#it seems to be consistent for each person as far as i can tell???

[rose-morose]

I've been on a superhero kick since finishing The Boys season 4 finale and I finally got around to watching the Harley Quinn animated series, or at least the 4 seasons that are currently out as of writing

a bit heavy on the meta comedy for my taste, but over all I enjoyed it, and I have some thoughts, so I'm here to bring you the amateur analysis nobody asked for or wanted

(very long Harley Quinn spoilers below cut)

(seriously it's so fucking long don't hit the cut if you don't want a wall of text on your screen)

at its core, Harley Quinn is a show about relationships, and I don't just mean romantic relationships, I mean human, and occasionally non human, relations of all kinds: family, friends, coworkers, lovers, enemies, nemeses, etc. it's an exercise in the concept of the social and how each person interacts with and relates to other individuals and groups

I think it would be fun to take a closer look at some of these relationships and analyse them from the perspective of a confused aroace loser with exactly 6 friends so here we go

the show centers on two individuals who, by the beginning of the show, have quite literally never had anything even remotely resembling a healthy relationship in their entire lives, which is not hyperbole in the slightest, and again is not just referring to romantic relationships, but relationships of all kinds

the focus is on DC's titular Harley Quinn, and her only friend turned best friend turned girlfriend (minor spoiler but not really) Poison Ivy, and the evolution of their relationship, as well as the relationships of many prominent DC characters around them, and also Kite Man

this is going to be quite a long one with many parts, so you'll have to bear with me for awhile or just give up now you have been warned

part one

the (toxic) insane clown posse (duo)

the show opens with the infamously toxic romance between Harley Quinn and the clown prince of crime, the Joker himself

episode one opens with a showcase of the well documented abusive relationship between Quinn and Joker and just how abusive the Joker truly is as he leaves her for dead yet again

Poison Ivy, powerful supervillain and only friend of Harley Quinn, goes to great lengths to help Harley see that her relationship with Joker is not as perfect as she believes

it's clear there is already a lot of love between Ivy and Harley, and despite the fact that Ivy is a well known misanthrope with a burning hatred of humanity, she has made a singular exception for Harley due in part to her tenure at Arkham as a psychiatrist during one of Ivy's stays

Harley spends season one attempting to escape the telltale psychological hold of a manipulative and abusive relationship, which is easier said than done and not simple in the slightest, but by the end of the first season she has made a considerable amount of progress

part two

emancipation, the crew, and new friends

of course breaking off her romantic relationship with the Joker does not free Harley of his hold, the process is far more strenuous and takes considerably more time, but now she has an opportunity to start some new positive relationships in her life to help her through, and that takes the form of her new crew which consists of Dr. Psycho, Clay Face, King Shark, and Sy and she befriends Ivy's plant Frank and the Queen of Fables as well

as I've mentioned Harley has no experience with healthy relationships, and her initial transactional attitude and emotional neglect towards her new friends is quite telling, but she is in the process of learning how to truly connect with people, a challenge her background in psychiatry seems to lend a foundation to help with

each episode of the first season follows her uncovering a new facet of how a genuine friendship is formed and maintained, all the while battling her own selfishness to be the best friend she can be

the friendships seem to fall out of touch over the course of the show, but there remains a rapport between the crew even after their professional split

the later seasons spend a lot less time exploring friendships, a decision I'm not too thrilled with, but the exploration of relationships continues regardless

part 3

Ivy, Kite Man, and the most baffling romance I've ever seen

I genuinely hate this relationship so much that I made an entire other post about it here

it's really god damn long, probably not as long as part 4, but fuck I just want to throttle Kite Man to death with my bare fucking hands

it's less the relationship I hate and more just Kite Man himself, he's not even necessarily a bad character he just fucking sucks and gets away with it every time and it pisses me off

though I do still hate the relationship

part 4

Harley, Ivy, true love, and possibly the best written romance I've seen on television

Harley's season 2 meeting with Mr. Freeze tells us a lot about what she thinks of love

she sees Mr. Freeze's affection towards his cryogenically frozen wife Nora as creepy and exploitative, and when Mr. Freeze gives his life to save his wife, Harley comments that his actions are 'insane'

admittedly Freeze's expressions of affection do seem very creepy, but Harley's subsequent outburst on how love is bullshit indicates that Freeze's behaviour isn't her real issue

Harley seems to believe that true love was a lie that the Joker sold her to keep her under his control, and, having no other experience, assumes that everyone is just like her and the Joker, and are only trying to get what they want from a relationship without consideration for others

but Nora's reciprocation of Mr. Freeze's affection when Harley unfreezes her quickly begins to cast doubt on her previous notion and challenges her perception of love itself

and then she finds her own true love and everything changes

enter the beautiful mess that is Harlivy

"I love you, in a very odd, hard-to-articulate way." - Ivy to Harley in episode 1

it seems clear from a writing standpoint that these two were going to be together romantically from episode 1 and on, the build up to which is noticeable yet sufficiently subtle, and I do think Ivy fell first and by first I mean before the show even begins, and if these two aren't the fucking definition of the fell first/fell harder trope

and Harley falls HARD

early on, her true feelings for Ivy, unexpressed, seem to take up every waking moment of her mind, and she struggles to avoid ruining her relationship with Ivy, while also desperately wanting to take a risk that could ruin it for good, after all, Ivy is marrying and committing to a hetero monogamous relationship with fucking Kite Man for some fucking reason

"You're here, and you're queer. Get used to it!" - Harley to Ivy after Ivy cheated on Kite Man with her

did Ivy already know that she is queer? based on her Catwoman anecdote, yes, and it seems like Harley was also aware of her own queerness, it is odd to see a queer relationship in media where no one involved is overtly struggling with their own sexuality or gender, it's not necessarily a bad thing, nor is it something completely new, it's just unexpected

unfortunately, we do have to talk about the giant kite-shaped elephant in the room, except, just kidding, no we don't, fuck that guy go back to part 3 if you care, his whole relationship was nothing but an obstacle in my opinion, but I should bring up the infidelity

in a monogamous relationship, when one partner engages in sexual or romantic pursuits with a third party without the other partner's consent or knowledge, that is categorised as 'cheating' and is widely seen as a profound breach of trust and a betrayal of the highest order, I think this is because monogamous relationships are built on exclusivity and trusting that your partner will not break their vow of exclusivity that they have sworn to uphold under any circumstances (sometimes there are exceptions I guess whatever)

to my understanding infidelity is often indicative of a want that falls beyond the boundaries of monogamy and is often not communicated properly for lack of courage, lack of will, or simple adversity to change

Ivy's want seems to be Harley, and her challenge seems to be adversity to change and a lack of self confidence/courage

from what I understand, it's the same as someone you thought you could count on more than anyone else in the world breaking an important promise that they made to you with utmost sincerity, and that shit sucks for anyone regardless of sexuality or circumstance

I have already spent way too much time on probably unnecessarily explaining adultery, but I'm aroace so I am just trying to work through it and understand it myself and am not actually certain if my understanding is accurate so please correct me if I'm wrong this is all third hand information

moving right along, we can finally watch the romance begin, enter the eat bang kill tour

Harley and Ivy have, up till this point, still not had a single healthy romantic relationship, and it really shows, but quite crucially they are improving every episode and trying their best to work it out

Harley, having never really experienced real romantic love before, is desperate to feel as loved as possible, and once she has felt it for the first time, she never wants to let go

she prolongs the eat bang kill tour as long as she possibly can, showering Ivy with gifts and doing crazy stuff that only serial killers would find fun, just trying to keep that high of the 'honeymoon phase" alive for as long as she can

Harley does not want to exist without Ivy if it means potentially losing the amazing feelings that she is experiencing for the very first time in her life

on the other hand, Ivy is very reserved and submissive, she has trouble voicing her true feelings to Harley and suffers for it, a similar pattern of behaviour that she exhibited with Kite Man

Ivy just can't say no, she also does not want to lose that high, but has a different approach to maintaining it

"A big part of being in a relationship is not always telling the exact truth. And that way, you can get what you need without hurting anyone's feelings." - Poison Ivy

this line is incredibly telling of Ivy's past relationships, and it will become a challenge that she must overcome if she wants any hope of actually forming a healthy relationship

and hey, maybe a little lie here and there isn't so bad for a relationship, that's not for me to say and I honestly don't know, but Ivy seems to use the technique excessively to her own detriment

but I mean, what would a compelling dramatic romance be without serious communication issues?

and all these little minor contentions and miscommunications finally build up to the first major conflict in Harley and Ivy's relationship, Edin

it turns out Harley and Ivy might not be on the same page about the whole extermination of humanity, and their failure to communicate that ends in horror as, despite Ivy's wishes, Harley makes a sacrifice that forces Ivy to choose between Harley's life and her own dream

Ivy chooses Harley of course, but this moment rattles their relationship dynamic dramatically and Harley panics, deciding that she wasn't being very supportive of Ivy, and still being desperate not to lose her newfound happiness, she lapses back into her behaviour from when she was with Joker, Harley goes right back to doing exactly what she's told without question and with great enthusiasm in spite of her own personal opinion, because that's how she has handled conflict historically, that's what has worked and she will do anything to hold on to that feeling she has had being with Poison Ivy

Ivy mistakes Harley's new found enthusiasm as genuine, and it takes the Joker himself to point out that she is doing exactly what he did to Harley so long ago, so Ivy asks Harley what she really wants

and now comes my favourite part, the very problematic Valentine's Day special

in spite of the many problematic events of the episode, there will never be a sweeter moment than Ivy sharing her favourite Valentine's Day with Harley, it just melts my heart every time I watch it

as for the problematic part there's nothing new, it's some standard self aware hijinks that affirms that the writers are aware of the unhealthy behaviours exhibited by the two leads and exploring that dynamic is all part of the story, mostly centering on Harley's fixation on being the best partner possible mixed with lasting psychological damage, all from her time with the Joker, but the resolution is adorable

I can't really describe Ivy's favourite Valentine's Day, you just have to watch it, it honestly is the most wholesome and genuine moment in the show, and I can hardly think of any other moment in any other show that can top it either

entering season 4, Harley and Ivy's latest challenge is to set up professional boundaries and segregate their own personal lives from their work lives seeing as they are now each working on opposing sides of a conflict

it's a struggle to be sure, and each partner is terrified that without their shared proclivity for villainy, a rift may form in their relationship

the fear is certainly justified, but despite the challenges presented by their professional split they manage to find other ways to connect

that's pretty much all I have to say on them so far, I think their romance is by far the best part of the show, and I personally believe it to be incredibly well written in spite of what others may think, but it's time to move on

"I mean man. You know me better than anyone." - Ivy

"You're easy to celebrate." - Harley

"And you're fun to celebrate with." - Ivy

part 5

found family vs blood relatives

"You people are not my family, and you know what? You're not even worth it." - Harley to her parents after they tried to murder her

there's no doubt that Harley's family fucking sucks, and you'll be hard pressed to find a family that doesn't anywhere in this show

Ivy's parents were abusive, Harley's were manipulative, Kite Man's are assholes, Batman's are dead, as are Nightwing's, Dr. Psycho is intentionally a terrible father and unintentionally a terrible husband, Sy locked his sister in a basement, Barbara's father is an alcoholic deadbeat and her mother left, King Shark hates his asshole father and killed multiple of his brothers, Robin's father is an emotionally repressed billionaire playboy and his mother is a sociopathic assassin that wants nothing to do with him, the list goes on

every blood family has fallen apart and some of the members have scattered to various found families

the show initially centres on one found family in particular, Harley's crew, but later shifts much of the focus on the bat family as well

both of these families are as dysfunctional as the next, but there is a sense of love and belonging that they bring to each member that families are known to have

what really makes a family? it's hard to say, I think it's like a sort of community that always has your back, even when you're wrong, and maybe you don't like each other all the time, but there is still a sort of love between everyone

families spend time together, but if they live together they're always trying to get away from each other, they support each other, but they will rescind their support if they think you're doing dumb shit that they don't like, they love each other, but may not often express it, sometimes they get along, and sometimes they don't, there is a certain dichotomy to a familial relationship that doesn't really exist in most other relationships

where as you might need to like your friends in order to stay friends, families can maintain a bond in spite of quarrels and disagreements, not everyone will like it, but it's what you've got

in this sense, families are the only relationship that you can never really seem to escape, Dick came back to Gotham, Robin left with his mother, Ivy tore the city apart to rescue Frank, Harley always rescues her crew, and they always rescue her

but the familial aspect does not define a relationship, other relationships will exist between family members that are not inherently related, you can be friends with your family, mere acquaintances, even enemies, or something else entirely

Batgirl and Harley are both new to the bat family, but despite their short tenure, both are given a sense of family from people they know very little about

in my experience, found family often comes from where you least expect it, Batgirl was probably the only person not absolutely shocked to their core to see Harley Quinn herself joining the bat family, and Sy was just Harley and Ivy's landlord before he sacrificed his physical body for them, Frank is a fucking plant, who would expect that their best friend would be a sentient fucking plant?

at some point Nightwing seems to heavily backtrack out of nowhere and stops treating Harley as part of the family, this, to me, seems to be just a poor writing choice seeing as Nightwing was previously very enthusiastic to have Harley in the family

while his concerns may be justified, it's weird that they are only just now being expressed

part 6

Nora Freeze, Batman, Bane, Jim Gordon, Batgirl, Alfred, Poison Ivy, and loneliness

Catwoman is the only lonely character that can tolerate being alone, she even prefers it

whereas Nora, Batman, Bane, Jim, Barbara, Ivy, and Alfred on the other hand each contend with their own particular brand of loneliness and each cope with it in their own unhealthy ways

Nora is grieving, Batman is reluctant, Bane is desperate, Jim is self sabotaging, Barbara is insecure, Ivy is traumatised, and Alfred is purposeless

but for this part I want to focus on Nora

in light of her supposed incurable disease, subsequent coma, and the loss of her husband, Nora has never been more alone

she has no one to turn to, and no one to support her as she grieves for all that she has lost, and I don't mean to imply that Nora's husband was what gave her life value or meaning, in reality it's only a small part of the life she left behind

Nora expressed that her fundamental life changes have left her alienated from all of her previous relationships, her friends and family all expect her to be someone that she no longer is

Nora seems to turn to drugs and alcohol for relief, she seems lost and doesn't know what to do, she just kind of eventually stumbles into her new job working for Ivy, and doesn't take it very seriously

she is understandably put off of serious relationships, and seems to just engage in sex for fun, which is not actually a problem though some characters may disagree

the people of this world have never been lonelier than they are now, and Nora is hardly alone in her isolation

Batgirl's earnest demeanor and nerdy vibe make it difficult for her to make friends, and her deadbeat parents don't pay any attention to her, though things seem to be even worse on the occasion that they do

Jim is married to the job as they say, though this is largely comedic he shows no signs of improvement

Bane is just not very bright and no one takes him seriously, though he does find someone in the end

Ivy hates humanity, but she still seeks companionship from those few she deems worthy, the only trouble is how few she deems worthy, and it's difficult to say whether this is her fault, or theirs, but she does find people she can connect with, and is definitely happier for it

why she deems Kite Man worthy will forever be a mystery to me

part 7

the Joker takes a stab at healthy relationships

after season 1 the Joker is presumed dead, but Harley and Ivy soon discover that he survived, as a basic bitch white suburban amnesiac with no memory of his true identity

his confusion provides the catalyst through which the Joker begins a romantic relationship with the totally unsuspecting Bethany, and by extension he becomes the step father to her two children

the relationship continues for a short number of months until Harley, in a desperate bid to save the city, violently reminds Joker of his true identity

this time around Joker remembers his own life as well as the life he had lived as an amnesiac and is immediately disgusted with himself

he breaks off his relationship with Bethany because she challenges his perception of his own identity and that scares him

however, upon realising how much happier he was as an amnesiac living with Bethany and her children, he decides that maybe he can give the whole true love thing a shot, after all, lots of dads are serial killers

and thus the true romance of Bethany and the Joker finally begins, it's honestly kind of surprising that Bethany still wanted to date the Joker and not the other way around, but I suppose it's understandable if you've already spent so much time together, plus Bethany and her kids were excessively eager when Joker announced to them his return to crime so maybe they were kind of into it the whole time

part 8

Jim Gordon and his (seemingly) one sided friendship with the Batman

Batman is self admittedly "not good with feelings" and by extension, personal relationships

he is incredibly insistent that he "work[s] alone"

he is dismissive of Jim's constant insistence that they are friends and not just coworkers, but in spite of this attitude Harley is able to convince Batman that Jim Gordon is not just a coworker, but might just be his one and only friend

the idea that they are friends is further compounded by the comedically timed screen saver of Batman's computer that shows him and Gordon together celebrating

after Harley's intervention their friendship remains very one sided with Gordon constantly seeking Batman's validation and approval, but Batman at the very least has acknowledged the truth of their relationship

part 9

can people change

can Harley become someone reliable and dependable?

can Ivy count on and trust someone other than herself?

can the Joker become a suburban dad?

can Psycho stop calling women cunts?

can Kite Man do anything right ever?

can people change?

according to the show, the answer is yes

Nora Freeze spent years in a cryogenic coma, and upon her revival, lost the love of her life

her friends all expected her to be the way they remembered, but the experience had a deep impact that spurred a fundamental change within her

she didn't just lose her husband by waking from the coma, she lost her entire life as well, she feels like an entirely new person, and it leaves her lost and lonely, but it wasn't her husband's death that left her all alone

Harley and Ivy are both forced to undergo changes in order to make their relationship work, but they don't just change for the sake of each other, they change for their own sake as well

these changes are what allow them to form all kinds of new positive relationships, but failure to change promises severe social consequences

Jim Gordon's failure to change guarantees the continuation of his misery, he could have had a loving family and admits that he loved being a father, but he ultimately decides that change is scarier than loneliness

part 10

Ivy and Swamp Thing, the end of friendship

"You never let me express myself, Ivy! This is why we stopped being friends." - Swamp Thing in a fit of rage

many of us have had that one friend that would whinge for hours on end about their problems, but would suddenly have something better to do when it was our turn to complain, unfortunately some of us have even been that friend

it can be incredibly frustrating for the listener, and the whinger often doesn't even realise that they're doing it

Ivy was that friend to Swamp Thing, and until now she never even knew the true reason they stopped being friends in the first place

it's tough to know when to give people a chance, and when to cut a toxic friend out of your life for good, Swamp Thing had to make that call for his own sake, and it seems to have paid off

their hiatus apart allowed Ivy the time she needed to grow, so that she could be a good friend for a change

it's also an example of the idea that the end of a relationship doesn't always have to be for good, people and circumstances change, and sometimes reconnecting can lead to a better relationship than you ever had before

so it's finally done, I have been writing this post for fucking ages now even though no one will ever read it, but at this point it's mostly for me anyway so no harm done, this blog is basically my diary as it is

I didn't even talk about everything I wanted to but it has been months so I'm finally just going to post it

[creativemercinary]

Reblog and tell prev what color their booping paw is

[foldingfittedsheets]

The location of the sex shop I worked was a haven for spiders. We had tall ceilings and skylights and unused storage rooms. It was a spider paradise. We quickly sussed out which coworkers to call on in case of emergency. The Dorito lady was a solid ally for spiders but absolutely petrified of moths.

But there’s actually a hierarchy of fear. Most people don’t realize. The person least afraid is the one forced to deal with the bug in question. If coworker B was scared, but coworker A was petrified, well coworker B was gonna have to screw their courage to the sticking place because by the law of fear they were the most competent person on scene.

Thus enters Rick. Rick first appeared in the back storage room. This room doubled as a second bathroom so we went in on a semi frequent basis. The girl who’d gone in to pee shot out again gibbering with fear about the biggest spider she’d ever seen had just run across her boot.

We sicced Dorito lady on it. She returned, shaking her head. “He was squatting on a power cord where it plugs in. I couldn’t get a clean shot at Rick.”

“Rick?”

She shrugged. “Spiders that big need a name. Seemed like a Rick.”

Rick, freshly named, became a store menace. I’d normally say this was probably a case of multiple spiders being mistaken for one but everyone who encountered him swore up and down there could be no mistake. This spider was massive, fast, and distinct. A gladiator among arachnids.

I never encountered Rick. His exploits grew in the telling but the theme was consistent: no one could kill him. He’d hunker in places that no one could reach and dart away when a strike missed. He also chased off the more faint hearted, charging them in bold dashes. There could be no benign cup transplant to remove Rick from the premise. He was not leaving.

The saga of Rick continued for two months. Not seeing him was almost worse, a fearful wariness when going to the bathroom or stepping into quieter areas. I waited with dread, hoping my eventual run in would have me on shift with Dorito lady to protect me.

It was not to be. There was a girl the same who hated my one moment of singing that was absolute piss-herself scared of spiders. She’d slam straight into a panic attack and couldn’t think or speak. And so it was that one night on shift, I heard her scream.

It was unmistakable. I was in the front window turning off the open sign. Through an obstacle course of mannequins and lingerie I performed an acrobatic sprint out of the window, darting up to find her quivering at the front counter, fully crying. I radiated calm at her and said, “Just point.”

