?”

Glinda laughed, high and bright. “Of course, Eddie too. Now stand together, and facing each other.”

They did what she asked, and while he remained quiet, Eddie was giving him that curious look again. 

“What do I have to do, are there, like, magic words?” Steve asked.

“There are lots of magic words, Steve, but to get home you need only close your eyes, tap your heels together three times, and show the truth that is in your heart.

There was only one way Steve could think of to show the truth, so…

He took a deep breath, closed the space between him and Eddie, and crashed their lips together. His eyes fell shut as Eddie kissed back, melting into it—and as Eddie threaded gentle fingers through his hair, Steve clicked his heels together, three times.

-

“Steve?”

Eddie’s voice rolled over him out of the dark, tinged with concern. 

Steve groaned, disoriented, his neck aching from the angle it was at, and he could feel a bit of drool drying on his chin. 

“Stevie, wake up.” This time Eddie gently shook his shoulder, and Steve’s head snapped up, eyes popping open wide. He looked around wildly, confused to find that he was slumped in a chair behind the desk at Family Video—but it didn’t matter where they’d landed, he supposed, the shoes had worked, they were back!

“Did he fall asleep again?” Robin’s voice called out from directly behind, and Steve spun around so fast he knocked his chair over, which in turn knocked over a small stack of tapes.

He ignored the mess, pulling her into a tight hug. It was really her! No straw, no burlap, just a sweatshirt she’d stolen from his closet two nights ago, with her work vest over the top. 

She shook her head like he was an idiot, but hugged him back anyway before letting go to set the chair back on its legs. “I was only in the back rewinding returns for half an hour!”

“Oh,” Steve breathed, finally registering what she’d first said, and felt suddenly lost. He could have sworn it was real, but Robin wasn’t freaking out the way he knew she would have if he’d disappeared for an entire night and day…

Or was it two? 

The more he thought about it the less sure he was of how long he and Eddie had been stuck in that colorful other dimension. 

If—if he had been stuck in another dimension. 

Robin said he’d been asleep, and he was just slumped in his chair at the desk at the end of his shift, and there Eddie was, right in front of him looking amused, if a little worried, and… and wearing a completely different shirt than he’d had on as they trekked through—

Oh.

Eddie, who was here to pick him up for their hang out because Robin was borrowing his car.

Steve groaned again, rubbed his temples. “I had such a weird dream.” 

“Was it a nightmare?” Robin asked.

It was a fair question, and something they all experienced from time to time even this many months out from their final dealings with the Upside Down. But this…this had been something wholly different.

“I’m not sure.” He settled on, yawning as he fought to think through the fog that was slowly lifting from his brain. Had it really all been in his head? A dream, a fantasy?

“Some of it wasn't very nice, but—” He glanced at Eddie again and felt a blush spread over his face. “Most of it was beautiful.”

“You were there.” Steve continued, giving the other boy a little nod. Eddie’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. 

Steve turned to Robin next.  “You were too—and Nancy, and Jonathan, and Argyle, and—” he trailed off, trying to remember everyone else he’d encountered along the way.

Eddie chuckled. “Did Robin make you watch The Wizard of Oz on repeat again?”

Steve froze.

Oz, yellow brick road, Munchkins…

He was such an idiot.

“It was slow this morning!” Robin lashed out, defensively. And you know I’m seeing Vickie tonight, I needed my comfort movie to settle my nerves!”

“Yes, I am well aware of your impending date, Buckley, hence me and my van being here to play chauffeur.”

Steve checked the time, he still had about fifteen minutes until he could officially lock up and clock out. “You’re early.”

Eddie shrugged. “I still have to pick us a movie for tonight. You go do your closing duties, or whatever, I'll be perusing the stacks.” 

Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away as Eddie walked off. He could still remember the other boy’s fingers pushing into his hair, gently cradling his head as they’d kissed—how his lips had felt so incredibly soft.

He wondered if it would be the same in real life.

“Steve… did you OD over there?” 

Steve startled as, once again, Robin's voice came from directly behind him, though much softer this time. He took her hand, pulling her to the other side of the room. 

“Do you remember that thing we talked about?”

She scrunched her nose. “Which thing?”

Steve sighed, speaking low. “You know, the… how some people go both ways, thing?”

She gasped, grabbing his arm, and looked back over her shoulder to where Eddie was still browsing, before whispering, “Do you mean…?”

Steve nodded, unable to stop his mouth from spreading into a wide grin.

“Are you gonna tell him tonight?!”

“Yeah, I think so.” Steve bit his lip. “Well, that, or maybe just stick my tongue down his throat the second we’re alone.”

Robin snorted. “And they say romance is dead.” 

“Okay smart-ass, how do you think I should go about it?”