I knew it was Rick. Our destinies were intertwined and we had always been pulled toward the inexorable battle that was drawing nigh.

Her hand raised to point to our sandwich board sign at the front of the store. So Rick had the metaphorical high ground. There was no quick easy strike on the slanted signs surface.

I armed myself and marched into battle, my knuckles white on my chosen weapon. I would do this, because I must. Because there was no one else. And because I wanted to close and go home.

I saw Rick immediately and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger spider since. Outside of a tarantula, he was truly the most massive spider I’ve ever beheld outside a zoo enclosure or terrarium.

We regarded each other. Rick launched off the sign toward me and I stomped my foot reflexively, making him pause in his charge. Then I raised my weapon. Anything else, I believe Rick could have evaded. He’d bested most of the store thus far. But I had chosen chemical warfare.

I doused the shit out of that spider with cleaning spray, stunning him with a barrage of chemicals. While he froze, choking on the unexpected deluge, I dropped a paper towel over him. My foot came down.

I felt his exoskeleton crunch and I can feel it still to this day. The shattering was as of bones and I truly mourned that we had been forced into senseless war. If only he has cleaved tighter to the shadows. If only he’d crawled willing into a cup for relocation. I released a full body shudder of horror, fear, and adrenaline as I stepped back.

I took several quivering breaths. I donned a veneer of calm and tidied the battlefield of it’s corpse then went to reassure my coworker that all was well, while internally I still shook.

You fought well, Rick. I hope you sired many more monstrous children to haunt retail workers in the years to come. Rest in valor, you monster.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (11/?)

Part Summary: You listen, and her reasons make sense, but they don't ease the tightness gripping your heart. Knowing how well Leigh understands the control she holds over you leaves you feeling exposed, almost humiliated. It feels manipulative, whether she intended it or not.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.300+ | Warnings: Angst | Author's note: Buckle up you guys.

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

-

You've never looked at Leigh this way before. 

Not even when she confronted you months ago, a formidable presence with a devastating revelation that shattered what you thought was a straightforward affair with a single man. Not even when she accused you of lying, or when she consistently made things difficult for you. 

Now, you look at her as if she's an entirely different person. And from the way you fall back, it's obvious you don't particularly like what you see. Leigh hadn't realized just how painful it could be to be looked at in such a way. With each of your steps, panic swells inside her. Though you're only a few feet away, it feels as if you've drifted oceans apart. She can't reach you, and the growing distance makes her fear she never will.

“What did you say?” you repeat slowly, each syllable dropping like a stone—deliberate and heavy.

Your eyes, hard and cold, fix on her. It’s an unsettling sight; she'd almost prefer your anger. Anger, at least, is a familiar adversary, a clear-cut emotion she has long helmed and appeased within herself. She understands anger, knows how to quell it, how to unravel it into something resembling forgiveness or at least a truce. But this wounded belief—she doesn’t know what to do with it. It doesn’t want loud arguments or quick fixes. Instead, it seems to demand something she finds far harder to give: an explanation of motives she's not sure she fully understands herself.

“Your eyes are... enthralling?” Leigh stammers out, her voice quivering slightly as she attempts some self-preservation. She regrets the words as soon as they slip out, sounding hollow and clumsy to her own ears.

You don't laugh, or even react much at all, except to say, “You know that's not what I'm talking about.”

Leigh’s heart sinks a bit more. She winces, shaking her head, realizing the frivolous comment has fallen flat, doing nothing to undo the damage. In the end, she can’t bring herself to say what she knows you want to hear.

“After all this time, how…? How do you know about that nickname?” you ask, maintaining a façade of indifference though you can feel the cracks forming. 

“I work for the website,” Leigh says, her eyes dropping to the floor when she hears you take in a sharp breath. “I used to run the advice column there. But when Matt died, I couldn't handle it anymore and I left.” She stops for a moment, her gaze flickering back to you, searching for a reaction, but you remain silent, your expression unreadable. 

“They brought me back recently, just as a contributor. I wasn't sure how to tell you. It's part of how I'm trying to move on, getting back into writing, even though it feels different now,” she adds somberly.

“So, did you just read my entries and figure out it was me from what I wrote?” you ask, your voice low and uncertain.

Leigh swallows dryly, steeling herself for what she has to say next. “Not only did I read your entries,” she admits slowly, her voice a whisper of trepidation, “but I was the one replying to them.”

After her confession, Leigh struggles to meet your eyes. Her ears are filled with the loud rush of her heartbeat, thumping wildly as the seconds tick by without a word from you. Time seems suspended, and when you don't speak, move, or give any indication of your thoughts, dread begins to creep into the edges of her mind.

“I was going to tell you,” Leigh murmurs, the words barely escaping her lips. Your arms cross over your chest, sealing yourself off even more. She feels you slipping further away, when just moments earlier, you had been kissing the life out of her, as if trying to breathe her in. 

This can’t be happening, Leigh thinks. It just can’t.

“When?” you scoff. “When you’re… what? Done with your revenge?”

Leigh’s brow furrows at the accusation. “Revenge?”

“Isn’t that what this is about?” you ask, retreating until your back meets the wall, leaning heavily against it. Leigh notices the fatigue etched into your features, as if the realization that she knew about your submissions and was the one responding to them is more than you can bear.

“I don’t—”

“Payback for what went on between me and Matt?” 

“Y/N,” Leigh utters your name hard, like a deity in her prayers. “You’re misunderstanding this—”

“Am I?” you challenge, your voice rising.  You don't care if the neighbors hear; you’ve never met any of them anyway. “I remember a ‘Gigi Herrel’ advising me to move on, to meet other people, to pursue someone else—”

Your words become stuck in your throat as you realize that ‘Gigi Herrel’ is an anagram for ‘Leigh Greer.’ How could you have missed it? How could you have been so blind?

Leigh aches to reach out to you, to touch you and reassure you that she never meant any harm, that her intentions were never what you're accusing her of. But her hands remain at her sides, afraid you might recoil or push her away. She worries that one wrong move could drive you away for good.

“I never meant to hurt you. Please, Y/N,” she begs, her voice trembling with an urgency neither of you thought she was capable of. “I was trying to protect you—from myself. I’m a mess, Y/N. I’ve been a mess since Matt…” Leigh trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“You thought toying with my feelings was protection?”

“I wasn’t!” Leigh objects forcefully.

You slump to the ground, your strength giving out as a sharp, nail-like pain spreads through your head. You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into your temples, while Leigh sits across from you, her hands nervously twisting together.

Quietly, you voice your frustrations. “If it wasn't a game, then why do I feel like I've been losing all this time? Things would be fine between us, and then suddenly, you'd ignore me. My texts went unanswered, my messages unseen for days. It felt like you weren't even treating me right as a friend. I'd drive myself crazy wondering if I said something wrong or did something wrong… It feels like I'm always walking on eggshells. So, if it wasn't a game, tell me you didn't do those things on purpose. Because if not, then you were awful to me without even trying. You know that, right?”

Leigh's eyes brim with remorse. She quickly wipes at her eyes before a tear can fall, trying to maintain her composure in front of you.. “I would never play games with you,” she implores. “I've been in pieces for so long that I've forgotten what it means to be whole. When I found out about your feelings, I didn’t understand them. I couldn't see how it could happen when I wasn't my best self.

“I pushed you away because I was scared of letting you see the real me—the broken, messy parts. I thought that if you got too close, saw too much, you'd realize there wasn't much to hold onto. That eventually, you'd see me the way I see myself and end up disappointed.” Her voice trembles, betraying the strength she tries to project.

You listen, and her reasons make sense, but they don't ease the tightness gripping your heart. Knowing how well Leigh understands the control she holds over you leaves you feeling exposed, almost humiliated. It feels manipulative, whether she intended it or not.

“You knew how I felt about you, Leigh,” you say, your lips curving into a wistful smile. “I understand that you're hurting and that being scared is part of it, but it doesn't justify leaving me hanging, wondering where I stand with you, feeling like I'm just... waiting for you to decide I'm worth your time.”

Leigh nods slowly. “I realize that now, and I'm so sorry. It wasn't fair to you. I was trying to manage my own issues, but I ended up projecting them onto you.”

You look into her eyes, searching for a sign that the change you need from her is possible. “Being broken isn't a reason to break others,” you say.

Leigh flinches slightly, your words hitting home. “You’re absolutely right,” she agrees, her eyes unblinking. You can tell that if you were to list her faults, she would agree and confess to them all just to resolve things right here and now. But that's not what you want, nor what you need from her.

“Y/N,” Leigh's voice almost breaks as she says your name. “Will you forgive me?”

Yes, you think instinctively. Forgiving Leigh feels almost second nature. But actually saying it out loud right now would set a course you're not sure you're ready to follow. Trust has been strained and rebuilding it isn't as simple as uttering a single word of forgiveness.

Leigh looks at you expectantly, anxiety lining her features. “Y/N?” she repeats softly.

You understand what she's silently asking: if there's a chance to reset everything. But you're not ready to commit to an answer. Offering her any assurance now might only lead to false hopes, especially if you later decide a real relationship isn't possible. Part of you wants to give in, to return to her embrace and pick up where you left off. But another part, perhaps the more rational side, holds you back.

“Leigh, I... can we just... I need some time to think,” you finally say. Disappointment flashes across her face, almost imperceptible but unmistakably there. As Leigh stands, you expect her to quietly leave, respecting your need for space. Instead, she spins around to face you with renewed determination.

“I'm not a perfect person, okay?” she whispers, but you can still sense the rough edges around her voice. This is a side of Leigh you're all too familiar with, having felt the sting of her impatience and temper more times than you'd like. But instead of rising to the challenge, you simply feel drained—too exhausted to argue tonight.

“You don't have to be perfect, Leigh,” you say, more tired than angry. Then, almost impulsively, you ask, “Does Danny know you’re here?”

Leigh's composure slips for just a moment at the mention of his name. Guilt or surprise crosses her face like a shadow, only to vanish as quickly as it appeared. Her jaw tightens, and you sense her displeasure at the topic. “No, he doesn't know I'm here,” she says curtly.

Well, at least she’s being honest. But what were you expecting—that her presence here meant she had chosen you?

“You need some time to think too,” you say, pushing yourself up and moving toward the door. Leigh's expression stiffens as her eyes follow your movements. You open the door, gesturing for her to leave. She approaches, hesitating just short of it, her gaze searching for the right words or maybe just some reassurance, but finding neither.

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs, her defiance fading. “This isn't how I imagined tonight would go. I don't regret what happened, really, but I hate that it ended up hurting you. That's not why I came here.”

“I know,” you reply, unsure of what else to say. 

Leigh starts to leave, then hesitates again just before crossing the threshold. “Can I contact you?”

You let out a sigh. "Good night, Leigh."

She swallows hard and nods slowly. “Bye,” she whispers.

You gently close the door after her and lean against it for a moment. Leigh has turned your world upside down more times than you can count, and you two haven't even truly begun.

-

“Do you ever just think about disappearing?”

Jules lifts her head to look at her sister. They lie side by side at the foot of Leigh's bed, with empty glasses of milk on the floor next to them and an open pack of Oreos, an invitation for the ants.

The night before, after the whole debacle with you finding out she’s been answering your advice submissions, Leigh had come home with her lips still tingling and her stomach in knots. She had almost run to her room in a huff, drawing puzzled looks from Jules and Amy, before slamming her bedroom door shut. They knew better than to ask what was wrong and wisely kept their distance. That was, until Leigh didn't come out of her room the entire morning until afternoon, except for a quick trip to the kitchen for some food, and even then, she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. A single whiff from a few feet away also made it clear she hadn't showered either. 

Worried, Jules decided to intervene with a little gesture that she hoped might coax her sister out of her shell. She grabbed a packet of Oreos from the pantry and poured a glass of milk—Leigh’s comfort snack since childhood—and tapped softly on her sister's door. Leigh didn’t answer. She tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pushed the door open. The sight of Leigh, all disheveled and pale with those heavy bags under her eyes, took Jules right back to those first several days after they learned Matt had been found dead at the bottom of a cliff.

Jules lifts her head to look at her sister. “Leigh, you're scaring me. You know that, right?”

Leigh quickly shakes her head, realizing how her words sounded. “No, no, I don’t mean like that. Not disappearing in the way Matt did.” She sighs, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I just mean... rebooting, you know? Wishing we could rewind to before everything got so complicated.”

Relieved by the clarification, Jules settles back down beside her. They both gaze up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“I wish I never tasted alcohol when I was fifteen,” Jules says suddenly. 

Leigh frowns. “That bad, huh?”

Jules smiles wryly and nods. “Yeah. Some choices just stick with you, you know? Can’t undo them. Just have to live with what comes after.”

Leigh's thoughts drift as she listens to Jules, a rueful smile crossing her lips. “You know, I've got my own list of should've, would've, could've. I always thought I'd finish college, maybe become an editor or write something of my own one day.”

Jules tries to offer a silver lining. “But you don’t need a degree to be a writer, Leigh.”

“Yeah, I know,” Leigh mumbles, tracing a pattern on the bedspread absentmindedly. “It's just... having that formal education might have made things easier. Like being pushed by mentors... or the doors it would've opened, the people I would've met. But more than that, I regret not sticking it out. I quit too easily.”

Then, turning on her side with her back to Jules, she continues, “But in the end, it all circles back to Matt somehow. This… this inability to follow through really got to me after he was gone. We had so many plans, so many dreams together. And now none of them will ever happen.”

“You still really love him, don't you?”

Leigh’s answer is slow to come. “Yes,” Leigh whispers, her reply muffled slightly by the pillow. After a moment, she adds, “And no.”

Before Jules can comment on it, she continues, “It’s like… I love who we were, who he was to me. And I love all the memories, every plan we made, every silly promise. But,” she stops, picking her words carefully, “but there’s also this part of me that’s learning to live without that, to not need it so much. It feels like moving on, and that part doesn’t love the pain, doesn’t want to keep holding on if it just hurts.”

Jules reaches out, resting her hand on Leigh’s shoulder, offering a silent show of support. “And, um, does that tie into why you were so upset last night?”

Leigh's laugh is faint and strained. “Yes,” she says softly, “and no.” Then she rolls over to face Jules, burying the lower half of her face in the blankets.

“How so?”

“It’s complicated, Jules. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Alright,” Jules huffs. “I’ll guide you then. Does it have something to do with what I said about Y/N seeing Sara?”

Leigh doesn't answer. Instead, she sits up, letting the blanket fall around her lap as the steady breeze from the air conditioning causes her skin to prickle with goosebumps. 

Jules sits up as well. “It's fine to be upset over her. You can grieve for others too, not just Matt. You can’t keep using him as the reason for all your pain. If you want to handle this, you’ve got to figure out what you're really up against.”

“Since when did you start playing therapist?”

Jules smirks. “Rehab over the past five years teaches you some things.”

Leigh forces a smile. She knows Jules jokes to cope, using humor to deal with everything she’s been through. Taking a breath, Leigh says, “I saw her last night.”

“I figured,” Jules says with a knowing look. “You dashed out of the house without even putting on a bra.”

Leigh covers her face, cringing. “You noticed that?”

Jules chuckles. “Well, it's not like any of us, including Mom, bothers wearing one around the house,” she jokes, and they both laugh. “So, did you actually forget to put one on, or…?”

Leigh rolls her eyes and gives Jules a light elbow to the side. “I forgot, okay?”

Jules grins, teasing, “Well, not like it got you any action considering how annoyed you looked when you got back last night.”

Leigh goes quiet, her eyes flitting around the room. “Well, actually…”

Jules leans in, eyes wide. “Oh my god, something happened?”

Leigh bites her lower lip. “We…kissed.”

Jules's brow creases together. “And it was that bad? You looked miserable and locked yourself up all day. Was it really just because of a bad kiss?”

“It wasn’t,” Leigh corrects her quickly. “It was good. Like, really good.” She must look a bit dreamy thinking back on it because Jules grabs a pillow and playfully smacks her in the face.

“Alright, be serious,” Jules says, fighting to keep a straight face. “What really happened?”

Leigh sniffs, clearly reluctant to revisit the details but she begins recounting it for Jules. She explains how she received a submission for the advice column she writes for, from someone using the pseudonym ‘EspressoEyes.’ It arrived on her birthday and was intriguing enough that she responded immediately. She had no idea it was you, but as the details matched too perfectly with your birthday surprise, she started to connect the dots. Then came another question, so on point that she couldn't chalk it up to coincidence anymore. After the kiss you shared last night, she let slip that you truly have espresso eyes. 

“...and that's when everything fell apart,” Leigh finishes, flopping back onto the mattress with a bounce, face down, her hair fanning out around her.

Leigh waits for Jules to react, to say anything. But her sister doesn’t speak or even make a sound for a long time, and just as she’s about to sneak a peek at her sister, curious and a bit anxious, Jules says, “Honestly, if I were Y/N, I’d be very much horrified too.”

Leigh gives her a look that’s both curious and wary. “Yeah?”

“Telling someone you have feelings for them is scary,” Jules explains. “Imagine finding out that the feelings you’ve been hiding came out in such a vulnerable, almost embarrassing way.”

“I guess you’re right,” Leigh concedes.

“But,” Jules continues, “the real problem is that you didn't address it right after you figured it out. You let her pine for you before pulling her in.”

Leigh nods and grabs an Oreo from the floor, popping the whole thing into her mouth. “And I still don't know why I confronted Y/N about Sara right away. By the way, you're an asshole for that, Jules. Y/N isn't dating Sara.”

Jules just grins, completely unabashed. “I know. But it was fun seeing you all riled up.”

Leigh sighs, the cookie in her mouth losing its sweetness. “I feel so stupid for needing that push. I didn't even realize what was happening. It felt like being hit by a truck when I realized I wanted her. And I didn't trust it, you know? Especially since I haven't even been into women since my ex in college.”

Jules studies her sister thoughtfully. “So, what now that you've messed up?”

Leigh looks away, her face shrouded with uncertainty. She wishes she had a definite answer, but she knows only time will tell. “She said she needs some time to think, and I'll give her as much as she needs.”

“And in the meantime,” Jules asks, her eyes brightening with a bit too much enthusiasm, “are you going to break up with Danny?”

“Right,” Leigh mutters weakly, “I almost forgot about Danny.”

-

You carefully place your rental bike against the railing on the front porch, careful not to scratch the paint. After spending a year in sunny Los Angeles, the crisp autumn air of Camden, Maine, nips at your cheeks, reminding you just how unaccustomed you've become to the cold. You pull your bomber jacket tighter around your body, a futile shield against the chill, and find yourself yearning for the relentless sun that’s now hiding above the clouds of your hometown.

The aroma of blueberry pie wafts from the slightly ajar front door of the Ranch style home where you spent most of your childhood, drawing you irresistibly towards the warmth inside. From where you stand, you can see the boats bobbing in the harbor, their masts swaying gently in the breeze. You can nearly taste the ocean’s saltiness, brought back vividly through memories of sailing with your father.

“Mom?” you call out as you step inside after removing your shoes. “I’m home!”

Your mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron. She looks up, her eyes lighting up when she sees you, and she quickly closes the distance to wrap you in a tight hug. Over the years, she’s grown shorter, now standing three inches below you. As she hugs you, you rest your cheek on her salt-and-pepper hair, which smells sweetly of sugar and blueberries.

“Welcome home, honey,” she says, her voice muffled against your jacket. “I wasn't expecting you until dinner.”

“I managed to catch an earlier flight,” you say, squeezing her a little tighter. “Where's Morris?” you ask, referring to her partner and the man who's been sort of a stepdad to you, although your mom and he never got married. They've been sharing this home for the last ten years.

“He's out back,” she replies, pointing towards the yard through the kitchen window. “He's been trying to get the garden ready for winter before the frost sets in.”

You hum in response, dropping your duffel onto the couch nearby.

“Are you hungry?” your mom asks, turning towards the fridge.

“Am I too early for the pie?” you ask, your stomach rumbling at the thought.

Your mom turns around with a wide, toothy grin. “You made it just in time.”

-

Your bedroom is just as you left it last year, preserved in time. Your mom has kept the dust at bay, and the sheets feel freshly laundered, as if you'd only left them hours ago. Instinctively, you gravitate towards the shelves lined with various framed photos of your family. Smiling faces of your brother and your father gaze back at you from the pictures, and a warm, nostalgic smile spreads across your face. You feel a pang of yearning for them—it's been too long.

With a sigh, you collapse onto the bed and pull out your phone. As promised, Leigh hasn’t made any attempts to reach out to you. Without thinking, you browse through her social media accounts, though there's nothing new since you discovered she knew about your feelings all along. Nonetheless, you scroll through her old photos, the ones from before she was widowed, where her smiles seem effortless and full of confidence, as if happiness was her default.

You miss her; that much you can't deny. But you're still hurt, not just because she didn't come clean about her discovery, but also because of the way she often treated you—the hot and cold attitude, the confusion, the lack of kindness and consideration. Time and again, you've given her the benefit of the doubt, especially considering she's grieving a loved one with a secret that further complicated his passing. You understand loss, having faced it yourself, but you've never allowed your grief to justify lashing out at others or toying with someone's emotions. It makes you wonder how you even fell for her in the first place. 