“I think—it doesn’t matter what you say or do, because that boy is just as crazy about you as you are about him.”

“I hope so.” Steve looked down, wringing his hands. “I really like him. I-I might even–” He trailed off, too afraid to finish the thought even though he knew it was the truth.

“I know, dingus.”

At the other end of the store, tape in hand, Eddie began to make his way to the counter.

Robin gave Steve a little push towards the break room door. “You go splash some water on your face and change. I'll get your man checked out.”

“Not mine yet.”

“He will be. I’m proud of you, Steve.”

“Thanks, Robbie.”

As much as he’d joked to Robin about just going for it, Steve spent the whole drive to the new Munson trailer trying to compose the perfect speech to tell Eddie how he felt, but by the time they arrived he had nothing to show for his efforts but sweaty palms and anxiety.

Should he have just reached over the center console, taken Eddie’s hand, and hoped he got the hint? Maybe he shouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. No, no. Steve was supposed to be good at this! Eddie deserved more, he deserved the perfect moment. 

“You, uh, planning on coming inside?”

Steve sucked in a breath, snapping to attention, and realized Eddie had already gotten out of the van and come around to open the passenger door.

“Sorry.” Steve’s face grew hot as he climbed out of the van. “Guess I'm still feeling a little out of it from falling asleep earlier.”

Eddie frowned, reaching up to feel Steve’s forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Are you sure that’s all? You do feel a little warm.”

“I’m fine.” Steve ducked his head, throwing off the touch, though what he really wanted was to lean into it, and followed Eddie inside.

Eddie went right for the kitchen, throwing the bag from Family Video bag on the counter before diving into the fridge, digging out two beers.

Steve tried hard not to stare as Eddie bent over, reaching for the bag for something to do instead, and pulled the single tape out, flipping it over to the cover. 

“Seriously? Return to Oz?”

Eddie turned, grinning as he took a sip from his own bottle, sliding the other one towards him. “Come on, that's funny!” 

Steve huffed a laugh and tossed the tape back onto the counter.

“And, y’know… it’s a good movie.” Eddie went on, grin slipping a little as he set his beer down and rubbed the back of his neck, looking away—looking nervous, Steve realized. He realized something else too—there was never going to be a perfect time, or a perfect way to say what was in his heart. He knew how he felt, and he was pretty sure he knew how Eddie felt now too, or at least his subconscious did. Now he just needed to take that leap of faith.

“I know you don’t really like all the horror stuff me and the kids usually make you watch, and since it’s just the two of us I figured—” 

In the middle of Eddie’s adorably flustered ramble Steve stepped around the kitchen counter, took the other boy’s face gently between his hands, and crushed their mouths together.

Eddie went very still under his touch and Steve quickly pulled back, panicked for a moment that he had it all wrong, until Eddie wound his arms around him, gripping the back of his shirt as he pressed him into the counter, and suddenly Steve was the one being kissed.  

And what a kiss it was.

At the first brush of tongue Steve smiled into it, unable to contain his joy because Eddie had kissed him back! 

When they finally pulled apart again, Eddie blinked hard, looking dazed. “Shit, Steve, am I–am I dreaming right now?”

“God I hope not.” Steve went right back in, winding his hands into Eddie’s hair as their lips met again and again, their bottles of beer forgotten, left to grow warm on the counter. 

-

Later that night, when the movie was over—not that they’d seen much of it—after they’d actually talked and made their relationship official, and made out so much that Steve’s lips were sore, they curled up in Eddie’s bed together. 

As he burrowed deeper into Eddie’s side, and Eddie wrapped his arms around him even tighter, Steve let out a contented sigh. 

Dorothy had it right—there really is no place like home.

Thanks again to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for all your help with this!

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 31 - The bathroom equation

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 30 -- Part 32

Summary: The guys (and girls) take to the group chats to discuss some serious issues

Warnings: Post contains generalizations. Please don't murder me for that.

Word count: Exactly 3k!!!!

**A/N: **SO! The guys joined me in the shower yesterday (not as sexy as it sounds, unfortunately) and as @geralts-yenn and I had had a discussion about what the house groupchat would look like (including very necessary shadow-group with just the girls, and a group chat with everyone who regularly spends time at that house...) this is what I came up with.

[The guys' chat is 179CS🏡, the girls are 179CS🧠🧠, and the everyone-group is 179CS Full🏡]

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @livisss @sillyrabbit81

@ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos @thelastsock @wa-ni

@proud-aroace-beastie @totalwool

Mike:

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A post shared by Story2cats (@story2cats)

Sherlock: Great, she’s asking me what I’m laughing at.

August: If you value your life, don’t show her.

Sherlock: And if she steals his phone and sees it anyway? Xoxo Elena

Marshall: Paramedics or police?

Charles: Both.

August: Both.

Leon: Both.

Marshall: 👍🏻

Sherlock: They’ll never get here in time 😈

Mike: Nice knowing you, buddy ❤️

Elena: Dani, get your man in line.

Dani: What he do?

Elena: [video]

Ange: I mean…

Sol: He’s not… wrong…

Dani: He sent me that 🙊

Lexi: Is he okay?

Dani: Was he okay to begin with? 😂

Ange: Not that we know of…

Sy: Speaking of showers… We need rules.

Mike: Eh, why?

Sy: Because I was late for my date yesterday.

August: Which is our problem… how?

Leon: It’s not.

Charles: 👆🏻

Sy: In a house shared by eight guys there’s no excuse for a line for the bathroom!

Mike: Some of us have ✨girlfriends✨

Mike: You should try it sometime

Sy: 🦆🫵🏻 ❤️

Mike: Aww ❤️

Charles: He has a point, though.

Charles: Don’t appreciate getting yelled at for taking a shit in my own damn bathroom.

August: Not to mention the hair.

Sherlock: I don’t see the problem there? Just ask them to clean the drain when they’re done?

Leon: Spoken like a man who has never once in his life watched a woman clean a shower drain…

August: Good luck and farewell, Holmes

Sherlock: ?

Mike: Tears will be cried. Drains will be cleaned — by you.

Mike: Murder may be committed.

Sherlock: Surely, it can’t be that bad?

Geralt: No, he pretty much nailed it.

August: As much as I hate to admit it, the man is right.

Sy: So. New rules?

Leon: House meeting?

Mike: Sure. We’re all home, right?

Sy: Nope.

Mike: What? Why?

Sy: … sometimes when a date goes well, you end up staying over.

Sy: Are there other questions you need answered, bud?

Mike: I think I’m good…

Charles: Ladies, enough with the gossip

Leon: Right. Some of us have work to do.

Charles: Exactly

Sherlock: I highly doubt he was referring to you, Brandon.

Mike: Oooh, mad shade!!! xoxo Dani

Charles: Thanks. Sy, the complaint?

Sy: I had to wait in line to take a shower because the bathrooms were overrun by women.

Leon: Noted. The proposal?

Sy: I’m just pointing out the problem. Someone smarter than me can worry about the solution 🤷🏻‍♂️

Sherlock: Am I right to assume asking the girls to just… spend less time in the bathroom would result in murder, as well?

Sherlock: Never mind, Elena is nodding violently next to me right now.

Mike: What do you want us to do? Assign all the girls to one bathroom?

August: That might work, actually.

Leon: Doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.

Charles: Yes?

Mike: Wow, the one time I have a good idea, I don’t even realize it’s a good idea…

Mike: Wait, no.

Mike: I’m not permanently sharing a bathroom with seven of you because we sometimes have girls over.

August: Kid has a point.

Mike: I’m on a roll today! 😎

Sherlock: That leaves us with the question of how many women would have to be present to necessitate giving them their own bathroom, correct?

Marshall: If you desperately want to make it sound like math, then yes.

Sherlock: Not math. Logic.

Sherlock: And I find myself compelled to point out that I understand and enjoy logic.

August: Dealing with women is an aggravating experience, then, isn’t it?

Sherlock: Absolutely mystifying. But I’ve found that thus far the benefits outweigh the costs.

Mike: You know, for you… That’s actually kinda sweet 😂

Marshall: Romantic 👍🏻

Leon: Don’t tell her that…

Charles: Guys, seriously!

August: Right. Sol and Ange together never caused any problems.

Sherlock: Neither have any… liaisons of a fleeting nature

Mike: Hookups. You mean hookups.

Sherlock: You couldn’t pay me to say that.

Charles: Moot point. The average walk of shame happens before the shower.

Leon: It’s not like they stay for breakfast…

Leon: Beat me to it 😂🤜🏻

Charles: 🤛🏻

Geralt: The both of you are unbearable.

Geralt: August is right.

August: But…

Geralt: Sol and Ange don’t cause problems because Sol doesn’t take forever in the shower.

August: Right. But Angel is a nightmare, and so is Elena. Those two alone are enough to cause traffic.

Sherlock: Correct me if I’m wrong, but ‘Elena and Anjelica together, or either of those combined with any two others, or neither of them but a minimum of three others’ sounds like the kind of rule that will ensure we won’t even need it for the foreseeable future.

Sy: It also gives me a headache.

Mike: I don’t think I even understood enough of it to get a headache…

Sherlock: Minimum of 3, then ask me and Angie to not occupy both bathrooms at the same time. 🙄🙄🙄 Problem solved. You’re all still in trouble for even talking about this ❤️❤️❤️

Ange: They’re giving us what now???