Before you know it, your eyelids grow heavy and you nod off, your phone slipping onto the comforter. You're not sure how long you've been out when a soft knock on your door jolts you awake.

“Come in,” you mumble, still half in a daze as you rub your eyes.

The door creaks open and your mom pops her head in. “Dinner's almost ready,” she says with a warm smile. “Want to come down and help me set the table?”

You nod. “Can you give me five minutes? I promise I'll help.”

Without waiting for a response, she walks over to sit beside you on the bed, gently stroking your hair as if you were still a child. “What’s wrong?” she asks softly. Your mother has always been your confidante, able to read you like an open book. You can't hide anything from her; she'll know.

“I keep falling for the wrong person,” you say, offering a bittersweet smile.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Love is more complicated than the right or wrong person. We're all a combination of good and bad; it's just a matter of deciding whether it's worth it in the end.”

You reflect on your past relationships, few though they are, and realize you're better off without them. They were either taking what they could get or using you as a fallback for their own misery.

“Do you feel like this person could be worth it?” she asks.

“I honestly don’t know,” you say. “It’s all so uncertain.”

“And that's fine,” she says. “Love isn't a sprint. Give yourself the space to figure it out.”

You're finding it hard to agree with her. If only the answers could be handed to you, saving you from future heartbreak. Why do some lessons have to be learned the hard way? Why don't people come with warnings and expectations?

Noticing how unconvinced you seem, your mom offers an idea.

“Tell you what, let's ask Morris to set the table for us. How about you and I go see your brother and father before dinner?”

-

You and your mom walk side by side through the cemetery, hands clasped together. You haven’t visited your father and brother’s graves in over a year, and you've been fighting back tears since leaving the house.

Your mom unfurls a thick blanket over the damp grass, spreading it out with care before you both settle onto it. She surprises you by pulling out a bottle of white wine from her bag. You lift an eyebrow, and she laughs, saying, “In my defense, I used to drink stronger liquor back in the day.”

You chuckle, picking up an empty glass and holding it out. “Pour me one.”

She fills your glass before pouring her own, and the two of you sit there, sipping wine quietly. 

A few minutes later, she turns to you and says, “So, tell me about her.”

You nearly choke on your drink, surprised she knows it’s a woman. “How did you know?”

She smiles impishly. “You’ve always had poorer judgment when it comes to girls, so I figured this is what’s been on your mind.”

You can’t help but be impressed by how well she reads you. “Her name is Leigh. She's the wife of someone I used to see,” you say.

Your mom’s smile vanishes, replaced by shock. “Wait, you're saying you had an affair and now you're seeing his wife on the side?”

You burst into laughter at her horrified expression. “No, it's not like that.” Taking a deep breath, you tell her the whole story: how Matt died and how his wife, Leigh, found you after discovering Matt had cheated on her.

As your mom listens, her shock softens into contemplation. She tops up your wine and says thoughtfully, “Well, that’s complicated.”

“Yeah, it is.”

You open up to your mom about Leigh, sharing both the beautiful and terrible moments without holding back. As you recount the story, it's like rereading a passage in a book and analyzing it with new eyes. When you finish, your mother sets down her drink and says, “She's mean to you.”

You nod, draining the last of your wine.

“Loss does things to people,” she says softly. “You and I both know that better than anyone.”

“We do,” you say quietly.

Your mom regards you for a moment, then asks, “What do you see in Leigh? Why do you like her?”

You think about it, grappling with how to express the spectrum of emotions Leigh evokes in you. 

“She’s pretty, definitely, and there’s a sharpness to her that’s... captivating. She’s unapologetically herself, and it’s often really funny. But… does that sound shallow? I can’t help but feel a bit foolish listing these superficial things—”

Your mom gently places her hand on yours, stopping your words. “You don’t need a poetic reason to love someone,” she says with a small smile. “Sometimes you just do. But mostly, we feel connected to people because we recognize some part of our soul in them. Recognition is why people are together, Y/N. Can you really love a stranger?”

Perhaps it’s true. Leigh isn’t really a stranger to you. Aside from concealing her knowledge of your feelings, she never pretended to be someone she wasn't. She was honest, showing you both her strengths and flaws. And you didn’t have to like all of it. But you kept coming back, eager to uncover more of her layers.

She continues, “By the way, you must be wondering why I brought you here.”

You glance around at the headstones of your father and brother, then back at her. “Yeah, I was.”

She looks toward the gravestones, her eyes misty. “To remind you that we don’t have all the time in the world. We have to make our time count, even if it means taking risks or facing things we're afraid of. Love isn't easy, but it’s worth finding the right person and making it work.”

“What if it doesn't work out, though?” you ask.

She smiles knowingly. “If it doesn’t, at least you’ll know you gave it a chance. You won't be left wondering what could have been. And that matters.” 

She gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, and you return it, feeling a bit more grounded. She waits for her words to settle in you, before asking, “You’ve already made your choice, haven’t you?”

You nod slowly, a growing sense of certainty welling up inside. “I think I have.”

“Well, then. Let’s finish our bottle and head back.”

-

“You waited until after Thanksgiving dinner to break up with me?” Danny's voice cracks as he speaks, his figure looming in the doorway of his apartment, blocking Leigh's exit. His eyes dart between anger and desperation, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set in a stern line. Yet, his hands are open, reaching toward her—pleading.

They had just returned from Thanksgiving dinner at the Shaws'. Leigh wanted to create one last pleasant memory with Danny, something kind to look back on. Aware of his strained relationship with his mom, she didn't want to leave him alone during the holidays by breaking up earlier. Now she accompanied him back to his apartment, planning to end things there and collect her belongings afterward.

Leigh turns to face him, her expression somber. “I just... I thought it was the right time to talk, after everything settled down.”

“After everything settled down?” Danny repeats incredulously. “You mean after we spent the whole day with your family, pretending everything was fine?”

Leigh sighs, knowing how it looks but needing him to understand. “I know how it seems, but I couldn't do it before dinner. It didn’t feel right to ruin the holiday for everyone.”

Danny steps back from the doorway, giving her space to enter. “So, you decided to ruin my night instead?”

Leigh walks inside, closing the door behind her. “I'm really sorry, Danny. I’ve felt for a while that this isn’t working, and I can't keep stringing you along.”

Danny runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing. “Is this about Matt?”

Leigh stills for a moment, considering her answer. It would be easy to say yes, to blame everything on that one pervasive loss. Matt has often been her scapegoat, but Leigh is tired of deceiving herself and others. For quite some time now, it hasn't been Matt’s absence that's been upending her world. Which is why she resolves to tell him the truth, aware that he would find out sooner or later.

Leigh sucks in a deep breath and looks Danny in the eye. “No, it's not about Matt. It's because of Y/N.”

Danny stops in his aimless tracks, his eyes narrowing. “Y/N?”

Leigh feels her heart race, knowing she can’t back down now. “Two weeks ago… we kissed.”

He blinks, stunned. “You kissed Y/N?” His voice is flat, almost disbelieving.

“It wasn’t planned, but... it happened. And it felt right, in a way I can’t ignore,” Leigh says.

Danny crosses his arms, scoffing. “I didn't know you were into women,” he says with a sneer, as if trying to insult her.

Leigh grits her teeth. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Clearly,” he replies bitterly. “So how many times? How long have you been cheating on me?”

Leigh shakes her head, holding her ground. “I didn’t purposely cheat on you, Danny. I didn’t even realize I had strong feelings for her until that night. It just happened.”

Danny's face contorts with rage, and he yells, “Stop lying to me, Leigh! You fucking checked out of this relationship a while ago, and now it makes sense. You were screwing someone else on the side.”

Leigh protests, “We’ve never slept—” but her words are cut off as Danny suddenly swings his fist into the wall beside him. The sound of splintering wood and cracking bones reverberates through the apartment, and Leigh stands frozen, shocked beyond belief at what she's witnessing.

Danny looks down at his bloodied knuckles, bewilderment creeping over his features as he pulls back from the wall. He catches his breath and stares at Leigh, their eyes meeting in horrified silence.

“Sorry… I’m so sorry,” Danny mumbles, cradling his injured hand.

Leigh quickly grabs his keys from the dusty fishbowl on the shelf. He watches her, his gaze confused and desperate. “What are you doing?”

She meets his eyes, surprised herself at how calm and collected she feels. “I’m taking you to the hospital. You need to get that hand looked at,” she replies.

He doesn’t protest, only nods numbly and follows her outside.

At the hospital, Danny sits in a stiff plastic chair, his freshly bandaged hand resting on his lap. Leigh is next to him, her eyes fixed on the speckled tile floor, avoiding his gaze.

After several minutes, Danny breaks the silence. “I didn’t know what happened back there,” he starts, his voice low and unsteady. “I didn’t want to be angry, but it just… it had to go somewhere. I’ve never hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to explain. 

Leigh turns to look at him, her expression blank. “You punched a wall, Danny. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never hit anyone; you’ve got some serious anger management issues.”

Danny stays quiet for a moment, staring at his bandaged hand as if he’s still trying to comprehend what he did. He finally looks up, his expression twisted in frustration. “I’ve been angry for a long time, Leigh. Long before Matt was gone. I can’t even remember a time when I wasn’t.”

“I understand that,” Leigh says, shifting in her seat. “Even with therapy, the anger and resentment don’t really disappear completely. They linger like shadows.” She exhales, glancing down at her lap. Before she can stop it, a small smile plays on her lips as she thinks of you. “But lately, when Y/N is around, I forget about it. So know that I didn’t make this decision lightly.”

Danny studies her for a moment before asking, “Did you ever love me? Did I ever stand a chance?”

There's no easy way to say this without hurting him, but she doesn’t want to leave him with false hope. “I tried, Danny. I wanted to,” she whispers.

Danny turns away, his body twisting from her. Leigh wants to feel worse than she does, but instead, she just wants this to be over. She hopes the billing clerk will soon call their name so they can pay and head home. It's been an unbearably long day.

As she waits, her thoughts drift to you. She wants to call you after this, to tell you that she wants to try with you, that it could be real. She wants to explain that she ended things with Danny, that she did it to be free to explore the possibility of being with you, without any reservations.

After a while, Danny lets out a slow sigh, then looks at Leigh with a despondent look. “If your mind’s made up, I should probably put everything out in the open too.”

Leigh looks at him expectantly, a little curious.

“I’ve been keeping something from you. I didn’t think it would matter, but now… well, I can’t hide it anymore.”

“Just say it, Danny,” Leigh says, crossing her arms.

Then Danny proceeds to tell her the one last secret he thought he'd carry to his grave.

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 4

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

Definetly NSFW, Mentions of Child abuse and neglect, really bad self image, definitely not why one should cement the mating bond, Azriel is kinda an idiot who is so happy that he has found his mate that he doesn't question things

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Warm. Safe.

Ensconced in that little house. The pitter-patter of rain against huge windows. 

For the first time in her life, Cilla felt something akin to peace. 

She slept and slept and slept, roused periodically by Azriel who poured water and Pain relief potions down her throat…who pet her hair and whispered that everything was going to be just alright. 

So did her shadows. 

None of their incessant chatter they sometimes were prone to be doing, which left her exhausted in the end…they seemed quite happy to let themselves be entertained by Azriel’s shadows, sometimes chasing each other through the room if Cilla was awake long enough to watch them. 

But the best part…the best part was when she got to curl herself together with him, when she listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat in her ear, and curled a hand against his chest, feeling it rise and sink with every breath she took, as he held her. Sometimes he covered her with one of his wings, and she loved to burrow herself against Azriel as tight as she could. 

She had never had anybody in her life that had taken care of her before…who tucked blankets around her, so that she wouldn’t get cold, and who made her soup. 

She never had anybody in her life that had taken care of her like that. 

The shadows had tried, as much as they could…but the weaker she had been, the weaker they had been too…and sometimes all they could was to blanket her in their very presence, their voices twining around her. 

She burrowed further into her blanket cocoon and heard a soft laugh as a scarred hand came to cup her cheek and press against her forehead. 

“Your fever broke, Sweetheart,” Azriel said softly, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “How are you feeling?” he asked her and she blinked open her eyes, to look at him. 

“Tired. Sweaty,” she admitted with a grimace, making him laugh. 

“Your fever broke. You sweat it all out. How about a bath?” Azriel asked her, still cupping her cheek. 

“Isn’t that too much work?” she asked him, grimacing at the thought of boiling water to pour it into a bathtub. She was really not in the mood to do it. 

“You didn’t have running hot water?” Azriel asked her, not sounding surprised and she just shrugged. 

“I needed to fill it with buckets if I wanted a hot bath,” she told him. “and even then, I just managed to knock my wings into everything,” she admitted with a sigh, making him laugh. 

“How about this? No buckets and your wings are going to have all the space they need?” he promised her. “Oh, and the water is going to stay as hot as you want it as long as you want it.”

She stared at him in wonder. 

“Come on,” he promised her, as he scooped her up like she weighed nothing. 

They left the one room she had thought that cabin consisted of, into a hallway with…at least 5 more doors. 

“I haven’t yet come around to actually put anything in any of the other rooms around here,” Azriel said with a sigh. “I did finally get around to mail order a bed, so we can have a proper bedroom soon enough,” he promised her, sounding nearly shy. Cilla had no idea how to tell him, that she was used to one single room being all she knew and that the idea of a kitchen and a bedroom and a living room felt more novel than anything. 

The bathing chamber definitely was a far cry from what she was used to. Marble as far as her eye could see…and a bathtub that could probably also work as a small pool. 

Definitely enough space for her wings.

She watched in amusement as his shadows swarmed through the room, opening the tap to pour steaming hot water into that bathtub, pouring numerous concoctions into said water that turned it bubbly and foamy and sweet smelling, even as Azriel deposited her into it. 

“Will you stay?” she asked him softly, and he rolled up his trouser legs, sitting down on the stairs that lead into said pool. 

Not quite what Cilla had hoped for, but she would take it, as she waded further into it, dunking herself under so that the water could wash off the remnants of the mountain lake. 

“I love it,” she said with a happy sigh, stretching out her wings against the warm water, feeling the warmth soothe her achy muscles. 

“Much better than a mountain lake in the middle of autumn,” Azriel said drily, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. 

“Excuse me, I didn’t want to snap my neck,” Cilla shot back sharply. “I figured jumping off something and staying in the air was easier than lifting off the ground…which I have tried numerous times and failed horribly at.”

“It is,” Azriel agreed. “It was actually quite smart. Though maybe not when we are expecting the first snow in just a few weeks,” he said pointedly. “When you feel better I’ll teach you to fly. Properly,” he promised her. 

She swallowed, turning around. So easy? He was just…He was just going to help her? Just like that? 

“You will?” she asked with a shaky voice and he mustered her, his eyes gentle. 

“I only learned when I was eleven. It gets more difficult the older you are,” he said calmly. “If you were a toddler, it would be instinctual. You aren’t…so you’ll need to get over your own instinctual fear of plummeting to your death.”

Great. Just what she wanted to hear. 

“Though we should probably get your wings checked out before we do that,” Azriel said quietly. “You have scars at the roots. I do not know how that will impact you.” 

She nodded, managing to hold back a shudder when she remembered how it had felt to have these wings bound to her back so tightly that she had been in always present agony. Her grandmother hadn’t wanted to see them…hadn’t wanted a constant reminder of the wings that had killed her daughter. 

Cilla could understand it. But why had she needed to do that when Cilla was locked into the attic either way?

One of the first things her wings had managed once they had become…bodily in a sense, was to loosen these ties until they no longer cut into her skiing and her bones with every single movement and shift she made. 

It had been pure relief. 

Sometimes they had even taken them off completely and let her stretch and shake them out…only replacing them whenever her grandmother deigned to shove a plate with scraps of food through the door. 

She ducked under again, holding her breath, so that her hair was sopping wet, and then started to finger comb it through, grimacing at the knots and gnarls she could feel. 

“Want me to do your hair?” Azriel asked her and she came to sit between his legs, hugging her own to her chest. 

“Don’t cut it all off,” she requested as she felt him start to tease out some of the knots she had in it. 

His hands stilled for a moment. “…why would I do that?” he asked her, sounding incredulous. 

“Because it’s annoying?” Cilla asked in answer, swallowing against a torrent of memories that had involved her hair. She had always known it was unmanageable, with thick coarse curls…she had never been allowed to keep it long when she was young…it had been sheared off repeatedly. But then she had left, and she had just let it grow. And grow. And grow. And grow some more. 

“I am not going to cut it, I promise,” Azriel promised quietly. “Lean back a little,” he requested, pouring something or other over her head…and then started brushing out her hair. 

He was far gentler than Cilla herself had ever been, brushing out the knots and gnarls, until her hair was silky smooth and wet down her back. He gathered it into his hands and knotted it against her scalp, keeping it out of his way. 

“Can you move your wings for me?” he requested and she scooched forwards so that she wasn’t accidentally going to hit him with them as she flared them out and then moved them to the side, showing off as much range of movement as she had. 

“How do they feel?” he asked her. 

“Not any more sore than usual?” she answered with a shrug. “The right one is always stiffer than the left one.”

He reached out and she felt the warmth of his hand hover over her right wing. 

“May I?” he requested. 

“Of course,” she agreed. He was her mate. Of course, he could touch her. 

The touch was whisper soft and she couldn’t help a shiver as he drew his fingertips over her membrane. 

“Illyrians…are…touchy about their wings,” Azriel said, his voice even as he trailed his fingers over her joints, checking for something or other. “If I did this to a female in plain view, we would end tonight in front of a priestess,” he told her. 

She hadn't known that. But then there were seemingly so many things that she didn’t know about the type of faerie that made up half of her. So many things that she had no idea about, about history and customs and anything else. 

“You are my mate. I think if it’s appropriate for anybody to touch them, it would probably be you,” she said quietly. 

He didn’t say anything but finally lifted her hand off her back. She immediately missed his touch. 

“There is a salve you can put on the scar tissue near the roots. It stops it from being itchy,” Azriel said quietly. “You could probably reach it on your own if you wanted to.”

“Can you do it?” she asked, biting her lip. Just his hands on her skin for a moment longer. She just needed…she wasn’t even sure what she needed. The touch of his warm skin on hers? The scent of cedar and mist surrounding her? 

“Of course,” he agreed quietly. One of his shadows fetched a jar, some kind of greenish, sweet-smelling paste that he scooped out of his jar. 

“This is going to feel intense,” he warned her. “It won’t hurt but…tell me, if you need a break.”

She swallowed, but nodded, closing her eyes. 

She had expected pain, even though he had promised her the opposite. What she hadn’t expected was the shot of pure…pure need that shot through her the moment his fingers wrapped around the root of her wings, from where they protruded out of her back. She had…She had not expected that. 

But then one touch against their wings had been enough to put her over that edge before so really, why shouldn’t this…Why shouldn’t this feel like pure heat cradled between her legs, a whimper escaping her, his hand pulling back? “Do you want me to stop?” Azriel asked her, but she managed a shake of her head. 

No. No, she didn’t want him to stop. If he could just continue that, and then…and then cleave her in two just like he had done before, fill her up until she felt stretched and full…that would be…

Another touch against sensitive skin right over bone, over a vein nestled there… a shudder worked its way through her body, her thighs slick with something, nails biting against her fists. 

“Alright?” he checked again and she managed a nod, just as he went to the other wing. 

If anything, the heat only got worse, though he was quick about it. 

“All done,” he said a moment later and she took a deep breath, turning so that she could pull him into a kiss. 

He pulled back after just a moment, his thumb smoothing over her cheek. 

“Let me braid your hair, and we are done,” he told her calmly. 

She didn’t want him to braid her hair. She wanted him to fuck her. 

Still, Cilla turned around, letting him loosen the knot in her hair and divide it into equal pieces, starting at the crown of her head and braiding downwards. 

Her arousal dissipated at his gentle touch, feeling like a kitten that was being petted more than anything, as he gently drew his fingers down her hair. 

“Did you ever wonder who your father is?” he asked her, his voice quiet and she froze. 

“What?” From where in the world was this coming from?

“Did you ever wonder who your father is?” Azriel repeated his voice light. Nearly…too light, for this discussion. 

“No,” she answered honestly. 

“You never wanted to know?” he asked her. “He could still be alive.” he pointed out, his voice reasonable. “He would be the only blood family you still had.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cilla said with a sigh. “Where would I be even supposed to start?” she asked him. She didn’t have a name. She had nothing. She knew that he must have been Illyrian…but that was it. How was she supposed to find a male with that kind of information? 

“It’s not that…the pool of possibilities isn’t that big,” Azriel said quietly. “Velaris was sealed for 50 years. There aren’t that many Illyrian males that were here in that time.”

“I would still need to figure out their names and where they live now,” Cilla pointed out with a shrug. 

“Do you want to know?” Azriel pushed her. “If you want to know…”

Did she want to know him? No. Not…not like that. 

She just wanted to know… 

“I want to know if he knew,” Cilla said quietly 

“Knew?” Azriel asked her, hands hesitating in her hair. 