Elena: Bathroom rules…

Dani: Tell me you’re kidding 🙃🙃

Elena: Dead fucking serious 🙄

Sol: Why?

Elena: Apparently 🙄🙄🙄🙄

Elena: We caused a traffic jam last night and made Sy late for his date???

Elena: Fairly sure Alicia didn’t mind because he’s still over there 🙄🙄🙄

Ange: What are the rules?

Elena: I don’t know. I’m glaring at Sherlock from a distance now.

Elena: I’m pleased to report he looks terrified every time I do 😈😈

Elena: They’re considering a girls’ bathroom.

Ange: I’m considering permanent occupation of all bathrooms.

Elena: Your boy called us both nightmares, by the way 😇😇

Elena: Apparently we take too long to shower, idk

Sol: You both take your time, sure…

Elena: Okay, fine. But he doesn’t have to point that out 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

Ange: Funeral invitations to follow…

Ange: No but seriously

Ange: He thinks I take too long in the shower?

Ange: Fine!

Ange: I’ll take shorter showers!

Dani: He really said that? 💀

Ange: Let’s see how he feels about that in a week or two.

Ange: Enjoy flossing, August 🙃🙄

Dani: 👀👀 [the agonizing scream you just heard was brought to you by me spitting my drink over Mike’s keyboard]

Lexi: 🙊 Mike and keyboard both okay?

Dani: Keyboard fine, Mike hyperventilating. He’ll be alright, back to you Ange.

Ange: I might have to rescind this attitude…

Ange: As much as I want to get back at him for this, I don’t want him to run…

Sol: You really think he’d care? Ange… he loves you…

Ange: Not that much…

Lexi: Girl, please?? Have you seen the way that man looks at you?

Ange: … He’s never seen me, like… untweezed and unshaved and whatever

Dani: Never?

Ange: Never ever ever.

Sol: 👀👀

Sol: But why?? I only shave when I feel like it – which is almost never – and Geralt has never said anything??

Ange: Girl, you’re a blonde 👀👀

Ange: I don’t wax this stache, 2 weeks from now you’ll be confusing me for August. I swear.

Lexi: Okay there’s literally no way that’s true.

Dani: And even if it was, he’d still love you.

Ange: Yeah but I’m not about to find out, thanks.

Lexi: It’s your body, obviously

Elena: Do what feels comfortable

Dani: But if you do ever miss a day and he does say something nasty…

Elena: I’ll grab the shovels 😇😇

Leon: Ladies and gentlemen — mostly ladies. A little PSA regarding an update in the house rules at 179th Crescent Street. It was recently brought to my/our attention that the addition of a number of regular overnight guests has created a somewhat unmanageable situation in the realm of bathroom use. Therefore, the new policy is as follows: When three or more of the girlfriends are staying over, the upstairs bathroom is all yours! Management is currently unavailable for negotiation.

Charles: TLDR: take your long-ass showers on the second floor. Please.

Ange: This message was deleted.

August: I saw that.

Elena: Oh, I’ll say it with my chest

Elena: You all suck.

Sherlock: No…

Mike: Whatever you do, man, don’t finish that thought 😂

Sherlock: I think they got the message regardless.

Ange: Oh, we got it alright…

Dani: You’re lucky you’re cute, Sherlock 🙄

Mike: Hey!

Lexi: I’m so sorry to say this but… Over my cold, dead body am I walking up a flight of stairs in the middle of the night to pee.

Charles: @Leon Told you the ‘not up for negotiation’ thing wasn’t going to work.

Leon: It was worth a try.

Geralt: We’re not banning anyone from the house for using the ‘wrong’ bathroom

Sol: Then why the pointless rule?

Sy: Because yesterday BOTH bathrooms were occupied for well over two hours!!!

Sy: Seriously, what do you do in there?

Mike: Elaborate satanic rituals?

Sol: Occasionally.

Ange: Let’s see… Do we actually enlighten them?

Mike: Please do, I’m curious now…

Charles: I know what happens when I’m also in the shower… 😏

Ange removed Charles

Ange: Any other takers?

August: Angel…

Ange: Don’t tell me I’m overreacting!

August: I didn’t say a word 😑

Ange added Charles

Ange: Behave.

Charles: 🤐

Elena: Good boy.

Leon: Do you say that to Sherlock, too? 😏

Ange removed Leon

Marshall: Jesus, Ange…

Ange: Ugh, fine.

Ange added Leon

Mike: Seriously, girls… Other than summoning the occasional demon — what are you doing in there?