“I want to know if he knew that he was signing my mother’s death warrant when he slept with her. I want to know if he knew and did it regardless. I want to know if he knew that I existed . I want to know if he knew and never got me out of that attic,” she spat out. “That’s what I want to know. I don’t need to know who he is. I just want to know that.” 

“I’ll get you answers,” Azriel promised her. “If that’s what you want…I’ll get you these answers. 

“How?” she asked him, turning towards him, just as he tied off her braid. How could he possibly…possible find that out? 

“Have some trust in my abilities, Sweetheart,” Azriel said with a small smile. “Now, let’s get you dry.”

She was wrapped into a massive fluffy towel and then her shadows started dancing around her, pulling a nightgown over her head. 

White cotton. Pearl buttons down the front. She never in her life had worn anything that was as…fine as this. 

Where did you get this from? She demanded. Please tell me you didn’t steal it.

We bought it! They told her brightly. 

With what money?

His shadows taught us how to play the lottery!

“Are you alright?” Azriel asked as she still stood frozen in place in the middle of the bathing chamber.  

“Your shadows taught mine how to play the lottery,” she said weakly. “Apparently they made enough money to buy a nightgown.”

Azriel chuckled. “I told them too,” he explained to her. “Seemed like they have been successful.”

“Why?” she asked as he draped an arm around her and gently led her back into the kitchen, draping a blanket around her and she sat down on the kitchen table, watching as the shadows put a bowl of porridge in front of her, drizzled with honey.  

“Because I don’t want you to feel like you need to stay with me for money,” Azriel answered honestly, as he sat across from her, offering her his hand over the table. She took it. “You’ll have your own line of credit. If you want to disappear, you can,” he said that so easily. 

Like giving her that freedom…like that was nothing. 

Even when it was everything.  

“I…I don’t want you to disappear.” 

“You don’t need to. You never need to. But you can. If you want to, you can.”

[brunchable]

The Stakeout - Day 1 || Steve Rogers × Agent!FReader

Day Two Words: 4.1K Themes/Warnings: Unspoken feelings towards each other. Growing tension. Sexual Attraction. Eventual Smut. Being stuck with each other. Summary: You've been assigned to do a stakeout with Steve for 5 days. Your accommodation: a cramped room with one mattress and a table with two rickety chairs. A/N: This is the tone setter. Steve's POV will always be at the end, and it'll be in 1st person. I don't have a tag list so. . .let me know if you want to be kept updated.

Steve Rogers pushed open the door to the small, dimly lit apartment, scanning the room with a soldier's eye. The place was a far cry from what you’re both used to—a single, cramped room with barely enough space to move around. 

You stepped in from behind him, your eyes taking in your temporary home. The first thing that greets you is the unmistakable scent of “eau de mildew” mixed with a hint of something burnt—probably dinner from three tenants ago. The wallpaper is peeling off in a way that makes you wonder if it’s trying to escape, revealing patches of cracked plaster that look like a map of an unknown, crumbling country.

The carpet is a masterpiece of stains, each one telling a story you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know. It’s so worn down that you can almost see the floorboards underneath, which might actually be an improvement.

The lighting is dim, with a single, flickering bulb that casts just enough light to make the shadows in the corners look even more menacing. In the middle of the room sits a mattress that looks like it was dragged out of a dumpster and lost the fight. It’s lumpy in all the wrong places, sagging in a way that suggests it has long given up on supporting anything heavier than a guilty conscience.

The only other furniture consists of two rickety chairs that look like they’re competing to see which one can collapse first. They wobble precariously even when they’re empty, as if they’re just waiting for the right moment to give up entirely.

The kitchen is a museum of outdated appliances, each one looking like it’s plotting against you. The stove has a layer of grease so thick it could probably survive a nuclear blast, and the sink faucet drips with the rhythm of a horror movie soundtrack.

You glance at the bathroom door, which is hanging slightly off its hinges, and decide that whatever’s in there can stay there. The mirror is so cloudy that it’s practically a portal to another dimension, and you’re pretty sure the toilet is older than Captain America.

The windows are streaked with grime, and one is patched with what looks like ancient duct tape. As you take it all in, you can’t help but think that the apartment is less a living space and more a haunted house that’s too tired to actually scare anyone.

“Cozy,” you muttered, trying to inject some humor into the situation. But even you couldn’t hide the discomfort in your voice, “If these walls could talk, they'd probably ask for a lawyer.”

Steve looked at the walls and instinctively covered his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the chuckle that slipped through—the urge to laugh bubbling up inside him.

The apartment was a disaster, a place so far beyond repair that it almost seemed comical in its neglect. And yet, it wasn’t the state of the place that got to him; it was you. He could already sense the sharp comment forming on your lips. 

Steve had always known you for your back-handed comments—remarkably clever, often brutally honest, and always perfectly timed. You had a knack for finding just the right words to undercut a situation, leaving everyone around you—Tony Stark included—scrambling for a retort. And in moments like these, even in a rundown apartment that could make the bravest Avenger cringe, you managed to make Steve smile, reminding him just why you were the perfect partner.

“It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got for the next five days.” Steve turned to you, his expression apologetic.

“I've had worse.” You shrugged, tossing your bag onto the table. “At least the cockroaches seem to have packed up and left.”

You had worked together countless times before, but this was different. The close quarters, the extended time alone—usually you have the luxury to be in different rooms.

“I can sleep on the floor. You take the mattress.” Steve said, his eyes drifted to the double-bed size mattress on the floor. 

Your eyebrows shot up. “And have you waking up with a bad back on day one? No way. We can both fit.”

“I don’t mind the floor. Really.” Steve hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. 

“We’re both adults, Steve. It’s just sleeping. We’ll make it work.” You crossed your arms, giving him a determined look. 

He finally relented with a sigh. “Alright, if you say so.”

You spent the next few minutes in silence, each of you slipping into the familiar rhythm of setting up, though the state of the apartment made even the simplest tasks a challenge. The floorboards groaned underfoot with every step, and you had to be careful where you placed your equipment, wary of the spots that felt like they might give way entirely. The walls, pocked with holes and uneven surfaces, made it nearly impossible to secure the cameras properly; more than once, you found yourself muttering under your breath as the adhesive strips refused to stick, sliding down the peeling wallpaper as if in protest.

“Stick, you stupid tape!” you grumbled, pressing the strip back against the wall with more force than necessary, only to watch it slowly peel away once more. The tape seemed to be mocking you at this point, and your frustration was reaching a peak. But at the end, you made it work, as long as the equipment is working—you tell yourself.

The stakeout had reached that inevitable point where the monotony had set in. Hours of staring at surveillance footage had taken its toll, and both you and Steve were in desperate need of a break.

"Alright," you declared, tossing the deck of Uno cards between you. "We need something to keep me from going crazy."

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking at the cards with a mix of skepticism and amusement. "Uno? Seriously?"

"Come on," you teased, sitting cross-legged on the floor and motioning for him to join you. "It’s a classic. Plus, I promise not to go easy on you."

"I’d be disappointed if you did." Steve chuckled as he took a seat across from you, leaning in just slightly as he settled down. 

"Good. I wouldn’t want to let you down.” You grinned, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. 

The game started off lighthearted enough, with both of you trading cards and quips in equal measure. But as the game progressed, you couldn’t help but notice Steve’s hand growing increasingly full of cards, while yours remained relatively manageable.

"Got something against me, Y/N?" Steve asked, his tone playful as he drew yet another card from the deck. His hand was practically bursting with a rainbow of colors, and you couldn’t hide your grin.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you replied innocently, sliding another card onto the pile—a +4. "Just playing the game. Fair and square."

"Another +4? You sure this isn’t personal?" Steve stared at the card, then at you, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, your smile turning teasing. "What if it is, Rogers? Think you can handle me?"

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "I can handle a lot of things, but you might be more than I bargained for." 

You laughed softly, enjoying the banter. "I’ve been told I’m a handful."

"That’s one way to put it," he muttered, drawing four more cards with an exaggerated sigh. His amount of cards was now so large that he had to hold it in both hands, and you could see the struggle on his face as he tried to keep his composure.

The next round, you drew yet another +4 card, and Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief as you placed it down with a flourish.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he said, shaking his head, "Are you sure you’re not stacking the deck?"

"I would never," you replied, feigning shock. "It’s just pure luck."

"Pure luck, huh?" Steve shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If this keeps up, I’m going to need another hand just to hold all these."

You leaned back, giving him a playful look. "You know, Steve, if it’s getting too much for you, you could always forfeit. I wouldn’t judge you. Much."

He met your gaze, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I’m not giving up that easily. But if I win, I expect some proper appreciation."

"Appreciation?" you echoed, amused. "What do you have in mind?"

He shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. "Maybe something that shows you really understand what it’s like to lose to me."

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Careful what you wish for, old man. I might just surprise you."

By the time you dropped yet another +4 card, Steve threw his hands up in defeat. "That’s it! I’m calling it—this game is rigged!"

You were laughing so hard that you could barely speak. "It’s not rigged! You’re just—oh man, I can’t even—"

Steve couldn’t help but start laughing too, the ridiculousness of the situation finally breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. 

"I can’t believe I’m losing this badly at Uno," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "To you, of all people."

You leaned back, still chuckling. "Hey, I’m just that good."

He gave you a playful glare, but there was no hiding the smile on his face. "Remind me never to play cards with you again."

"Afraid of losing?" you teased, leaning a bit closer, your voice dipping into something softer, more suggestive.

"Afraid of getting a hand full of +4s," he corrected, still grinning. "You’re ruthless."

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "All’s fair in Uno and war, Rogers."

He shook his head, still laughing, as he began gathering up the cards. That’s when he noticed something odd—a few extra +4 cards peeking out from under where you were sitting. His eyes narrowed, as he zeroed in on the cards.

"Wait a minute," Steve said, his voice laced with suspicion as he pointed to the cards. "What’s that?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly tried to shift, but Steve was faster, leaning forward and grabbing the edge of one of the cards sticking out from beneath you. You immediately tried to cover it up, sitting down harder to keep him from seeing the whole stack of +4s you had hidden.

"Nothing!" you blurted out, trying not to laugh as you squirmed to keep the cards hidden. But Steve’s grin only widened as he tugged on the card, the two of you now playfully wrestling over it.

"Nothing, huh?" he teased, managing to pull one of the cards free. "You’ve been cheating this whole time!"

You burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. "I couldn’t resist! You should’ve seen your face every time I drew a +4!"

Steve wasn’t giving up, though. He leaned in closer, trying to snatch the remaining cards from you. "I knew it! I knew there was no way you could’ve drawn that many +4s!"

Still laughing, you tried to twist away, but Steve was persistent, his hands now playfully wrestling with yours as he tried to pry the cards from your grasp. 

"Alright, alright!" you finally gasped, surrendering the cards as you fell back into a fit of giggles.

Steve held up the extra +4 cards triumphantly, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

You wiped tears from your eyes, still giggling. "I’m sorry, but it was just too easy. I didn’t think you’d actually fall for it!"

"I’ll get you back for this, you know."

You flashed him a teasing smile. "I’m counting on it, Rogers."

“Yeah, yeah—let's get back to work.”

× × × × 

As night fell, you settled into your positions by the small window that overlooked the building you both were surveilling. Steve had the binoculars up, his posture rigid and focused. You sat beside him, close enough to see the reflection of his serious expression in the glass.

The target this time was Elias Novak, a crime boss who had been operating under the radar for years. He wasn’t just any criminal—Novak was careful, methodical, and always seemed to be two steps ahead of the authorities. But the intel they’d received suggested that Novak was planning something big, something that could have far-reaching consequences if they didn’t act quickly.

For weeks now, whispers had been circulating about a major arms deal in the works, with Novak at the center of it. The specifics were still murky—where the weapons were coming from, who they were being sold to—but one thing was clear: if the deal went through, it could unleash chaos. Weapons of that scale and sophistication in the wrong hands could destabilize regions, spark conflicts, or worse.

“Anything?” you asked quietly, not wanting to break his concentration.

“Not yet,” he replied, his voice a low rumble.

You leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view yourself. Without thinking, you placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder to balance yourself as you leaned in. The sudden contact made Steve freeze for a moment, but he didn’t move, his focus still on the building across the street.

You didn’t notice the slight tension in his body as you peered through the binoculars. The movement brought you even closer, your shoulder brushing against his arm. 

“Let me see,” you murmured, your breath brushing against Steve’s ear as you took the binoculars from him. 

You adjusted the focus, squinting into the lens. “Hm, odd,” you said, your tone slightly disappointed.

You handed the binoculars back to him, but instead of moving away, you stayed where you were, still leaning against him slightly. Steve took the binoculars, his fingers brushing your for a brief moment, sending a spark of electricity through you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, pretending to be absorbed in the task at hand. Finally, you realized how close you were and pulled back, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“Sorry,” you said, your cheeks slightly flushed. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

Steve shook his head quickly. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

You nodded, but the moment of closeness had left you slightly off-balance. You resumed your watch, but both of you were acutely aware of the other’s presence.

Eventually, you decided to call it a night. You changed into your sleepwear first, turning your back to Steve for some semblance of privacy in the open room. When you turned around, you found him already settled on one side of the mattress, his broad frame taking up more space than he probably intended.

You slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. The proximity was inevitable, and you both tried to ignore it, lying stiffly side by side, your shoulders almost touching.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make yourself relax.

“Goodnight,” Steve replied, his voice equally tense. Minutes ticked by, and neither of you could sleep. 

Finally, you sighed, breaking the quiet. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

Steve chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “Yeah, it might be.”

You smiled, turning your head slightly to look at him. In the dim light, you could see the outline of his face, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, just like yours had been moments before.

“We’ll get through it,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Steve turned his head to meet your gaze, his expression softening. “Always do.”

There’s a pause, and you decide to lighten the mood a little more. You grin mischievously, knowing it’s a little ridiculous but hoping it’ll ease the tension. 

“Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

He laughs, and it’s a genuine sound that makes your own smile widen. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

“Might want to sleep with one eye open,” you tease.

“I think I can manage that,” he says, his voice lighter now, more relaxed. You can tell that your little joke did its job, easing some of the tension between you. It’s a small victory, but it feels good.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, a smile still tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you replied, and you can hear the warmth in his voice this time.

As sleep finally began to take hold, your last conscious thought was of Steve beside you—so close, yet still feeling so far away.

The mission had barely begun, but the real challenge, you realized, would be surviving the next five days without giving away the feelings you had tried so hard to keep hidden.

STEVE’S POV

The room is silent, except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. I keep my eyes fixed on the building across the street, trying to ignore the cramped space around me. We’ve been here for hours now, watching, waiting, but so far, nothing’s happened. Just another quiet night in the city.

I lift the binoculars again, scanning the windows across the way. Everything looks normal—too normal. The target hasn’t made a move yet, but I know better than to let my guard down. That’s when things go wrong.

Beside me, Y/N is sitting quietly, her presence a constant distraction. I’ve been trying to focus on the mission, but it’s hard when she’s this close. It’s not that I don’t trust her—hell, I trust her with my life—but there’s something about being alone with her, in this small space, that’s got my nerves on edge.

“Anything?” she asks, her voice soft, not wanting to disturb my concentration. I can hear the hint of curiosity, maybe even concern, in her tone. She’s as invested in this as I am, which only makes this harder.

“Not yet,” I reply, keeping my voice low. The tension between us is thick—to me at least, and I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend it’s just the stress of the mission.

All of a sudden, she leans in closer, placing a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she peers over at the building. The contact is so casual, so innocent, but it sends chills through me. My muscles tense, and I have to remind myself to keep still, to act like this is nothing.

She’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, smell the faint scent of her shampoo. Her shoulder brushes against my arm as she takes the binoculars from me, and I swear, my heart skips a beat. I’m a soldier, trained to handle high-pressure situations, but this—being this close to her—is more than I bargained for.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, her breath brushing against my ear as she adjusts the focus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens. I’m supposed to be watching the target, not getting distracted by the woman beside me.

She spends a few moments peering through the binoculars, her face so close to mine that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. My mind races, trying to think of anything but how it would feel to close that small distance between us. How it would feel to—

Stop it, Rogers. Focus.

She finally pulls back, handing the binoculars back to me. “hmm, odd,” she says, disappointment lacing her voice.

I nod, taking the binoculars from her, our fingers brushing for just a moment. It’s like a spark of electricity, and I have to force myself to keep my expression neutral. I can’t let her see what she’s doing to me.

She doesn’t move away, though. Instead, she stays close, leaning against me slightly as we continue to watch the building. Every second feels like an eternity. The heat of her body, the soft sound of her breathing—it’s all too much, but I can’t bring myself to step away. I’m not sure if I want to.

Minutes pass, and the tension between us only grows thicker. I’m hyper-aware of every inch of space between us—or the lack of it. My mind keeps drifting, imagining what it would be like if I just turned my head a little, if I just—

She pulls back suddenly, clearing her throat. “Sorry,” she says, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

I shake my head quickly, trying to sound like everything’s fine. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

She nods, but the awkwardness lingers. I can feel it in the air. We resume our watch, but it’s like there’s a wall between us now, a wall built by unspoken words and feelings I’m not ready to admit.

Finally, after what feels like hours, we decide to call it a night. Y/N changes into her sleepwear first, giving me a bit of space. I keep my back turned, focusing on the mission, the window, anything but her. But no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps drifting, slipping into dangerous territory.

I hear the soft rustle of fabric as she pulls off her shirt, and my imagination runs wild before I can stop it. Images flash through my mind—her skin, smooth and soft under the dim light, the way her hair might fall over her shoulders as she changes, the subtle curve of her waist as she slips into something more comfortable.

Damn it, Steve. Stop.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts. She trusts me, and I owe it to her—and to myself—to stay professional. But it’s hard, harder than I ever thought it would be, and the guilt gnaws at me.

I’m supposed to be better than this. Stronger. I’ve faced down enemies that would make most men run in fear, but here I am, struggling to keep my mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t.

The sound of her footsteps breaks through the haze of my thoughts, and I snap back to reality. I settle onto one side of the mattress, trying to take up as little space as possible. But when she slides in beside me, the mattress dips, and suddenly, she’s right there, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body through the thin sheets.

I stare up at the ceiling, every muscle in my body tense. This is going to be impossible.

“Goodnight,” she says softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

“Goodnight,” I reply, my voice tighter than I intended.

I can hear her breathing beside me, steady and soft, and I know she’s not asleep either. The tension between us is unbearable, a constant reminder of everything I’m trying to ignore, everything I can’t afford to feel right now.

She sighs, and I hear the frustration in her voice. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

I can’t help but chuckle, a low, warm sound that surprises even me. “Yeah, it might be.”

She turns her head to look at me, and I do the same. In the dim light, I can see her eyes, the soft curve of her lips as she smiles. It’s a small moment of comfort, a brief reprieve from the tension that’s been building between us.

“We’ll get through it,” she says, and I can hear the determination in her voice.

I nod, “Always do.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then she adds with a mischievous grin, “Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension easing just a bit. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

She chuckles softly, and it’s that laugh—the one that always catches me off guard. It’s light, pure, and it cuts through all the heaviness like a breath of fresh air. I could listen to that sound for hours, and never get tired of it.

“Might want to sleep with one eye open.” she adds, still teasing.

“I think I can manage that,” I reply, still smiling.

Her laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, the weight of everything feels a little lighter. It’s a small joke, a silly one, but it’s enough to make the space between us feel less heavy, more manageable.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” I say again, this time with a little more warmth.

“Goodnight, Steve,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

We both settle back, and though the tension isn’t completely gone, it feels like we’ve taken a small step toward something better. Maybe these five days won’t be as long as it seems.

[suashii]

— 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 1.9k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ  fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ reader is intoxicated ﾉ pet names ( little lady, darlin’, sweetheart ) ﾉ jealous boothill :3

a/n: this is an extra to my farmhand boothill series but can be read as a standalone :)

“woah, you might wanna slow down, little lady.” boothill’s voice sounds in your ear, louder than the cacophony of music and competing voices in the cramped bar. the vibration sends a chill down your spine and you giggle as you lean away from him—though the task proves to be a bit difficult with his arm wrapped around you. you should be glad he’s holding onto you, otherwise you would have ended up on the sticky floor trying to create some distance.

it’s been a while since you’ve been out to a bar, since you’ve had alcohol at all, really. that much is abundantly clear to boothill as he watches you from your side. your head is beginning to loll to the side, your eyelashes lazily kiss the tops of your cheeks with every flutter of your drooping eyelids, and there’s a lazy smile pulling at your lips. the man would be lying if he said the sight wasn’t endearing, but his plan for tonight hadn’t been for you to get drunk.

work has been stressful for you the past week, he’s noticed, so his intention for the night was simply to loosen you up and maybe teach you how to shoot pool to get your mind off the demands of the job, but it seems that boothill severely overestimated your alcohol tolerance. there’s no way he’ll be able to teach you the game without you tipping over and he certainly doesn’t trust you to hold a pool cue in this state.

“i think we’ve had enough fun here tonight,” boothill tells you, sitting you up with one arm and waving down the bartender with another. he asks the woman behind the bar for a glass of water and a personal request—that she keep an eye on you for a short moment. she fulfills both of his asks, sliding a glass sweating with condensation in front of you and telling boothill to go take care of his business. “drink this and don’t get up from this seat, alright? i’ll be right back, darlin’.”

“where are you going?” you ask, dipping your head down to take the straw between your lips. you glance up at him with curiosity swimming in your eyes as you take slow sips of the cold water.

“bathroom.” he sets a heavy hand on your head, smoothing your hair down. “i’ll be quick, promise.”

“mkay,” you hum. your focus turns to the cup in front of you, eyes following the way the water level lessens with each of your sips. boothill snorts—it doesn’t look like you’ll be getting into any trouble in the few minutes he’ll be gone.

you’re only able to tell he’s left when the weight on your head disappears.

without his voice and touch to ground you, your mind wanders. a song you haven’t heard before but you’re sure boothill has fills the room. balls from the pool table clank together and thud when they drop into the pockets. and the voices—there are much too many to really focus on any. a group of girls drunker than you belt along to the song, though, the lyrics they sing are partially delayed. a man swears while another hoots in celebration signaling the end of a game at one of the green tables.

“are you here by yourself, pretty girl?” the voice is far closer than any others you hear and despite it not being one you’re familiar with, you spin the stool you’re seated on in its direction at one of the many names boothill has settled on calling you. long white hair that grows darker at the tips doesn’t greet you, however, a man has filled the seat to your right.

it takes his consistent stare for you to register that his question was directed at you.

“no.” you shake your head and it feels like your brain wobbles with it. you speak loud enough so that you can hear yourself, so that you don’t stumble over your words. “my boyfriend is with me.”

the man makes a show of looking over your shoulder to the empty seat behind you. “this boyfriend of yours isn’t imaginary, is he?”

you cover your mouth with a hand to hide a laugh. what a ridiculous thought, you think. boothill might just be the realest thing you know. there’s no way you could think up his charm, his compassion, his humor—none of it. he’s so unapologetically him that it would be impossible for him to be merely a result of your imagination.

“he’s very real,” you assure the man with a definite nod. “he just went to the bathroom.”

at least, that’s what you think he said.

“well, i can’t imagine leaving a girl as pretty as you all by her lonesome.” the man shoots you a smile but it doesn’t make your heart flip like when boothill does. you have a hard time believing anyone besides him could have that effect on you. still, because you’re polite and happy, you offer the man a small smile, one that doesn’t meet your eyes. “how about i keep you company while your boyfriend is away?”

your head is light and maybe you aren’t in the best state of mind due to the alcohol, but you’re sober enough to know that it isn’t the best idea to spend time with this unknown man. you prepare to tell him that boothill will be back any minute and that you’re confident that you can fend for yourself until then but the moment you part your lips to do so, that familiar weight is back on your head.

“no need, buddy.” there’s an audible difference in the voice you’ve come to know—it’s deeper, not laced with its usual lighthearted kindness. the stray from his norm is enough to make you look up to meet his eye. his irises are darker, like storm clouds a second away from raging. despite the severity of his gaze, his lips are curled up in a grin, one directed at the man. “my girl doesn’t need your company.”

you try to fight the smile that threatens your lips at the title—my girl.

the man doesn’t share your sentiment. in fact, the smile he had painted on for you all but drops at boothill’s arrival. “i think the lady can speak for herself.”

you can hear boothill’s tongue click in annoyance from above you. his hand has fallen from your head to rest protectively on the small of your back. even without looking at him, you’re sure that the grin he put on simply as a courtesy has disappeared. you wouldn’t be surprised to peer up and find a scowl in its place.

you’ve never seen the nasty side of boothill—never given him a reason to show you. but you don’t doubt that this guy implying that you’d rather stay with him than your boyfriend might be all it takes to turn the gentlemanly farmhand into a problematic patron. the tension between the two is growing with every second so, in an effort to stop boothill from escalating the situation, you hop down from your stool and take a tight hold of his arm.

“we’re gonna go!” you shout over the music, perhaps a little louder than necessary. you tug on boothill’s arm as you start toward the one door of the establishment. he doesn’t resist—he’d much rather leave with you than waste any more time on that asshat.

a rush of evening air hits the both of you as you push the door open, causing goosebumps to break out over your arms almost immediately. the drastic change is welcome, though—you much prefer this over the stuffy warmth of the bar. and something tells you boothill could use the opportunity to cool off.

it doesn’t take you long to reach his truck but the walk is a quiet one. if you weren’t holding onto him, you might not even know he was there. the silence is uncharacteristic but he’s sure to open your door for you like always. he helps you up to your seat but, instead of sitting down properly, you take a seat with your legs dangling out the door. boothill raises a questioning eyebrow.

“are you mad?” you can’t help but pout as you ask him. you didn’t think talking to that guy would be such a big deal but clearly the exchange left a bad taste in boothill’s mouth. you can understand why he had no desire to smile at that man but don’t you deserve his smiles? “i was gonna tell him to go away.”

“i’m not mad, sweetheart.” he places a hand on your knee and gives it a comforting squeeze. the streetlight casts a shadow over his face, hiding a tiny smile that he wears for your sake.

his answer should be satisfying enough but alcohol makes you curious and this curious variant of yours wants to know what’s going on in boothill’s head.

“then… you’re jealous?” you propose. the suggestion draws a chuckle from boothill’s chest. he doesn’t confirm nor deny the silly thought so you continue. “you thought that guy would just swoop in and sweep your darlin’ off her feet?”

boothill knows you’re kidding around but that had been exactly what he thought when he returned to the counter to find someone talking you up. he can’t blame the guy for trying—of course people are drawn to you. he had been the first time he listened to your grandpa speak so fondly of you, even more so when he first laid eyes on you. all that considered, he was still beyond pissed to see someone hitting on you so boldly.

he wished everyone knew you were his.

jealousy… he can’t say he’s ever experienced the feeling. perhaps it calls for a little self-reflection but as far as boothill is concerned, that can wait. he steps closer to you, until there’s barely any space between your knees and his body. a hand comes up to cradle your face, calloused thumb caressing your cheekbone. his next words are meant to be a joke but he finds that he’s hanging on to your answer before he’s even able to ask. “did he? sweep you off your feet?”

“not a chance,” you tell him, the pout from earlier returning to your lips. how absurd, you think, that he would ever entertain such a thought. you’re tempted to flick him, hoping the little gesture will knock some sense into the man, but you don’t. instead, you reach up and around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, and pull him close. forehead to forehead, you whisper, “i wouldn’t pick anyone over you.”

the smile you’ve been waiting for—a genuine one, the kind that stretches wide and showcases the imperfections of his teeth—finally takes over boothill’s face. warm breath fans over your face with his hushed laugh. “‘s that so?”

“mhm,” you hum, closing the short distance between you to press a kiss to his lips. he holds you there a bit longer than you intended but you let him, relishing the feeling of his soft lips against yours. he pulls away a moment later, though neither of you makes a move to separate from the other.

“you’re the only one i want, boothill.”

thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting ❤︎

[luvrxbunny]

hii sorry to bother you im just gonna request something for ethan landry idk if youve written for him before i havent seen. but im legit obsessed and can you do something about like him being in econ and then getting all flustered from reader sitting next to him and just talking and then after that idk you can make something up hahaha but they go to like readers dorm and SmUt and hes all whiny and subby and maybe mommy kink goirhetlghrtglrhtg :))) dhbckudhfxkd

can you tell im going a bit insane for this guy

if you cant do it its okay also i love your work so much it gets me shuddering like legit

Thank you so so much for requesting! Unfortunately, I have no clue who this character is, (i literally thought he was evan peter's character in ahs before this) so I’m sorry if anything isn’t character-consistent!

Pairing: Ethan Landry x F!Reader

Summary: You find out that Ethan has a little crush on you.  

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some dry humping, handjob, overstimulation, f!mastrubation, mommy kink (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 4.3k

A/N: idk how this got so fucking long idek this guy. also y'all see the compliments in the request?? flattery will get you very far w me

You walk in just as the bell rings, breathing a sigh of relief as you sit down and the professor begins his mind-numbing lecture. You place your bag on the ground and get out all the supplies you’ll need for this god-awful class. 

You’ve finished setting everything up when you realize that you’ve sat down next to someone. You try and see who it is through the peripherals of your vision, hoping you didn’t just sit next to some random person when you realize it’s him.

You’ve been going to school with Ethan for a few years now. He’s always been pretty quiet so he doesn’t have many friends. You guys are friendly, a level a bit higher than acquaintances because you’ve known each other for so long but you don’t really talk that often. You developed a crush on him back in high school. It never grew into anything more because you could never seem to hold a conversation with him... But it never fully left either because he’s still adorable.

You were shocked when you saw him in class on the first day, unable to believe that you were lucky enough to end up with him in the same class, at the same college. You try to talk to him more when you both are paired up in class but he’s not the best conversationalist. 

“Oh! Hey, Ethan! I didn’t even realize you were sitting here!” You try and be extra friendly, knowing how hard it is for him to communicate with others but you’re still met with silence. “Uh- I was almost late again! Did you see me? I got here like- just in time. Maybe I should start walking with you, you’re always on time!” You open your notebook and start taking down the notes on the board as you speak. 

Ethan is still silent. It’s getting a bit rude at this point. You thought the two of you were friendly but maybe he just doesn’t like you at all. You turn to look at him, hoping you’d get an explanation but all you’re met with is his alarmingly red face, fixated on the board. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. He has sweat lining his hairline and his back is unnaturally straight. “Hey… Are you okay? Are you sick?” Your voice is laced with concern as you speak, hoping this is the one thing he responds to. 

Ethan is trying so hard to act normal, be normal around you but he can’t. It would’ve been fine if you just hadn’t spoken to him. He could’ve easily pretended you weren’t there if he also ignored the smell of your perfume that was all but suffocating him with its ungodly sweet scent.

He’s been hard since you walked in, he always is. He can’t even help it at this point, he doesn’t try. In every class you’re in, his blood is in his dick. He used to try and prevent it, feeling like a pervert for being turned on at nothing but your presence but he’s given up. No one ever notices and he can just get off in the bathroom during lunch if he’s desperate enough. Only this time you’re sitting next to him.

He’s already leaking in his pants. 

To make it worse you were being so nice to him, too nice, and now you’re concerned about his health? Not even realizing that you’re the one who’s got him so hot, not a fever. 

“I’m- I’m fine. Thank you.” His voice is entirely flat as he speaks, trying to keep all emotion out of it in fear that you’ll be able to decipher what they mean. He doesn’t look at you, he’s scared he might cum on the spot if he does. 

You take these as signs of dishonesty. “Ethan… Are you sure?” You bring a hand up to feel his cheek, you’re so zoned into whether his skin is too warm or not, that you don't even notice when his eyes dart to your face. You move your hand to his forehead, deciding that his cheek isn’t reliable enough and your eyes meet his. 

You can hear his breath hitch at the eye contact and breaks it. It confuses you for a moment but you try and focus on the task at hand. “I don’t know, you feel kinda warm, Ethan. I don’t know if there’s a nurse on campus but we can check? I’d assume that-” 

His chest warms at your concern and he thinks it over. 

I can spend more time with her this way, and get to know her better. Can I handle spending all that time with her though? What if she notices my- Yeah. Maybe I just shouldn’t…

“Madame Late Pass?” Your eyes are already rolling into your head and you’re groaning quietly as the professor calls you out. You pull your hand away from Ethan’s face and give him the most distasteful stare you can manage. “Is there something wrong with Mr. Landry that’s distracting you from my lesson?”

“Actually sir, I think he might have a fever or something. I should probably take him to the nurse.” It’s an obvious excuse to skip his class but it isn’t technically a lie so he lets it go. You quickly pack your things up with a smile and motion for Ethan to do the same. 

You hold in your giggles until you guys are outside the classroom. “Okay! Do you wanna go to the nurse? We don’t have to- I don’t even know where it is, honestly.” Ethan is facing away from you, silent. 

Anxiety creeps in. “Hey. S- Sorry if you didn’t want to leave class. I- You could probably head back in a little bit… I should’ve asked I’m sorry. I just assumed. I mean wh- who likes econ y’know? I’m- I’m sorry.”

Your stuttering has his blushing even harder, the thought that anything he does could get any reaction out of you makes him smile. “I’m fine and I-” He lets out a light laugh that gives you butterflies “I kinda hate econ.” 

You place yourself in front of him with a huge smile. “Great! So do I, this will be great!” You lock your arms with his, a risky move, it has your heart pounding as he stiffens up with a sharp inhale but he never pulls away. You guys stroll down the corridors and talk. You have to slow your pace to keep up with Ethan and you’re doing most of the talking but you don’t mind one bit. 

You guys stop at the cafeteria for snacks and Ethan gently insists on paying, bringing the butterflies back to life and forcing a smile to your face as you thank him. You’re both sitting in a corner booth, away from most people, you’re talking and he’s squirming. 

Every few minutes he repositions himself and it was starting to get on your nerves a bit. It felt like he was uncomfortable being here, or that he was anxious for you to stop talking. You ended your story early, letting your voice die down, waiting for him to move again before questioning him. “Why are you so squirmy.?” 

He stops his movements instantly, and his eyes hesitantly look up to meet yours. “I’m not squirming.” He watches your feature turn into one of complete skepticism. “Ethan. I have eyes. If you want me to like… be quiet, or talk less or anything you can just say that. I won’t get offended or anything, I know I talk a lot.” You giggle at the end, Ethan twitches in his pants and has to suppress a whimper at the sound. 

“You’re not talking too much. You’re fine, it’s okay.” He’s struggling not to press his palm into his bulge again, needing any relief after being hard for almost half an hour now. Everything you do is making it worse and he doesn’t know how to escape the situation. 

The way you keep touching him is deadly. The way you linked arms with him when walking, the way you rubbed his back and thanked him as he paid and even now, the way you’ve placed your feet right next to his under the table, something about the action has his precum soaking through his jeans.

He doesn’t notice that you finished your food already and you’re now getting up and gathering the trash. He doesn’t have time to tell you he can do it himself before you’re crossing to his side. “I can take this for-” 

His hands cover his lap but you’re already staring. He doesn’t say anything, hoping that you’re staring at his crotch for a reason other than the fact he’s hard as a rock and soaking his pants. Your head tilts in confusion before you sit down, right next to him. Your scent wraps all around him like a blanket, his eyes fall shut as he breathes in your scent, his hands subconsciously massaging his dick gently. You feel the butterflies in your stomach turn to molten lava as you watch him. 

His breathing hitches as his hands stop moving and his eyes snap open. “I’m s- I’m so sorry. I’ll-” He’s gathering the abandoned trash and getting up but you place your hand on his arm softly and pull him back down. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Ethan. Although I’d like to know it’s um- origin.” Your heart is racing at the thought that you were the one to make him this hard, that you- just going about your day- could make him this hard. He answers you without saying anything, his face turns piping red again and he looks away. That does it. 

“Ethan, do you wanna come back to my dorm? I have something to… show you.” 

He’s following close behind you, his shirt pulled down over his crotch and one hand in yours. You’re basically dragging him into your dorm, pressing him into the door the second he closes it. You’re leaning into him, your hands on his chest as his float awkwardly above your hips. 

“I wanna kiss you, Ethan.” He gasps sweetly at your words and leans into you instantly. 

His lips are soft and wet when they meet yours. You whine into his mouth, he moans loudly into yours in response and pulls away. “S- sorry.” His eyes are downcast and he sounds embarrassed. You couldn’t be more confused. 

“What?” You run your hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and to the back of his neck so you can play with his curls. His eyelids flutter at the action and you watch his adam’s apple jump before he speaks. 

“I don’t know. I was- I was loud. I didn’t mean to be…” You can’t help yourself. You smash his lips back into yours, forcing a beautiful moan out of his mouth, followed by a whine before you pull back. “I want you to be loud, Ethan.” 

You whisper the words to him, low and seductive. A little whimper slips out of his mouth and you kiss him again, walking backward towards your bed and he’s stumbling like Bambi as you do. 

His hands are finally on you, wrapped around your waist, trying to pull you in. You maneuver him around to push him onto the bed and straddle him. He’s moaning the moment your weight drops onto him, his hips bucking up into yours against his will and he’s apologizing again. 

You silence him with your lips, attacking his neck, and melting his words into groans and whines. You lift your weight off him, pushing onto your knees and cooing at how he whimpers and tries to follow you with his hips. You push him down to the bed, laying him out for you to admire. You run your hands down his arms, over and down his chest to the bottom of his shirt. Your eyes leave his body to check if he’s okay with this but his head is thrown back, pressing into your pillows with his knuckle between his teeth. 

“Ethan? Are you okay, honey?” A ragged half moan, half sob, shoots from his mouth as his hand leaves his mouth, gripping your arm desperately. He’s still not looking at you and his hands are shaking as they grip you.

“I-It feels s- so fucking g- good. You’re ma-aking me feel so good.” He’s incredibly breathless as his hips grind up into the air, searching for your warmth. You can feel heat explode in your stomach at his words, at his desperation from you just kissing and running your hands over his body. 

You drop your weight back onto him for a moment, to tease him and relieve yourself a bit. He rewards you with a shuddering gasp and his hands come to grip your hips as hard as they could. He can’t even get any words out as your clothed pussy slides over his sensitive cock. Your eyes are shut tight in concentration as you try not to make any noise, wanting to hear his noises instead. You grow a bit frantic in your movements, grinding on him harder, angling yourself a million different ways to try and get the perfect pressure on your clit when you feel his hand on your cheek. 

Your eyes snap open- you hadn’t even realized you closed them- and he’s pulling your lip from between your teeth with hooded eyes on you and a shy smile on his lips. “I wanna hear you too.” His voice is timid and breathy and you can tell he’s being genuine in what he says but all it does is turn you on even more. 

You moan as you dive for his lips, his hips follow yours up and his hand presses your head into his. He’s thrusting into you more forcefully, determined to cum against you but you lift your hips away from his again with a moan as he separates from your lips. “Why? I was- I don’t understand.”

He sounds like he could cry and his hips are still searching for any friction as you watch him, looking into his eyes and admiring all the emotion they hold. You can’t help the smirk that splits your face as he begins to whine for you, begging you to touch him, to make him feel good but instead, you fully remove yourself from him. You sit beside him and tell him to remove his pants, and he excitedly complies. He’s trembling beside you as you stare at the bulge in his briefs, in love with the way he’s leaking through the fabric. “Would it be okay if I touched you, Ethan?” 

You’re fixated on his bulge but you still hear the way his breathing picks up at your question. You crawl in front of him, your thighs laying over his, sitting between his spread legs with your pussy inches from his throbbing cock. Your hands run along his pelvis, tickling the skin just above the band of his underwear, and smiling at the way his stomach tenses under your minstrations. “P- Yes, please. Please- Oh-” 

He gasps prettily as you stick your hands into his underwear and pull his cock out. He hisses when it hits the cold air but falls into a moan as you start pumping him, wasting no time in getting him the pleasure he deserves.

“So. You got hard because..?” You prompt him, wanting to hear the real reason, and deciding this would be the perfect time to tease him. You’re not even sure he heard you, his eyes are still wide and staring at your hand as it glides up and down his cock, extra lubricated from all the precum his dick is spewing for you. 

You watch his face contort in pleasure, his head falling back as his eyes roll back and he begins to whine out your name on repeat. His hands start to shake and grip the sheets tighter, twisting the fabric in his fist before shouting out. “NO-”

You stopped. “Why are you- Why did you s- stop again? I was so- I was so c- close, I was gonna cum-” His voice pitches up at the end into a whine and he tries to fuck himself into your fist. You giggle at him.

“I asked you a question, baby.” He gives you a bitten-off groan at that. “You didn’t answer, which was quite rude but you do that all the time huh?” Your fingers run delicately over his length, watching it twitch as he struggles to respond. “I- don’t m-mean to.” You start jerking him off again, slowly. 

“You- You’re so pretty, I lo- I like y- you so- shit. I can’t speak- you turn me o-on.” He’s barely making sense as his hips fuck into your fist, trying to force you to get him off faster. He keeps cutting himself off with moans and debauched groans. His whole face is red, it’s spread down to his neck and up his ears too.

“I turn you on? That’s why you ignore me?” You stop again, your hand frozen in the middle of his dick. A broken wail shoots from him and his hands shoot up from the sheets to your face, pulling you in for a kiss. He’s licking up and into your mouth while letting his moans spill from his lips into yours. You’re shocked at the desperation and force of the kiss, your lips bruising themselves against his. He’s pulling at your hair gently and moaning as your tongue brushes along the inside his mouth. He pulls back and falls to your neck, whimpering quietly. 

“I can’t think- You make me so- I get so hot around you, mommy.” 

Your heart stops, every molecule in your body getting overrun with arousal at the words- at the name that just left his mouth. He’s pressing kisses into your neck and explaining himself further, as though he’s called you this before, like this is a normal thing between the two of you.

“-And everything about you just makes it so much worse. I just wanna cum for you, I want you to make m- me cum but you keep s-stopping and it hurts so much. I- please, I want you so bad, mommy.” He gasps at the end of his sentence that time and pulls his head out of your neck. 