Sol: I’m gonna let Elena and Angie handle this one…

Ange: Alright. So first I check if I have all 4059834 items I’m going to need. Then at some point you’ll have to get naked, unfortunately…

Dani: Look at everything you hate about yourself for a solid 5 minutes until you’re nice and depressed

Elena: Didn’t come here to be called out like this, but thanks 🙄🙄

Sol: Poke your boobs and watch them jiggle because it’s funny until you’re less depressed

Mike: Getting jealous…

Ange: Then you turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm up

Lexi: To those ungodly temperatures from the pits of hell, you know? 👀👀

Mike: I’m not apologizing for that video, just so you know.

Lexi: That’s actually useful time to make sure you find the right playlist ✨✨

Sy: YOU DON’T NEED A PLAYLIST FOR A SHOWER

Lexi: Hard disagree

Elena: Yes, we do.

Sol: … Am I supposed to listen to my own thoughts in the shower?

Ange: I’d never be able to suppress my homicidal tendencies ever again, holy shit…

Dani: Then we actually get in the shower and warm up because the bathroom is cold, just like our souls.

Marshall: I’m genuinely learning more than I’ve ever wanted to know…

Mike: This is already taking longer than my whole entire shower…

Ange: And we’re not even close to being done.

Elena: @Ange Especially us…

Leon: Okay, fine, I’ll bite… Why is it different for the two of you?

Sol: Because they have curls?

Charles: That makes a difference?

Sy: So?

Mike: Why does THAT matter?

Marshall: Is that… important??

Elena: You’re all so clueless, it’s almost cute 🥺

Ange: @Marshall you actually might want to pay attention to this…

Ange: Alright. By the time I’m warm, my hair is usually wet all the way through

Ange: Massively heavy, by the way.

Ange: It’s hair-washing time! Which, idk about @Elena, but I have to do this in at least 4 sections if I don’t want to miss half of it.

Elena: I can get by with 2, but 4 is better.

Elena: Of course, 9/10 times I fucking forgot to section it before getting in the shower.

Ange: Obviously. So now you’re wrangling your wet hair into submission

Elena: Which is damn near impossible.

Ange: Exactly. But when that’s finally done, you can get to washing it.

Elena: And rinsing it until there’s absolutely no way there’s still any shampoo left.

Ange: Which takes a long ass time, BTW.

Ange: Then it’s ✨deep conditioner✨ time!!! Like… it’s always deepco time. I don’t even use regular conditioner anymore because my hair thinks it’s pointless. So like. That.

Elena: Mood.

Ange: And that stuff needs to sit in your hair for like 15-30 minutes

Mike: That’s like… 3 whole showers…

Charles: I don’t even spend this kind of time on my schoolwork 👀

Geralt: That’s not something to be proud of.

Sherlock: Imagine what you could do if you did.

Ange: Either way, it’s okay, because next… We exfoliate.

August: For those who haven’t been keeping count, we’re on step 12 or something. Jesus.

Charles: @Leon what the damn hell does our water bill look like?

Sol: Pay attention! Exfoliate! Then shave. Which, when you’re 6 feet tall in the showers here… damn near impossible, by the way.

Elena: (Cut yourself at least twice no matter how long you’ve been doing it…)

Lexi: Ohh! Cubicle yoga while holding a razor!!!

Dani: And while wet and slippery…

Ange: We’re superhuman 💃🏻

Sy: You’re nuts is what you are. All of you!

Dani: Anyway, when we reach baby dolphin status…

Dani: Which doesn’t happen until we’ve checked at least three times if we haven’t missed any spots…

Dani: I personally squeeze in brushing my teeth and skincare before rinsing my conditioner.

Elena: 👆🏻

Ange: Same! If I’m paying like 30 dollars for a hair mask that’ll barely last me two weeks, I’m gonna at least spend some time with it 👀✨

Sol: So that’s teeth and face wash in the shower. Then rinse that conditioner.

Ange: Which — again — takes a while if you have curly and/or a lot of hair.

Ange: Also, before I rinse my hair, I spend an ungodly amount of time detangling it with my fingers, which I have to do while the mask/conditioner is in. So…

Marshall: And at this point you’re finally nearly done, right?

Sherlock: … please, for the love of God, let it almost be over!

Ange: Oh, my precious little babies ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Lexi: At this point we’re slowly considering getting out of the shower, yes.

Dani: But the rest of the bathroom is cold, so we take our time gathering the courage to get out.

Leon: 🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️

Sherlock: The entire bathroom is hot enough to steam salmon at this point!

Mike: And yet, they manage to emerge from Mordor absolutely freezing…

Sol: When we do finally manage to make it out, we wrap ourselves in the biggest towel we can find…

Ange: By the way, ladies, you can thank me and Sol for the presence of the big towels in this house.

Sol: Oh GOD I remember the first shower I ever took here.

Geralt: The towels were fine.