His lips are wet , soft, and trembling, his eyes are terrified as they scan your face trying to decipher your reaction. He’s breathing fast, in a more panicked way at your silence. “I’m so sor-”

“So you want mommy to make you cum, baby?” His eyes widen with a gentle gasp but he keeps scanning your face, looking for anything that doesn’t feel genuine. His eyes lose focus though, as you begin to stroke his cock again. “I think I can do that… What do you think?” 

He’s nodding at you deliriously as his hips begin to roll themselves into your fist, his hand slides over the sheets until it finds yours and interlocks your fingers, causing warmth to bloom in your chest and stomach. You lean in to kiss his cheek as he moans your name but he turns his head so you catch his lips instead, his moans filling your mouth again. He’s barely kissing you, more like pressing his open mouth against yours, exchanging his breaths for yours as you smile at him. “That feels good, baby?”

His eyes open to meet yours and instantly roll back into his head. “Y- Mommy, don’t stop. Oh- You know it d- does. Please.” He’s interrupting with his own sounds again and his hand is wrapping around your waist, trying to pull your body closer to his. His moans are becoming more frantic and he keeps taking deep, stuttering, breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

His bottom lip is being bitten red by his teeth, his eyelids are fluttering, struggling not to let his eyes close and roll to the back of his head. You can see his thighs tensing and jumping beside you, they press against your body, tense and stiff as his legs try to shut. 

“So cl- Mommy, I’m so- s-so- please. Oh, fuck.” His eyes snap open to meet yours pathetically. There are little tears that have gathered in his eyes and he looks so out of it, fucked out beyond belief, his head far up in the clouds. “Please don’t stop. Let-” You tilt your head at him as he collapses into a trembling sob, his hands beginning to shake where they hold you, his eyes shut again, and his eyebrows press up into each other. “Let me cum for you, let me cum f- for.”

His sentence is ruined by his orgasm and you can feel the force of it. Not by the way he all but screams your name, or by the way his body folds into yours. You can physically feel it. His cock pulses aggressively in your hand and you can feel each rope of cum work its way up his shaft and spurt out of his tip, running down your knuckles and dripping onto your bed. 

His thighs are trembling at your sides, trying to crush you as he humps your fist the best he can. He’s so loud against your neck, releasing passionate shrieks and wanton whines of your real name or your awarded one. He brings a sweaty hand to your cheek and pushes your face in his direction so he can smother your lips in his saliva, not waiting until he’s connected to your lips to start trying to taste you. You have to suppress a fond giggle at the action, letting him lick into your mouth instead. 

You’re still pumping him, trying to get out all the cum that’s been collecting in his dormant sac. His whole body is shaking now, repeated and choked moans falling into you as he crosses the line of overstimulation. You kiss him languidly and start to slow your hand, not wanting to overwhelm him too much. His fingers untangle from your hand and wrap around your other. 

He pulls away from the kiss and looks at you with hooded, clouded eyes. “I can c-cum again if-” 

He uses his hand to run yours over his shaft, jerking himself off with your hand. “If we- Can we k-keep going?” His eyes begin to cross as your hand establishes a rhythm, you’re not even doing anything, letting him get himself off with your hand. His hips are thrusting up erratically as he moves you frantically over his cock. “I wanna cum f- cum for you a-again.” 

Overcome with arousal, you slide your hand into your pants and start toying with your clit through your panties, your eyes falling shut at the pleasure. You’re already impossibly close, overly sensitive from all the neglect while being pummeled with stimulants; the way Ethan is reacting to you, his trembling body desperately pressing itself against yours, his moans, and the way he calls you mommy.

You hear his moans pick up and your eyes open back up to see his gaze between your legs before snapping up to meet yours. He stops pumping himself with your hand in favor of placing his hand over the one that rests inside your pants. He’s moving his hand in the same motions you are while you start jerking him off again, relishing in the way he’s twitching against your palm.

Ethan knows he isn’t doing anything, he knows that he’s not actually touching you but the way you moan his name makes him feel otherwise. The way you’ll moan at your own movements while his hand moves the same way, has him tricking himself into believing he’s the one making you feel good. The thought has him teetering- tipping over the edge. 

“Gonna cum.” He mumbles against your lips before dropping his head to your shoulder. You move your fingers faster over your clit, your hips beginning to cant up into your hand as your orgasm approaches. 

"Me too, honey. Fuck it feels so good, Ethan.” He moans brokenly as he cums again, thrusting weakly into your hand as his cock twitches pathetically, letting out tiny streams of cum onto your sheets. He’s gasping out a plea into your neck as he cums but you can’t make out what it is.

“-please. Oh, please. Cum, mommy. Cum. C-cum. Please cum. Fu-uck” You can’t help the way your body convulses against him or the shouting moan of his name that shoots out of your mouth as your eyes roll back. You can feel yourself soaking your panties as you shudder against him. His hand is still over yours, moving your finger over your clit in the midst of your orgasm, prolonging it as long as he can before you’re pulling your hand away and kissing him as passionately as you can. 

Both of you have your arms wrapped around the other as you guys kiss, dopey smiles on both of your faces when you pull back. He has a shy blush over his features that makes you giggle and press a kiss on the tip of his nose. You’re both lost in the moment, giggling and kissing each other, love-struck when you hear your dorm room open. “Oh god, what’s that smell?”

You hear your dormmate behind you and cover Ethan as best you can, with your body. “Sidney, fuck off!” You shout at her, hoping she’ll get the memo and leave but instead, you hear her speak again. 

“What?.. Oh eww.” You roll your eyes at her and look at Ethan, his face is red, obviously embarrassed at the presence in the doorway. 

“Oh my god! Shut up and just leave!” She finally leaves and you apologize to Ethan for the interruption. You kiss softly along his jawline and down his neck to calm him down, you fall for him the moment you pull away.

You get to see- for a moment- the face he had while you were kissing him, content and pleased, his eyes shut with a pretty little smile resting on his lips. 

Thank you so much for reading! and thank you even more for requesting!! Please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all!

[houseofanticipation]

You've always been an outdoor person. You're a camper, a hiker, an explorer. You feel at home in this forest; miles upon miles of trees in every direction, the only hints of civilization a handful of campgrounds and the odd ranger station. Years of experience have made you comfortable here, in the cool, quiet air.

Maybe too comfortable.

It's late morning when you first notice someone behind you on the trail. You don't see them when you look back. You just their footsteps, the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves. You expect them to pass you, as you're taking a pretty leisurely pace, but the footsteps always seem to be about 20 feet behind you. You start to get annoyed. This person's thousand-pound feet are ruining your nice, quiet walk. You step to the side of the trail and wait the person to pass.

And so do they.

That makes you nervous. You start walking again, and they walk with you. You stop, they stop. You begin to think you might be in trouble. Careful to keep the noise at you front, you take the folded trail map out of your pocket and begin to scan it. There's a ranger station not far ahead; if you can just make it that far, you might be safe.

You break into a brisk walk, and your pursuer keeps pace. This trail was made intentionally with a lot bends in it, so each hiker or group of hikers could feel like the wilderness was their own, without running into many other people. It means your pursuer can stay relatively close to you without ever entering your line of sight. You're close now, you recognize the little footbridge over this creek, so you break into a run, skidding on mud and dried leaves as you make a mad dash for safety. The footsteps crash through the forest behind you, and you're too afraid to turn around but you're sure they're gaining on you. You see the ranger station up ahead, a little log cabin with a green door, and you practically fly up the front steps, through the unlocked door. You slam it shut behind you and throw the deadbolt, sliding down the door in a mess of exhaustion and nerves.

The ranger station consists of a single room, with a ladder up to a small loft space where the ranger sleeps. You were hoping to find help, but the ranger isn't here at the moment. That's okay. Just the locked door on its own makes you feel a lot better. You listen intently for any sound outside, but all you hear is birdsong, and wind through the trees.

Then someone is trying to turn the door handle. The sound makes you jump, but you try to stay brave. You're still safe. They can't get in.

You hear a man's voice on the other side of the door. "Hello?"

You summon your courage and call back. "Leave me alone! What do you want from me?"

The voice sounds surprised. "I...I don't want anything from you ma'am. It's just...well, you're kind of in my office." You get to your hands and knees and crawl to the front window, just peeking over the sill. Outside is a flustered looking man in a ranger uniform. Relief floods your body. You let him in.

"Thank god," he says. "I'm not supposed to leave the station unlocked, I thought at first some teenagers had gotten in here and...hey, what's wrong?" He's seen the look in your eyes, the way you're still panting, the state of your hair. You explain to him about the footsteps, the chase through the woods, how you hid here for safety. His eyes grow wider with your every word. "Shit, that's terrible. Drink some water, get yourself hydrated while I check around out there." He offers you his canteen. You begin to tell him you have your own water, but he waves you off. "No, no, I can't let you use your own rations. I've got extra water reserves here just for unprepared hikers, I won't run out. Please."

You take the canteen and drink, sitting on a hard folding chair while the ranger goes back outside. Now that you think about it, you're actually incredibly thirsty. You finish off the ranger's canteen, and feel a little bad about it, but he seemed insistent that you should have it.

You're exhausted. It had already been a long day of hiking, and then you went and spent the rest of your energy running through the forest. You were probably overreacting, you think as your eyelids begin to droop. Maybe it was just an illusion, your own footsteps somehow echoed back to you by the forest. In the warmth and safety of the ranger station, the fear you felt before seems almost silly.

Your limbs feel sluggish and disconnected. Your head seems to be full of rocks. Your eyelids fall closed, and you're out before you hit the floor.

You come to little by little, slowly becoming aware of several odd sensation at once. The first thing you notice is that you feel good. Incredible, actually. You're having trouble wrapping your head around why exactly—you're having trouble putting thoughts together, connecting raw sensation to ideas or meanings. But you like how you're feeling, you know that much.

There's more to it though, because you also hurt, which you don't like. There's something rough pressing up against your back, and your arms and legs are sore. You're cold, too, colder than you've been in a long time, and a cool wind stings your bare skin. Why is your skin bare?

You open your eyes. You're in a forest clearing, a place you recognize. It's a popular camping spot, secluded but not far from the trail. You're on a tree—tied to it, you realize, that's the rough thing on your back, and the reason you're so sore. Coils of rope around your wrists are pulling your arms up and behind you, like you're giving the tree a backwards hug. Something similar is happening with your legs, and a rope across your throat is keeping you from pointing your head down.

You are naked.

The ranger is there, leaning into you, and for a confused moment you think he's trying to untie you, but then the whole picture suddenly falls into place. He is raping you, slowly and indulgently, moaning openly as he slides cock up and down, in and out of your pussy. Fear jolts you awake, your fight-or-flight response taking control, but you you have no way to fight and now means of fleeing. You begin to scream, thrashing against your bonds, but they're solid and secure. You're not going anywhere.

"Oh good you're...oh!...awake," says the ranger, still inside you. "I have to tell you, I thought you looked cute when I decided to follow you, but I had no idea you'd be this...o...oh, fuck...this good. I think you've got the tightest little cunt I've ever fucked."

Just because that pleasurable feeling isn't wanted anymore doesn't mean it's going away. With every thrust of the ranger's cock, the feeling builds inside you, threatening to spill over. "Please," you whimper. You can't cum, not here, not to this. "Please stop, let me go."

The ranger grins and looks at you. He gives you an extra deep thrust and you moan in spite of yourself, your muscles contracting and your pussy tightening around him. "Why would I...oh, fuck that's good...why would I stop when you're clearly enjoying this just as much as I am?"

Tears stream down your face. You can't control it now. Waves of tension wash your body, each one making you seize tighter, arching your back, straining your bonds. As the final wave crashes over you the ranger gives one last moan and buries his face in your neck, his cum seeming to warm your shivering body from the inside. You go limp, wobbly, all the tension draining from your body with the cum that spills forth as he withdraws his cock.

The ranger buckles up his pants and leans over, hands on his knees, panting. "Fuck, girl. I can't just keep that cunt to myself. People need to know!" He goes behind you somewhere, and you can hear leaves rustle. When he comes back he holds a stake in his hand: a signpost, with a printed metal sign attached. He shows it to you:

Elk Trail Cum Dump

The park thanks you for your patronage. Feel free to use this receptacle as you see fit.

"I had this made up a few years back." Says the ranger as he hammers it into the ground in front of you. "We've had a handful of cum dumps, but I'll tell you what, you're definitely the best." He looks you up and down, then steps forward and sticks his middle and index fingers up inside you. You tighten reflexively, and he whistles. "Fuuuck me that's good! Alright, I'll probably be back tonight with some friends. New cum dump always attracts some attention. Stay tight, honey." He gives your cheek a little slap and walks away.

It hurts for a while. The bark against your skin. The ropes digging into you. Your shoulders, supporting your weight for so long. But after your sixth hour or so it all just fades into a general, dispassionate numbness.

People walk by sometimes. You hear them on the trail and call out for help. They come, usually but they don't help. A pair of young women laugh and take selfies with their fingers in your pussy. And old man rapes you breathlessly while is wife rolls her eyes and laughs good-naturedly. A middle aged woman with a big backpack says she's going to help you out, which turns out to mean producing a vibrator and giving you the most mind-melting, earth-shattering orgasm of your life, before saying a polite goodbye and leaving you tied up.

When your bladder gets full you just piss right there. It's not a bad way to do it, really; with your legs pulled back like this, you manage not to get much on you. You're a little more concerned about what happens when you need to shit, but you suppose there's a chance you can hold it until you die of hunger or thirst.

A man with a bushy beard gives you a long look before leaving and coming back with a long branch, one end whittled barkless and smooth. He inserts the smooth end into your pussy and sets the other end on the ground, held up only by your natural grip. He instructs you to bounce up and down on it while he masturbates. It's a little thick for you, but it actually feels pretty good, and you try to put on a good show for him as thanks. He lets you keep in there when he leaves, as a way to pass the hours.

You fall asleep just as the sun is setting. You find if you rest your head against the tree just so, you can relax without it falling forward and choking you on the rope across your neck. When you wake again it's full night, and someone has built a little fire in a circle of stones. A dozen or so men are lounging around, laughing, chatting, drinking beers out of a cooler. And raping you of course, but you barely even notice that now. All it really means to you is that someone took away your nice stick.

The ranger is among the men, though he's out of uniform. He raises a beer to you when he sees you're awake. "Welcome back to the land of the living! My buddies here are loving that little pussy of yours."

"You shouldn't have open flames out here," you croak, your throat dry. "You could start a...a...ah! Forest fire." Your sentence is interrupted when the man currently inside you does a strange sort of twisting thing you don't quite understand, and the jolt of pleasure takes you by surprise.

"Ah, fuck you," says the ranger. "Which of us here is the park ranger and which is the cum dump? I know my way around a fire."

"If you say so," you say as the man adds another load of cum to your collection.

He's drunk, you can tell. They're all a little drunk, their words a little slurred, their movements a little wobbly. As the next guy slides into you, you nod at the bottle in his hand. "Hey, let me get a little of that." He holds the bottle up to your lips obligingly, and while most of it splashes down your chin and across your breasts, you get a few good swigs in. It's a party, after all.

When everyone's had their turn on you the boys decide to play a game called "Hide the Herring," which turns out to consist of everyone scattering to find objects, and then taking turns trying to fit them inside you, the winner being the one with the largest object that manages to fit completely inside you. You get several different rocks, some sticks, big chunk of frozen together ice cubes, One guy tries to fit a full, unopened bottle of beer in you, fat end first. It stretches you almost to your limit but he manages, with a bit of clitoral stimulation, to get it all the way up to the neck. He says, "if you can hold on to it for ten seconds you can drink the whole thing," and you agree gamely to give it a try. He takes his hand away and the whole crowd counts down as you clench around this bottle, harder to do when you can't close your legs. You can feel it slipping, little by little, but when the count reaches zero it's still there, and you let it slip out into its owner's waiting hands. He cracks it open and holds it to your mouth, and you close your lips around it. You don't want to lost any like last time. The group is so impressed by the way you open your throat and let it drain into you that they give you another, and another after that. By the end of your fourth beer you're definitely feeling the alcohol, and the last of the fear and misery of the situation falls away like the last remnants of a lizard's skin. Being the Elk Trail Cum Dump, you guess, isn't so bad after all.

The winner of Hide the Herring ends up being a full ten pack of hot dogs. The entrant opens it up, uses two of the hot dogs to pack the wrapping into your pussy, and then spends about fifteen minutes cutting the other eight into pieces and popping them, one at a time, into your asshole. There's a lot of arguing about whether using your ass is allowed, or if it still counts as one object once the package is open, but it doesn't matter to you. Being filled this full feels amazing, and you manage to convince one of the guys to fuck you with your ass stuffed like this. Chunks of hot dog pop out of your ass, two and three at a time as you cum, and he leaves you dripping, feeling warm and gooey.

You get fucked a few more times as they set up camp for the night. Everyone's cum at least once by now, so the loads are getting a little thin, but that's okay. You feel as though you are melting into the tree, becoming a part of it. When you wake tomorrow, you imagine your arms and legs will have grown into its bark, your hair becoming leaves, your heart and lungs and mind becoming wood. Nothing more than a handful of tight wet holes for hikers and campers to enjoy. With this image glowing in your mind's eye, you drift off into a contented sleep.

[lily-fics-11]

Maybe I Just Like Seeing You Fired Up (Ellie Williams, TLOU)

This is my first time writing Ellie so I hope you like it. Lmk what you think:)

Inspired by a prompt by @remy-lupin

CW: Not beta read, profanities, sexual undertones, mention of injury, pet names

You rarely got assigned to patrol with Ellie, which was no coincidence. The two of you have a tendency to butt heads. You by no means hate, or even dislike her, you just operate in different ways. Your social circles didn’t overlap, she was a little younger than you. So the only time you had ever spent with her was on patrol, where disagreements were consistent. It only got worse over time. After many others had observed your bickering, the two of you stopped being scheduled together. 

Unfortunately, a few minor injuries had been sustained when an unexpected storm rolled in during a scouting trip yesterday. You hadn’t been there, and neither had Ellie. You were more than willing to pick up the extra shift that they asked you to. 

After emerging into a clearing from some densely packed trees, you look over at Ellie. Her toned arms are crossed and you can tell by the look on her face that she is also pondering what move to make. You run a hand through your hair in frustration, knowing that this would most likely cause the first of many disagreements. 

Ellie is the first to share her thoughts. “That hill looks pretty rocky, we should probably dismount and check how stable the terrain is before trying to take the horses over it.”

Not what you were thinking, but you had been begged to play nice.

You nod at her, “we can do that.”

“Oh really?” Ellie asks smugly.

You dismount your horse and straighten up your posture. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m just surprised.” Ellie snickers.

You put your hands on your hips. “This shouldn’t take more than a few hours, and we are both adults. I’m sure we can manage to cooperate knowing we shouldn’t have to do this again any time soon.”

Ellie hops off her horse. “I actually agree with you for once.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way.”

The two of you approach the bottom of the hill. The incline is mild, so if the rocks aren’t loose, the trek over could actually save some time. The two of you start to kick and pull at rocks.

At the same time that you say “I’m not so sure about this,” Ellie declares “seems alright to me.” She’s always been a risk taker. 

You look over at Ellie and roll your eyes which causes her to sigh. “So much for getting along,” she mumbles. 

“Come on Ellie, the rocks are stable right at the bottom but there are a few loose ones as you go higher up and for all we know it could get worse.”

“Fine, give me a second to test that theory,” Ellie tells you, sounding a little annoyed as she starts to climb a little higher. 

“Ellie, that's not a good idea. The last thing we need is another injury.”

She gives you a sarcastic smile. “Don’t you worry about me, darlin’, I’ll be careful.”

“Why do you always feel the need to challenge me?” you scoff, head tilted to one side, taking a step towards her. To Ellie that was a challenge, igniting a fire in her emerald eyes. She moves forwards slowly, until your faces are mere inches apart, with a cocky grin on her face. “Maybe I just like seeing you fired up.”

That was not at all what you expected so you retreat a few steps to try and recollect yourself. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire. Her statement was far more personal than anything either of you had ever said to each other, aside from the small talk before you realized that you clashed. From very early on things had been strictly business. Her mischievous eyes roll playfully. “Oh come on, I know you’re smarter than that.”

“Quit fucking around Ellie.” You check the time on your watch, getting impatient. 

“I think we should clear the air,” she suggests with urgency. 

“Of what?” You question, gesturing to the space around you. 

Ellie mimics you, which you do not appreciate. “This tension that we have. I know we don't see eye to eye, but I think there is more to it. How else would a little stubbornness escalate to keeping us separated all the time?” Your eyes wander around, looking for where she got the audacity. 

Ellie is still trying to prove her point. “Like I said, I don’t think that’s it.”

You put your hands up in the air. “I’m out of guesses here.”

“Everyone knows you like girls,” Ellie smirks, “I think you like me.”

“Oh really? I like girls so I must like you, is that it? Fuck off.” You turn away, back towards your horse but Ellie grabs your arm. You try to free yourself from her grip but it’s useless. You look at her over your shoulder. 

“Alright, maybe I’m projecting, but I’ve seen the way you look at me.” She says bluntly. 

You would be lying if you denied how attractive Ellie is. That her smile is endearing and you like how her eyes sparkle when she gets excited about something. You may have even had a bit of a crush on her before you met. But then you actually spoke to her. There was friction and there was another girl pursuing you, so you dropped it.

“But the only reason I’ve noticed is because I’m always looking at you,” Ellie admits, eyes softening as she bites the lips you've tried not to pay attention to. “Ellie, we don't have time for this.”

“Fine, I can wait. I’ll even make a deal with you. We do this your way, and we finish this conversation later.”

Standing on Ellie’s front porch, you hesitate to knock. This was bound to be awkward, like the rest of patrol had been. She had relinquished control and allowed you to call the shots. At least if she had challenged every call you made like she usually does it would not have been silent.

When Ellie opens the door she bites back a smile and lets you in. You follow her into the living room and sit down on her couch. You nervously try to get comfortable. Despite achieving physical comfort, you are anxious as hell. There are a lot of different ways this could go and most of them were bad. But when a girl like Ellie Williams notices you, that’s not something you can just ignore. And when a girl that looks like Ellie Williams asks you to do something, how could you ever say no?

Ellie sits with her legs spread, her elbows resting on her knees. At first she looked down at the floor, even though you were expecting her to talk first.

“So…” you say, trying to find a train of thought. 

Ellie’s glances over at you, looking a little lost at first. But after searching your eyes for a moment you can see her focus on you. “I’m sorry. I invited you here. How was the rest of your day?”

“Nothing special. Just spent some time outside reading.”

“Did you eat something? If not, I can make you something.” You really aren’t used to seeing this softer side of Ellie. Her shit eating grin had seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face. But her smile is sweet, her eyes are soft, and her cheeks are flushed pink. 

You know you are failing to hide your smile. “That’s actually very sweet of you, thank you, but I had dinner already.”

Ellie elbows playfully, “don’t sound so surprised.” You have to take a deep breath as you try and figure out how you feel about the physical contact.

Failing to look her in the eyes, you tell her that “you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, Williams.”

Ellie gasps dramatically. “Really? I would describe myself as a radiant beam of light. Maybe if you gave me a chance you would know that.”

You rest your chin on your hand, ready to listen. “Then let me get to know you. I came here to talk, so let’s talk.”

“One night at the bar I saw you when you came in and I did a bit of a double take. That older girl, I can’t remember her name, but she works across the way at that little shop with her family. She had her arm around you.” Ellie is referring to your ex-girlfriend. A few years older than you, so a fair bit older than Ellie.

You nervously play with your hair. “We aren’t together anymore, things just… didn't work out.”

“Oh I know.”

“You do?” 

Ellie smiles and looks down at her converse. “I haven’t always, but I’ve been paying attention to you. It’s not that I had never looked at you before, I’d just never really seen you. It wasn’t until I saw you with another girl that I noticed all the little things. The way even plain colors bring out your eyes, the shadows that dim lighting create on your face. When you smile… your whole face lights up. And the way you laugh? You always scrunch up your nose and tuck your hair behind your ear. After that night my eyes always seemed to find you, in every room. I looked forward to seeing you when we still got put on shifts together, but I didn’t know how to act around you so I just ended up pissing you off and we both know how that ended. After that I had to settle for seeing you during briefs when we were working at the same time, before we got sent off our separate ways. If I got lucky I would see you when we happened to be in the same place in town at the same time. At first I thought I was crazy, until I realized you were actually looking back. You would glance over your shoulder or peek out of the corner of your eye, and smile when you looked away.”

“I guess I knew that I looked at you sometimes. But all those things that you noticed about me… I had no idea that you did. I had always assumed you never thought twice about me.”

Ellie looks deeply into your eyes when she tells you “I spend more time thinking about you then I care to admit. Ever since I found out about your breakup I’ve been wanting to talk to you. So when they told me I was going to be assigned someone different today, I asked for it to be you.

“You could have just talked to me.”

“How was I supposed to know that? You don’t like me. And you are intimidating. You aren’t just any girl. You are smart and strong-willed and passionate.”

The compliment takes you by surprise so you are unsure of how to respond to it. “It’s not that I don’t like you, I just disagree with you most of the time.”

Ellie bites her lip. “So what do you like about me?”

Unprepared for this question you mumble “um, your tattoo?”

Ellie crossed her arms, “I meant about my personality. But fine, we can start there. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that you like it. Do you have any?”

“Yeah, vines, up the side of my ribcage. Do you want to see?”

“It’s on your… you’d have to take off your…” the panic in her eyes was obvious. 

You stand and slide your shirt up, just enough to show the entire tattoo. Ellie’s eyes widen and her jaw slightly drops. 

“That's…”

“Hot? That’s what people usually tell me.”

“Got a bit of an ego there, don't ya. But yeah, actually. Like really hot.”

“You can touch it, if you want,” offering it up because you feel a bit mischievous.

Ellie purses her mouth as she traces her index finger over the vine, starting just above your hip bone and going all the way to the base of your breast. Her long fingers almost graze over the edge of your bra but she quickly pulls away. 

You sit back down, much closer to Ellie than you had been before. Your eyes flicker between the way she is staring at you and the smile she’s failing to hide. Ellie slowly leans forwards until your noses are about to touch. You close your eyes, expecting her to kiss you, but you feel her tuck your hair behind your ear instead. She grazes her fingertips over your neck as she slides her hand around the back of it so she can pull you in. Her other arm, which feels as strong as it looks, wraps around your waist. Ellie kisses you gently at first, allowing the two of you to fall in sync with each other. But her hand creeps up and her fingers tangle in your hair. Her kisses are growing hungrier for you. You can’t get enough of her either so your hands wander over her body. One of your hands grips her upper thigh and she moans into your mouth. 

Ellie pulls away from you and smirks before laying you on your back with great care. Her tenderness continues to surprise you, so you expect her to continue kissing you roughly. 

Instead, she takes a moment to look over you with her dazzling green eyes. “You are… so beautiful.”

You don’t want to ruin the moment, but you can’t help but ask “is that why you bothered me, like a little kid does when they have a crush?”

Ellie’s soft disposition doesn’t falter, even for a moment. “I guess so. Never seen a girl like you in real life before. Had no idea what to do.”

Your breath hitches. This steamy encounter and that’s what gets you? Just goes to show how you had truly misjudged Ellie Williams. 

“I… uh…” you are really at a loss for words.

Ellie leans in, her lips almost touch your ear. You can feel her warm breath when she whispers “you don’t have to say anything pretty girl.” She starts placing soft kisses on your neck and you moan a little. You feel her chuckle against your skin, clearly pleased with herself. 

After leaving you wanting more, Ellie’s face hovers over yours and she tilts your head up by your chin and places one, seemingly shy, kiss on your lips before sitting back on her knees.

“We should stop.” Ellie sighs.

“Why?” You question, longing for more of her.

“I want to do this the right way. I respect you too much not to. I want to take you out on a date. Get to know you. I want you to know the real me. I’m really hoping something could happen between us, I don’t want to jeopardize that. That is if you are willing to give me, us, a chance.”

You sit up and cup her cheek in your hand. “Alright Williams. I’ll go home now, and you can come to my place tomorrow at 7 and pick me up for our first date.”

Ellie giggles, something you didn’t think you’d ever see her do. “Promise this will be the best date of your life.”

[14thcommander]

seashore | hange zöe x reader

summary: a rainy day at the beach with hange. the shitty weather somehow leads to confessions of love. (idiots in love, friends to lovers, not beta read, a shit ton of symbolism, tooth rotting fluff)

i suggest listening to the song do you think I’m pretty by kingfisher

wc: 1.5k

The wind is gentle when it blows against your face — light, careful like a mother’s touch.

It brings the smell of cigarettes, the one Hange is currently smoking. They attempt to point it in the opposite direction, in order to avoid its terrible scent reaching you. It fails, but it’s the intention that counts something.

The beach is empty — well, mostly. There is a group of teenagers that are close enough to be seen, but too far to be heard. The sound of waves is the only thing you hear.

The ocean is a green, grayish color — the line that separates it from the sky, in the horizon, is blurred.

It is a chill day, one you consider the perfect atmosphere to go to the beach. Hange knows you like gray, moody days — the ones in which the sky looks like a warm, soapy bath. You were never a fan of sunlight anyway. Perhaps that’s why you admire Hange so much.

“Too bad Levi and Erwin are missing this sunny, hot day at the beach. Bet they’re sad just thinking about it.” Hange’s words are filled with irony, waiting for a reaction. The sarcasm that drips from their tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

The two of you are friends — well, sort of. You are part of the same friend group, consistently hanging out. Over time, you grew closer: what was supposed to be a collective hangout, turned into just you. It feels complicated these days.

“Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who agreed to come with me.” You offer them a middle finger, to which they throw their hands up in surrender.

The both of you are sitting on an old beach towel you brought, the fabric is wrinkled from being shoved on the bottom of your bag. None of you are dressed appropriately for the beach: Hange is wearing a thick flannel, protecting them from the chill breeze. You are wearing a beat down pair of converse, the ones you have since high school. Somehow, you match with each other. You try not to think too much of it.

“Call me crazy if you want, I wouldn’t let my friend go to this mopey beach all alone. I’m loyal like that.”

And that’s why you are at the beach, with Hange and no one else. Levi and Erwin were supposed to come along, however you are glad something came up for them. Nothing would be more awkward than ending up on a double date with your sort-of-friend.

The word friend tastes bitter on your throat, poisoning your lungs like Hange’s cigarette.

“You’re the only person I know that thinks this is appropriate beach weather.” They say, breaking the lack of dialogue between you for the past minute or so. Not that you’re counting or anything like that, of course. “Are you a vampire or something?”

It earns them a chuckle from you, almost a laugh — it drips like honey from your mouth, and Hange desperately wants to know how it tastes like. They want to hear it again.

“I doubt you like having fun in the sun either.” You reply, watching as the wind blows their hair — brunette locks dancing in the air, enhancing the messiness of their ponytail.

“Touché.”

Hange says, while burrying the remains of a cigarette in the sand, and you don’t point out how wrong it is — not with words, at least. Your eyes seem to translate your feelings either way.

“You’re so expressive.” It’s Hange’s turn to chuckle. “It’s adorable.”

Their words almost make your face heat in embarrassment. Almost.

“Oh, shut up.” Your tone is playful, not pointed at all. Avoiding their eye contact, you turn your face in order to pretend the ocean before you is a better sight than Hange.

“I mean it. I like it.”

Hange might tell you a joke, but they would never tell you a lie. Something about the honor of a scientist, you guess. It’s a beat of silence until you speak again.

“Yeah, well, you’re the opposite. I can’t read you at all.” This comment, though, this one is pointed — not like a knife, but similar to thorns on a rose. It comes with something beautiful, too: honesty.

The truth is palpable, swimming in between you. It’s all a funny, weightless banter, until it isn’t.

“My resting bitch face doesn’t help. Guess I’m better with words or something.”

This time you laugh, genuinely. It isn’t mean, you don’t mean to mock Hange at all — it’s just that the irony of it all is funny to you. Almost unbelievable.

“Oh, what a poet you are.” Your eyes are glued to the sea before you, admiring its chaotic beauty. The waves crash against the shore, becoming a conjugation of white bubbles.

It’s silent again, wordless tension building around you like a sand castle — ready to crumble at any sudden move.

“You’re really pretty.” They admit, which sounds like something in between a secret and a confession. It seems out of nowhere, but it truly isn’t. Lately, this is all Hange can think about. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The waves crash again, destroying the metaphorical sand castle you built around yourself, trying to protect you from whatever it is you’re scared of.

“Hange.” The sound of their name leaving your mouth isn’t a threat, although it isn’t an invitation either.

“No, I mean it. Truly.” They reach for something inside their bag, something important in the mess of papers, headphones, and a cigarette pack.

They’ve found it: a small, worn out notebook.

“Here, take a look.” They offer it to you, opened on a certain page. “Then tell me you think I’m lying.”

There are doodles of you. Your face, distracted, frozen in the moment, probably when you were laughing at something crude Levi had said. There is your silhouette, too: you guess it’s the view of when you walk in front of them, hurriedly trying to arrive on time for a move you went to see.

Your smile, your eyes. Every detail of your face, something that cannot be translated by a photograph. The traces Hange has memorized over the years you have known each other. This is what they picture before going to bed, or early in the morning when they wake up.

“Hange.” This time, when you say their name, it is softer — it warms them up. “Hange…”

It’s like you’re hypnotized, unable to say anything but their name.

When you look up, they are closer, nose brushing against yours. Hange looks at you through thick glasses, with curiosity. This time, they can’t read your expression.

“Kiss me.”

And they do. It is gentle, soft — their lips move against yours like the waves move against the shore, as if it was nature’s reason for your own existence. Their warm palms find your face, holding you preciously. It is brief, however. The kiss ends as quickly as it came.

Neither of you speak, too afraid to break the moment. Hange brings their forehead against yours, and like that you stay. You taste like salt air, warm like whiskey. It is fiery, overtaking them as a whole. They wouldn’t mind being swallowed by it, drowning in the overwhelming hotness that is your touch.

This time, Hange says your name, warm brown eyes looking into yours and finding nothing but love. Admiration. Devotion.

It’s a humorless chuckle, what comes next. It leaves their lips nervously. For someone so careless like Hange, it sure is a new sight to see them like this — a pink tint covering their cheeks, a loopy smile on their lips. They have never looked so soft.

“I have wanted to do this for so long.”

“What, go to the beach on a rainy day?” You ask in attempted humor, beaming when it earns you a laugh from them.

“Kiss you. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

You smile, breaking eye contact and looking at the sand. It looks damp, cold. Unlike what you feel right now.

“Me too.”

Hange looks into your eyes again, scanning it from any signs of mischief. They find none.

“I get the appeal of this now. If anything, the shitty weather makes it feel more romantic.”

You give them an I know, right? look, and they fight the urge to kiss you again.

“Glad I could change your mind. We could do this again, if you want.”

The words that leave your lips are soft, but confident. Just like you.

“What, are you asking me on a date?”

“Depends on your answer.”

Hange offers you a toothy smile, feeling like a child. They feel on top of the world now. How could they not, after all?

“Yeah. Obviously, of course. I would love to go on a date with you. Multiple dates, even.”

You smile again, cheeks already hurting from so much happiness.

“Can’t wait to make you mine.” They say, bringing your palm to their lips, pressing a gentle kiss on your warm skin. “Cause I’m already yours.”

You believe them.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

A SLAP OF REALITY

platonic Spencer Reid x geniusbau!reader ↳ part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Synopsis: you were never good at being a shoulder to cry on, so when Spencer survives the horror of Tobias Hankel’s torment, you decide to be a slap of reality.  Word Count: 700+ WARNING: mentions of torture. blunt reader. A/N: let's try some platonic stuff with spencie <3 tell me if this should go to lovers or stay platonic

The siren lights were blinding at the dead night. Spencer Reid was found not long ago. Officers surveyed the entire place. The other agents had distant conversations about what had just happened.

You took a seat next to Spencer at the edge of the ambulance door. There was only silence between the two of you, letting the cold, wispy air hover.

You and Spencer were much alike than you let on. With an IQ of 184 and joining the BAU not far from turning 22, the two of you should've been best friends by now. But you weren't. You were distant. You were "friends," but it goes as far as talking about work and having brief conversations about a group outing. You were never alone together unless you were paired up on case investigations. But it was more as coworkers rather than friends. Your drives together consisted of silence and nothing else.

Both of you didn't need to slow down for each other like you would always do around the others. So, making an effort to get to know each other didn't seem necessary when you both knew what the other was thinking fifty steps ahead.

And maybe that's why you and him never had the chance to actually get to know each other closely as individuals, not the geniuses people praise you to be.

You nudged Spencer's shoulder, "It won't be easy after this." You mumbled nonchalantly.

He turned to you with a shrug of his shoulder. "I'll be fine," Spencer contrasted in a hopeful voice.

You've had your fair share of being abducted, much less tortured. You knew the drill. So, you shook your head, letting out a sigh. "You won't, I say that in your best interest."

The two of you stayed quiet for a while until you spoke again, "You will remember everything like it's happening at the moment. The feeling of his hands on you. His breath that gave you goosebumps. You will have nightmares. Far scarier than what you already have each night. You will cry. You will lose focus. You're going to take some cases personally. And then, people will walk on eggshells around you. They will treat you like you're the most fragile glass there is after witnessing you chip yourself. They're going to want to help you. They're going to look at you like you're the bravest person ever. And you will deny all of that. You will push people away—"

He cut you off.

"Is this your way of telling me to let people help me? Because I don't need any. I'm fine." Spencer was growing annoyed, and you could hear it in his voice. Although the last sentence was meant to convince himself, you both knew that.

You shook your head again, "You're really not." You simply said, stretching your legs as far as it could. "All I'm saying is, it's okay. It's okay to not be fine. You're smarter than that to lie to yourself. You won't be right, but you won't be wrong either. But don't expect me to sugarcoat things for you. I will be blunt and most likely will mention how stupid you're being for letting this event affect your judgment. I'm telling you that you can expect me to be real. So, if you need criticism or just one big slap of reality. You can find me. You can call me, but don't call me on my day off. You're not that special." You ended with a small, joking smile.

A smile slowly roamed over his lips, too. Something about your harsh set of words didn’t seem so… well, harsh.

Spencer chuckled to himself, “I’ll take you up on that.”

You nodded, “Mind if I start now?” You looked straight ahead where the others were engaging in playful suspicion of you and Spencer’s closeness, failing to be slick as they thought.

Your peripheral vision caught Spencer’s curt nod as he followed the direction your eyes were aligned with. You stood up and turned to him, holding an open palm. “Don’t be stupid and give me those.”

His mouth flung open. The surprise subsided quickly as he looked down and shook his head, chuckling softly.

Spencer fished a couple of bottles contained with Dilaudid from his pocket and handed them to you. “Thanks.” He sighed in relief as if he was waiting for someone to stop him in the short time the bottles sat in the pit of his pocket.

And without the two of you knowing, a friendship was born.

reid masterlist | masterlist

[srbachchan]

DAY 5992

Jalsa, Mumbai July 14/July 15, 2024 Sun/Mon 4:05 am

🪔 ,

July 14 .. birthday greetings to : Ef Shalini from Allahabad (now Prayagraj) .. Ef Manish Mehrotra .. and Ef Anupam Srivastava .. 🙏🏻❤️🚩

It is late .. but not without reason or cause .. spending time with loved ones at the Gate and then at home with family .. ever such a joy to a whole bunch of relatives busy interacting, running around the premises and simply enjoying the little pleasures of togetherness ..

And GOJ .. that has been an experience each Sunday .. the ramp on wheels I asked to move closer to the well wishers .. and the mobility towards them is an excitement always .. you hear them better , you feel the expressive love better , you give those a chance to see and be greeted that at times stand at a distance and never seen ..

So the ramp has added the mobility much needed .. personal and public meets are restricted .. but some of the inevitable are complied with ..

... and the joy expressed in their eyes and faces remains with you for days .. despite the much opinionated fear often felt of appearing at the GOJ to meet them ..

At times the personal contact in the days after covid has been there but distant and this has been a point of immense disappointment with those that express a wish to meet ..

BUT .. dearest ones , give me time to get clearances fro the Medical Unit and I shall be able .. soon , if not too far ..

The years of yore ;

and the reel in the making :

There has been a suggestion to read a script given for production .. and one that relied on nthe values of theosophy and the occult ..

A most fascinating read in a precise rendering, but influential enough to set a vacant mind into a thought process, that keeps a consistent 'knock on the door' to turn away and change path for its search .. the search of humanity in the realisation of its birth and thereafter .. Dear O dear there is so much to learn and imbibe .. and time slips away as rapidly as it possibly can .. to hold it and refrain it from immediate travel ahead is well nigh impossible .. the movements of the Earth can never .. so we live a life of unanswered questions and beliefs and the presence of religion and more ..

A most fascinating subject .. and in many ways getting inspired by a movie !!!

AND the film, has many significant stories, hidden or brought about in a form KALKI 2898 AD .. which I must admit has been instrumental in its viewing 4 times .. at the iMax theatre .. which has the capacity of a perfect imagery on screen along with a quality of sound that seems to have been installed after considerable understanding and layout ..

SO back to the GOJ : and the giving out in equal distribution, umbrellas, to them that have stood there for some, bearing the heat and cold and the thunder and lightening of monsoon rain .. the umbrella, a gift from that very sincere well wisher Sunil Shah, from Surat Gujarat , who just does not attempt to stay calm and controlled , but instead continues to send these gifts as a token of his sincerity and love ..

I applaud the gestures he has made all these years .. his affection and love over brimming and so potent .. it just does not behove a telling off for him .. his mode of affection does not change ..

I am honoured and humbled by these intricate gestures, of love .. but really, they are a bit distressing and unreasonable for me in my countenance ..