Sol: …………. Geralt, I love and respect you, but you’re wrong and also stupid. ❤️

Ange: You’ll pay for that…

Sol: Looking forward to it 😈😈

Mike: Please continue…

Dani: We’re left with the rest of our skincare. So; toner, 1-3 serums, moisturizer. Sunscreen or oil, for me, depending on the time of day.

Ange: But the mirror is fogged up from the shower, so you have to deal with that…

Leon: YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR FACE IS, DON’T YOU?

Ange: Yes, but it’s also very pretty so I wanna look at it. Thanks.

Lexi: How can I meticulously study all the imperfections in my skin if I can’t see my face???

Dani: Exactly! (To both of those things, simultaneously)

Dani: So, after that, it’s time to moisturize everything you’ve exfoliated and/or shaved.

Elena: Which is… pretty much everything.

Sol: Cue deep sigh because this is where you find out you actually did miss a spot somewhere.

Ange: And then it’s back to the hair for the curly girls!

Elena: Leave in ❤️❤️❤️

Marshall: What?

Sy: ??

Mike: Wut?

Ange: It’s like conditioner, but you don’t rinse it out.

Sherlock: @Elena the stuff that smells good?

Elena: Yes 😂😂😂

Dani: Which reminds me; @Elena, is that your Quench in the bathroom or mine? I can’t remember…

Elena: Oh, God, me neither…

August: Settle this in the shadow group, ladies.

Lexi: You know about that, huh? 😂

Dani: Shit, they figured it out…

Sol: Not surprised… They’re not completely clueless…

Ange: Just mostly…

August: Thanks. Enough of that.

Ange: Okay daddy 🥺❤️❤️

August: 🙄

Ange: Anyway. After the leave-in and maybe two or three other products, I wrap my hair up in my hair-towel — or hair-tshirt.

Charles: Another towel? Why in the fuck?

Ange: Boys. I understand that you don’t give a fuck about this, but…

Ange: Regular towels are actually not good for your hair.

Elena: 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻

Lexi: Besides… You can’t dry long hair and your body with 1 towel…

Sol: What she said.

Sol: What they both said, actually.

Leon: Are we finally at the end of all of this?

Leon: I’ve literally never been more glad to not have a girlfriend, jesus fucking christ…

Dani: Yeah, pretty much… You get dressed, dreading the cold of the hallway, and then we quickly go find a boy to snuggle up to who can then tell us we smell nice and are very soft, so we can convince ourselves we didn’t just spend an unholy amount of time doing all of that for absolutely nothing.

August: All of this is… insane.

Ange: Hey! I can stop doing half of this, if you think it’s so unnecessary 🙄🙄

Elena: Now that I think about it… It wouldn’t even save any time, because you still need to let the conditioner sit, so…

Charles: Right, ladies, this was very interesting…

Charles: I’m going to take a shower now.

Charles: Talk to you in about… 10 minutes 🙄

Sy: Remind me to never ask any of you any questions literally ever again…

[makoodles]

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

[beaft]

you have an isekai story? can i read it somewhere?

one day, i hope! i'm currently attempting to get it trad-published, but if i don't have any success i'll self-publish. i've only been avoiding the self-publishing route thus far because you have to do so much of your own marketing and i'm pants at that.

[picory]

i really need to rewatch uwe before the upcoming season finale and properly gather my thoughts on it but i really really like the show! its goofy and cartoony style paired with a serious story about these warriors' souls stuck in an eternal war with the evil, the slight psychological horror of being used as hosts for said souls and almost completely discarded and disregarded (though it doesn't say too much about this, this is more my overthinking), the steampunk elements, the character designs, the voice acting... all of it. despite that i still have some irks with it, like the pacing. this show would've definitely benefited from having more episodes. for such a story heavy show 10 episodes doesn't feel enough. it worked with primal, genndy tartakovsky's previous show, because there was little to no dialogue there. it did an excellent job at making the viewer understand what was happening with mere facial expressions. but uwe characters have a lot to say, a lot to work out between each other. and it's clear tartakovsky wants to tell more. they need more episodes to do that. i hope the show gets renewed for a second season. i need everything that i'm extremely confused about to be addressed and cleared up

[lunarharp]

a random draft where i was ramblingg about witch hat & art to myself for myself :)

rare time i feel like actually going off about the thing i’m having fun with right now in more detail ... but not on twt where strangers might try to discuss back at me lol sorry but that is scary. (not that you even have the room to soliloquy on there)

i love how there's characters for varying types of artists to relate to. people like agott who have been adept at drawing from a young age but feel overwhelmed by feelings of not meeting their expectations. and are driven mostly by feelings of wanting to prove their worth..

people like oru who have always been around the art but now are burnt out from commissions and wondering just what they're drawing for... and ones i relate to the most personally like coco and qifrey, who started drawing at an older age to the skilled people around them. like coco i'm so happy that i'm in the world of drawing(/magic) now and excited every day but also weighed down by fears that i'll never get to what i where i need to be after starting at this late stage and also whether i'm really cut out for this....

and like qifrey i only started drawing after a narrow escape from trauma... i started drawing to make sense of what my life is now, just as he was invited by beldaruit to become a witch because it was the only safe path he could take. (although i've not been through anything quite like what he's been through... ouagh)

and there’s tetia who just wants to draw to make other people feel happy about what she’s made, to have fun, and spread hope and happiness and gratitude. who feels so happy whenever someone thanks her for what she’s created - i understand now how it feels to want to thank them for thanking her and how making art, when you get a meaningful response, can be a truly warm communal type experience. but you do need that response - her overwhelming happiness when the dragon thing was happy and she said it was the first time she’d ever felt fully appreciated for her magic and it made her soooo happy. she had been drawing until then, but it was the last puzzle in place to make her realise the breadth of what magic can be for her.

and riche who is determined to not lose the “her”-ness from her art, doesn’t want to learn new techniques and become more regular and orthodox in style if it means she feels she’s losing something... i get that!!! precious autistic-coded child... the ways we feel about our art differ depending on our own mental landscapes. hahhhh... shirahama said she began this series because she was having a conversation with artist friends about how it feels like drawing just really is magic. i mean..... it is.

i think writing feels like magic too, and i’m glad i can do both now. any creation is total magic. i’ve drawn scenes that were in my head and that’s let other people see them and if i can trust their comments about it, has moved them in some way or at least let them imagine a scene or a situation that they wouldn’t have imagined otherwise. but it’s different from just telling someone about it. when you draw something, or write something it really exists now - outside of you. THAT’S SO WEIRD.

i liked drawing a lot of takarazuka things (before i realised i got kind of burnt out drawing all this transcore stuff that people were not exactly responding to because it’s so niche and weird lmao) but drawing fanart for something that also ONLY exists in art is so special. it’s not acted by real people. like.. they’re just little people that someone drew and now i draw them too. total magic. and she gets up and draws them every day the same as me...

i love that a manga isn’t just art, it’s storytelling too. doing both writing and drawing at the same time - it feels like such a perfect and fascinating combination of skills and facets of creation. i’m better at writing than drawing, so i don’t feel like i can express my original stories well enough in comic form just yet. but i might just get there.

the world is so confusing and overwhelming and terrible every day. only creation is something i can understand. sometimes i can’t understand it - when i feel REALLY bad, it’s definitely like, what’s the point. and i wish i had more things to experience at present than just creation - i want to be outside and just feel and be as well as create. and at some point i’ll definitely stop posting my creations online. but creating has become something that i don’t need to understand the reason for it - so at those times when i wonder what the real point to any of this is.... lately, i usually still create anyway. just as you’d still breathe and sleep even though you’re hurt and confused by the horrors of the world. it’s becoming how i express myself. i find myself drawing pretty much every day because it’s part of how i make sense of shit now and i naturally want to do it. not doing it is painful.

i hope this magic continues. i hope it becomes far more wonderful than i can even imagine from here.

and i won't lose.

[sunarc]

Geto’s tired of listening to you fail to get yourself off. It's another late night of your touching yourself but seemingly unable to bring yourself to an orgasm. He doesn’t think he can go another night listening to the frustrated sighs probably because your fingers don’t reach the spot you’re desperately craving them to touch. If you need help why don’t you just ask. He’s more than willing to give you what you need. 

He sat leaning against the wall listening to your whimpers. His hand moves in slow motions pumping himself to your voice. 

“Just let go baby it’s so easy” he whispers eyes closed listening to your harsh sighs.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock while his head lulls back. He knows you need him. He can have you cumming in seconds. His mind is running a mile per minute with thoughts of how pretty you probably look with your legs spread stretching yourself out with your fingers. His thoughts run rampant but they are cut short by a frustrated groan coming through the walls. Something takes over Geto because before he realizes his actions his knuckles knock softly against the wall. He hears you shuffling before you whisper softly.

“Yes?”

“Do you… need help?” he’s not sure what has possessed him. This can go one of two ways and he’s praying it goes how he's imagining it. 

You’re silent for a minutes presumably contemplating his question. The silence feels like it's clawing at his brain. He almost wants to take back what he said but it’s far too late for that. 

“I-” he’s cut off by your voice

“Yes” you whimper.

Geto’s heart feels like it might jump out of his chest. Did he hear that right? He scrambles to his feet realizing that he now has to act on his words. His feet carry him to your room and it feels like he might be floating. When he opens the door there you are spread out just as he imagined with a pout on your face. 

“Please help” you whimper. 

Geto is by your side within seconds eyeing the way slick drools down your cunt. “Fuck you look so good” he breathes. 

He moves your hand gently and replaces it with his own. His fingers feel so much better than your own. He reaches spots you can only dream of reaching. 

Geto’s eyes watch the way you arch into him feeling the way his fingers glide against your walls. A small smirk appears on his face as he watches you close your eyes feeling pure bliss. 

“Yeah? Does that feel good princess?” his voice is soft whispering the sweet words to you. 

You nod your head too focused on chasing after your orgasm to reply with words. 

“Look at you. You needed me didn’t you? Look at how your falling apart for my fingers. Wait until you get my cock baby.” He leans into you pressing kisses against your neck. His arm holds your body close to his while his fingers massage your core send sparks of pleasure through your body. 

“Come for me pretty, Let me see you make a mess” he groans in your ear. 

You body jolts from the orgasm. Your hands grip onto Geto shaking from the orgasm you were chasing. 

“That’s it, just like that, so good for me” he kisses your shaking form. 

You don't have enough time to come down from your before Geto is flipping you over and push you down into an arch. 

“Let me get a taste before I fuck you to sleep princess”

His hands spread your ass cheeks so he can see your slick cover cunt. His tongue glides between your folds. He licks and flicks your clit while his hand massages the fat of your ass. 

“Taste so good baby” he breathes 

His groans sound heavenly as he licks between your folds as i you’re his favorite meal. He’s in a land of pure bliss tasting you. He hums as his tongue dips in and out of your hole messily eating you. Geto has never felt himself losing control in this way. There’s something about you. Something that possesses him. He wants you, needs you in the most lewd way. Thoughts of you cumming on his cock plague his mind. His heart is beating in his chest harder than ever. This doesn’t even feel real. To have you in this way spread out with your ass in the air all for him has his cock achingly hard. 

“You ready for me Princess?” he groans pulling back taking a deep breath. Your slick pools down his chin. 

You nod your head desperately while your hand grip the sheet eager to feel him at your entrance. Geto places the tip of his cock at your entrance treasuring the way you whine for him to put it in. He loves how desperate you are for him. He lovees that you crave him the same way he crave you. 

“I’m gonna take my time with this” he whispers. 

His hand massages your hip as he inches his cock deep into you. He’s big and no amount of finger could have prepared you for him. You burn with pleasure feeling his cock stretch you out. 

“‘ S-so big” you whine.

Once he bottoms out he holds that position. He bites his lip while his fingers hold onto your hips.

“Fuck- you don’t understand how long I’ve wanted to do this” he lets out a heavy sigh as he closes his eyes. His pace start off slow. He wants you to feel every inch of his sliding inside of you. 

“You’re taking me so well baby” his voice soothes you as he fucks you. His thrusts are slow and long.

You look so pretty like this. Your back is arched, hands stretched outward taking all that he has to give you. Geto’s soaking in the moment. His heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. He finally has you and he’s taking advantage of every second. Your moans bounce off the walls echoing through the room. Your so loud taking his cock no wonder he could hear you through the walls fucking yourself. 

“This is what you needed isn’t it” he groans “You needed me, needed my cock. It’s okay I’m here now princess. All you have to worry about now is making a mess on my cock.”His thrust are filled with passion.   

His hands part your ass cheeks so he can get a view how how your cunt swallows his cock. 

“Look at how much this pussy loves me” he moans eyes low staring at where the two of you connect.       

He throws his head back groaning at the way you clench around him. 

“Fuck its so tight and warm” he can’t control himself. 

His picks up speed thrusting into you wildly chasing after an orgasm. 

“I need you so bad, Please fuck- please cum for me” he’s never known himself to lose control like this. 

His moans turn into whimpers as he continues fucking into you softly holding you. He can feel you’re close. Your face presses into the pillow muffling your moans. 

“Come on baby, Let me hear those pretty moans, don't hide them from me”his thrust are constant. 

He leans down to press kisses up your spine to your shoulder. His thrust are slow but they leave yo0u shaking on the brink of your orgasm. 

“Cum for me princess, I know how bad you need it” His voice is like silk whispering the words to you. 

His words send you over the edge. You completely lose yourself cumming around his cock. 

“That’s it, you're so good for me” he chuckles with a shaky voice. 

His thrust do not stop. He lets out a deep sigh before sitting up to fuck you faster. Your hand moves to push against his hips whining about how it’s too much. He chuckles and intertwines his fingers into yours. 

“Too much? We’re just getting started princess” a sly smirk grows across his face.

“I told you I was going to take my time. Let’s see how many times I can get you to cum tonight”