I speak to him on this often , but he is adamant on his affection and just cannot stop these gestures 'in multiples'

I talk to him to be in control and not cause or give an unnecessary reason of disrespect .. but he just continues ..

So I accept .. and distribute them to the needy that spend their valuable time on a Sunday for the GOJ .. healthy and in all sincerity a show of immense affection !!

AND now for the Sunday and days .. :

... and the creative autograph hunters , their immense love to be in a photograph , but there are restrictions on health .. so we bear the loss of the occasion , walk away and sit and reminisce ...

Amitabh Bachchan

[withlove-xixi]

HIII can i request a confession scenario for chilchuck… something where a normally bubbly flirty reader avoids him for a bit after leaving the dungeon - he finds out it’s because they love him, but don’t want to get between him and his wife (who he doesn’t actually want to remarry!)

- bard anon

— FROM THE START: chilchuck x reader

ᥫ cw: alcohol ᥫ wc: 1983 ★ OH I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH! tysm for requesting bard anon hehehe this is my first ever request actually ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚ im sorry it took so long to finish! cross posted on ao3

— CHILCHUCK KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING FROM THE START.

[♡]: there was always something up with you, something he could always notice but couldn’t really tell what. was it your bubbly personality completely contrasted his stoic one? was it how easily you were able to befriend him despite his caution? was it the way you’d look at him by the firelight during sleepless nights in the dungeon? chilchuck really couldn’t tell, but there was something about you he noticed. like it was always on the corner of his eye. and tonight whatever it was had left his peripheral.

THEY SAY SILENCE SPEAKS A THOUSAND WORDS, the same thousand Chilchuck sees running through your head as you sit across him at the bar. It was a small get together of old friends, a way of catching up after your time together in the dungeon, and really, at first things were normal. You were your usual sunshiny self, an easy smile on your face and a flirtatious quip ready to leave your lips. But things felt off — well, off for Chilchuck. There was some restraint when you spoke, when you smiled. He sensed it, picked it up immediately as soon as he entered the bar. From the doorway he saw it, just a glimpse of your smile, a fraction of your laugh amidst the noise of the pub. But then your eyes locked with his and shakily and subtly, there was tension on your face, a twitch in your muscles when you turned at him to give him a small wave before turning your attention back to Senshi. When the half-foot had taken his seat in front of you, he could tell you were completely avoiding him as much as you could, only ever giving passing remarks when he addressed you directly, other than that, you didn’t initiate anything. It was far from your usual, when you would’ve quickly attached yourself to Chilchuck’s side, never leaving it until the end of the night, not even when he had walked you all the way back to your home.

There was a certain caution around you, like there was fog that surrounded you and made you all misty to the eyes. It was like you were the setting sun, halfway dipped into the horizon, close and bright enough to see, but far too distant to touch. Above anything else, it pissed Chilchuck off.

It felt so foreign, so strange. He hated not knowing what was going on. On one hand, you seemed fine, chatting away with Marcille and giggling about some complaint she’s had about her workload. On the other, he’d catch these fleeting, stolen glances from you, and each time, he could see a spec of something that wasn’t usually there; sadness. It was evident with the way you toyed with your drink, swirling the content around the tankard whenever you found yourself out of the conversation, it was evident with the way you consistently ran your hand through your hair, pushing the tresses away from your forehead, it was evident in the way you simply wouldn’t look at Chilchuck.

It really did frustrate him. Here Chilchuck thought he was getting a nice evening surrounded by good friends and good ale, a nice simple get-together to distract him from the quickly piling work he found handed to him. And while he’d never admit it (perhaps not even to himself), he was looking forward to you, even in the dungeon, he had looked forward to you. Chilchuck probably didn’t even realize how close you two have gotten, and how much he began to miss your company. In the dungeon, you’d stay up with him during his watch, even just a bit, to give him some company or lend an ear to his endless complaints and worries. In the dungeon, you’d walk next to him, purposefully bumping your hip against him and acting as if nothing happened, pestering him with questions on his personal life (really, sometimes you were no better than Marcille!). In the dungeon, he always had the assurance of your company and friendship, after all, there were only so many people in the party, most of which he couldn’t really form strong bonds with. 

But you were different, you always were.

You had that air of ease to you, one that Chilchuck saw the moment you had joined Laios’ party. As much as you liked to prod at the limits of Chilchuck’s patience, you were never pushy too, you valued your privacy and respected his. You always backed off before things got out of hand, and when they did you were always first to come and apologize or make amends. You were dependable, smart and resourceful, above all, you were a good person. You had almost radiated your own brand of sunlight. It made all the passing flirty remarks all bearable. It happened too often, too much for someone Chilchuck’s age too. Though it wasn’t necessarily that you had solely targeted Chilchuck with your antics — you had come around to tease Marcille or to flirt with Laios from time to time, but Chilchuck had definitely become your favorite victim. Hell, if Chilchuck closes his eyes right now, his memory could perfectly replay that stupid wink you’d give him when you’d allow your touch to linger a bit longer or when you’d flash him a smirk after flirting with him.

Though now, it was as if Chilchuck was left with only those memories of a bubbly adventurer, because looking at you now, you seem miserable. And Chilchuck could tell he might’ve been the only person to pick up on it (well, mostly because he guesses it all might be directly only to him). He needs to talk to you because as frustrating as it is to be ignored and not know why, he’s more worried about you than anything. He was always worried about you, whether he himself realized it or not was a different story.

Throughout the night, Chilchuck tried his best to get your attention. He quickly learned small talk didn’t work, you were quick to give him a dismissive comment or a half-hearted response, whereas you’d normally tease him for taking the initiative to talk to you (something like “aw, Chilchuck, are you really that curious about me? Or are you looking for an excuse to hear my voice?” he’s sure).

Next he tried offering you something to drink, grabbing a new bottle of liquor and making a big show of opening it and kindly offering it to you. But again, you were quick to dismiss him, saying you preferred mead over wine, whereas you’d normally find a way to flirt with him before dramatically taking a sip (something like looking at him in the eye while you wiped away the sticky residue of alcohol from the corners of your lips with your thumb he supposed).

Then Chilchuck quickly realized he was out of ideas. When you’d go and reply to the others, he’d quickly try to chime in, hoping to catch you off guard and get a normal response from you. But really you didn’t pay him much attention at all. (Though normally you’d be giggling at his antics, commenting about he “seems so desperate for your attention” or something like that.)

Despite it all, Chilchuck refused to be dissuaded as much as he was getting more and more frustrated by your lack of interest and his failure at prying at your disinterest. If only he could be a bit more like you, a bit more easy going and bubbly, maybe he could have an easier time dealing with all this.

Chilchuck sighs and frowns before taking a swig of his ale. He's just about to look down dejectedly at his tankard, heavily considering that if he can't enjoy some good company tonight, he at least won't let the ale go to waste, when he feels a tug on his sleeve. With furrowed brows he turns behind him, but his face quickly relaxes when he realizes it's you.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. "Can I tell you something?" Your voice is soft, maybe even a bit shaky. It was as if you were scared he might reject you.

But Chilchuck sets that thought aside because if anything, he's relieved. At least now you were talking to him, and really what's the worst you can say. He was your friend, whatever it was you had to tell him, he wasn't going to shame you for it.

So he nods, lets you lead him outside of the tavern into the cold, dark night. The wind instantly bites at his skin, causing the half-foot to shiver, but the sight of you before him makes him feel even colder. Your gaze is so solemn, almost melancholic the way your face feels so devoid of your usual energy. It makes Chilchuck's mouth dry.

"What'd you wanna tell me?" He asks, crossing his arms. He keeps his tone level, trying his best to mask how nervous he's beginning to feel.

You only stare at him for a bit more, then you look away, turning to the dimly lit town around you.

He hears you sigh, then he hears you open your mouth then shut it, then open and shut it again.

Cautiously, he takes a step forward. "You okay? You're…" he hesitates a bit. "You're quieter than usual…"

He watches the muscles of your back tense up at the mention of your silence. You pull your shoulders together, like you were trying to squeeze yourself smaller.

"It's… I-" You start, softly. "Chilchuck, I'm sorry."

The half-foot blinks. "For what—"

"I-I know you've got your own life— Like, personal life and all. I don't want to impose on that." You say, somewhat shakily. "You have daughters and… and a wife, and all. I- You know… I can't just—" your hands splay out in front of you "—ruin that."

"Ruin…? I'm sorry? I don't follow—"

"I like you, Chilchuck. I-I like you a lot…" You confess, turning to him with your eyes squeezed shut and your cheeks tinted red.

Chilchuck looks at you, stunned. Pieces of the puzzle slowly began falling into place. Before he could speak, you're rambling.

"A-and I know it's wrong to! You've got a wife and kids and all… And I know your relationship with them might not be the best right now— N-not to act as if I know so much! R-really, what do I know? —But the point still stands! I didn't want to tell you to make things awkward— I'm sure they're awkward now… —B-but Marcille said— Well, she said a lot of things, really. I-I… Well, honestly I didn't listen much—"

His hands grip your shoulders, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Hey, hey. Easy." Chilchuck says with a small smile and it instantly shuts you up. "You like me?"

Your mouth hangs slightly agape, the beginning of a stutter leaves your lips before you promptly shut it. You nod and avert your gaze from him, finding your face feel a bit hotter.

"You like me." Chilchuck repeats, the half end of it melting into a small laugh. "You like me!"

"Okay, you don't have to keep saying it."

Chilchuck laughs again, a bit louder now. He leans his head against you and a relieved sigh leaves his lips. "Thought you were mad at me." He admits.

"Mad at you…? A-Are you not mad at me?"

"Mad at you? Why would I be—"

"Your wife—"

"And I aren't getting back together." He looks up at you with an easy smile, smoothing his thumbs over your arms. "You've got nothing to worry about."

You pout when you finally meet his eyes. “But…”

He chuckles. Chilchuck is beyond relieved, if anything he’s fucking thrilled. He thought something terrible had happened to you, like maybe he had done something to upset you or something. That must’ve been it, that something he had sensed from you the moment you began trying to befriend him, that twinkle of curiosity and admiration, that tinge of love. 

“H-hey! Quit laughing, will you? It-It isn’t funny!” You scold as Chilchuck lifts his head to meet your reddened face. That loving glint in your eyes is back, come out from hiding behind the tearful mist of anxiety; it makes him laugh again, laugh louder. You yell out another complaint with a pout.

If Chilchuck had been your favorite, then you were certainly his.

[studiodrydock]

Interview With a Werewolf - A deep dive into the character of Westley Vuk from Wylde Flowers

We've put together an in depth look at Wylde Flower's fuzziest romanceable character, Westley Vuk! 🐺💕

Westley, the romantic werewolf bookseller, is one of our most beloved characters, and we had the privilege of chatting with several members of the team involved with bringing him to life, including Iona Vorster (concept artist), Desiree Cifre (narrative director), Mike Taylor (animator) and Ray Chase (his voiceover artist).

We discussed all things Westley including his inspiration, design, and what makes him so popular (and dreamy)! Enjoy! ✨

Writing a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Desiree Cifre (Narrative Director)

Q: Can you start by telling us a little bit about Westley?

Desiree: Westley is a bookish werewolf originally from Alaska. He became a werewolf due to a case of mistaken identity. His identical twin brother, Lou, was a marksman for a logging company, and shot at a werewolf who then returned and attacked Westley one full moon. Once Westley turned into a werewolf, he vowed to keep his distance from humans to protect them and himself, and found safe harbor in the magical village of Ravenwood Hollow. He hopes to find a cure for his lycanthropy and in the meanwhile, prove that werewolves can be positive contributors to the magical community.

Q: What was your process like, including inspirations and challenges, when creating Westley?

Desiree: Our original scope for the narrative limited the characters to the members of the coven and the other, non-magical villagers, so I was delighted when Amanda and Alex told me we would have the budget for a magical village with four residents. I knew right away that I wanted one of them to be a werewolf and that I wanted him to be a romantic interest for Tara. A bookseller seemed like a natural fit so that he could sell Tara the parchment and incantations she would need for her spellwork, and when Iona drew up some concept art of our nattily dressed Westley we all knew that was the right direction for the character. Once I learned we could support him having both human and wolf forms, that opened up the space to create a little mystery around his first appearance in town, and then we got to dive into his backstory a bit more later in the game.

Q: Do you have a favorite line that you wrote for him?

Desiree: Well, I was expecting players to love Westley, but even I couldn't have anticipated how much of a fan-favorite he would become. I have to say one of my favorite lines is one that only plays if you are partnered with him: "Tara, you're looking ravishing today! Not that I want to, or would, I mean, you know." The actor who plays him, Ray Chase, gave such a hilariously brilliant reading of that line and it makes me giggle every time I hear it! The thirst is real.

Drawing a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Iona Vorster (Concept Artist)

Q: What was the process like for designing Westley? How did you incorporate his personality and backstory into his design? Iona: Initially I started with sketching out ideas for all the Ravenwood Hollow characters in tandem. I wanted to make sure they would sit well together, and since they are all (mostly) fae, I wanted to make sure they felt consistent across their designs while figuring out “what do the fae look like in the world of Wylde Flowers.” Once I had a good idea of what they’d generally look like, I took each character one by one to work out the specifics.

With Westley, the process was a bit more complicated because I also had to figure out what his werewolf anatomy would be like and how far we wanted to push it. Since Westley is a romanceable character, I wanted his werewolf form to still feel personable and able to emote like the rest of the characters, so going very wolf-like with his design didn’t feel like the best option!

As with all the characters, I did have a wonderful character background to reference for Westley, written by narrative lead Desiree! A facet of his personality is that he likes dressing well, so along with him being a bookseller, a suit seemed like the natural choice!

Q: Which did you design first, werewolf Westley or human Westley? Did you have to put any considerations into giving him a (relatively) consistent appearance between the two forms? Iona: I started with his human form, since I knew his werewolf form would need R&D on aspects of his anatomy like his face and legs. However, eventually I moved back and forth between the two, because parts of his werewolf form, like his fangs and his fur, informed design decisions on human Westley. I wanted to hint at his werewolf form when he was in human form, and vice versa/

I also wanted to keep consistency in his outfit, especially since there’s the comical details of his suit not quite fitting his massive werewolf frame, which accentuates the differences between the two!

Q: What is your favorite part of Westley's design? Iona: His fangs! Designing all of him was fun, but I love that he has fangs in human form.

Animating a Werewolf

Questions answered by: Mike Taylor (Animator)

Q: What did the collaboration (if any) look like between you, Desiree and Iona? Mike: I wasn't involved very much in the concept of Westley. As with all characters, I was asked for feedback on each concept, but the concepts are always so good, I have very little to add, and Westley was no exception. Soo-Ling (Wylde Flowers’ 3D Artist) and I would discuss his model more and especially the hair, since we knew that was a big part of his design. We would work together to decide how to structure Westley's hair so we could have the most movement as efficiently as possible.

Q: What types of personality bits or other considerations were you trying to showcase in his animations, and how did you achieve them? Mike: Desiree and Elizabeth put together Casting Notes for all the characters, citing specific actors and/or roles that best exemplified the character. I always started there as the basis. For Westley in particular, I know I felt that he should be a little withdrawn and maybe a little brooding. He's an intellectual who has been cursed with being a werewolf, after all. From that I thought his walk - which is the animation that gets the most personality - should be pretty subdued, compared to the other characters, and he should be looking at the ground rather than straight forward. It's subtle, but hopefully reads just a little.

Q: And for Wolf Westley? Mike: For Wolf Westley, the goal was to make him more feral, without going too far. To do this, I added some exaggerated chest breathing to his idle, arched his fingers and turned his hands inwards, then made his walk very 'stompy' to highlight the extra weight he was carrying around.

Giving a Werewolf a Voice

Questions answered by: Ray Chase (Voiceover Artist)

Q: Can you describe the direction you were given when portraying Westley? What types of personality traits, emotions, etc. did you need to convey? Ray: Westley is a really deep character - and one who I was immediately drawn to. Going back through my auditions for this game, it looks like I only chose to audition for him and the reverend! I love how genteel he is - there's a huge part of me that wants to go run my own bookstore in a small village, so I'm playing out my own fantasies when I'm playing him. :D The voice director, Krizia, was a big help in dialing in just the right amount of werewolf into this character. He shouldn't be frightening, but rather be a warm wolfy snuggle.

Q: Westley's fans have become quite passionate From an acting perspective, what do you think is the secret sauce that makes him so appealing? Ray: I'm definitely using my bedroom voice most of the time for this guy. I have heard that it can be...most enticing....

Q: Are there any lines or beats with Westley that stick out to you? Ray: I'm a vegetarian, so it's always quite alarming when I have to do his butcher shop quotes! I can't believe he eats that much meat... But I guess it's better that he buys from a friend than go roaming the woods at night… And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading! Victoria and the Studio Drydock Team Find out more about Wylde Flowers Here

[k0yaz]

For the request can I please have yandere Topaz x fem reader pet play NSFW one shot? Basically, she trains her darling to be obedient to her.

it wasn’t supposed to end up like this.

Pairings: topaz x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, afab reader, sub reader, dom topaz, yandere themes, not romantic/meant to be romanticized, themes including manipulation and fear, somewhat dark, collaring, pet play, mind break, psychological torture, dubcon (I think?), topaz is ooc bc she would never 💔, use of her real name, fingering, marking, grinding, slight praise (pretty girl), crying, slight sadism, not proofread.

A/N: glad that u read my rules regarding yandere, but for those who didn’t or are seeing this post for the first time THIS IS NOT MEANT TO BE ROMANTIC, IT IS MEANT TO SHOWCASE MIND BREAK AND MANIPULATION.

Faint ticking of the clock repeatedly rang within your eardrums as you aimlessly stared at the polished ceiling above you. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? You couldn’t tell at this point. Topaz had you under her thumb for long enough to where time didn’t matter anymore. You squinted your eyes slightly, losing your sanity to the never ending ticking, along with the way you were practically confined to the couch. Hoarse exhales resounded in the room with each uneven breath you let out, the tight collar encircling your throat making it harder to breathe.

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this.

At the time, she just seemed cordial and harmless even. A stark contrast to what the IPC consisted of, not to mention its rather destructive activities. Getting to know her at the time was something you looked forward to frequently, and you often tended to enjoy Topaz’s company. Not to mention you found Numby adorable too. She would often send you gifts—tokens of her appreciation toward you with such a warm smile, that you’d hardly ever question why she went so far as to spend so much just for you. And only you.

Everything was fine. Everything was fine until she uttered that wretched confession. At that moment, it seemed like a harmless “I love you”, smoothly rolling off of Topaz’s tongue as she averted eye contact from you, hoping you would reciprocate her dreadful obsession. What was a polite declination, informing her that her love was unrequited, evolved into a hostile string of screams and frustrated sobs which you can’t even recall anymore.

That encounter didn’t take long to get physical. And before you knew it, your vision was all blurry with a tight collar clamped around your neck, and wrists pushed against the mattress, confined with rugged, prickly rope restricting your movement. Her twisted fascination and so called ‘love’ for you only resulted in her keeping you like a prized possession, just awaiting the day you’d finally feel the same way.

Every day, you would just sit like a helpless animal succumbing to your despair, eyes locked at various random corners of her house and losing yourself in thought. The only other actions beside that were eating and sleeping, occasionally even uttering a word or two to Topaz when you had to. You didn’t exactly have much of a choice for that last part. Topaz had kept you shackled long enough to see your eyes darken to a now soulless shell of a person, incapable of thinking for yourself or doing anything besides basic needs or following orders. She never harmed you however. She could never do such a thing to her sweetheart. Rather, she let you be—letting you realize that you wouldn’t be leaving her anytime soon. She wouldn’t allow it.

Gradually, you began speaking to her more. You clearly didn’t find any joy in it, or maybe you did. Maybe it was just you going so mad to the point where you needed company of some sorts. Weakly inching towards her while she was working or taking care of business while seated next to you, attempting to sit up with what little strength you had in order to hold a conversation with her. In response, Topaz would immediately cut off what she was doing to come speak with you, delighted that her beloved finally started to warm up to her. Every word you muttered during the conversation was fatigued and hoarse, yet atleast you were finally talking to her once more.

A sudden tap on your thigh pulled you out of your dazed state, making you slightly push up your chin to look at your ‘girlfriend’ glancing down at you.

“(Name), you love me..and only me, right?” Topaz began, a reticent and barely visible smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You forced out a pathetic “mhm”, taking a small gasp of air as you had already strained your voice too much from that simple noise. She closed her eyes, breathing out sigh which you couldn’t tell the emotion behind. Perhaps it was disappointment? Relief? Knowing her it could be damn near anything. Suddenly, you couldn’t help but notice her fists balled up behind her back, seemingly grasping a lengthy bundle of dark red rope bunched up in her hands and hidden behind her back.

Revealing the rope cloaked behind her back, Topaz suddenly urged you to sit up, loosening her grip slightly and letting the rope pool down for her to thread her fingers through in an untangling motion. You felt an uncomfortable lump in your throat seeing Topaz scramble around for the burnished metal hook located at the end of the rope, a satisfactory, yet frightening grin crossing her expression as she snaked her free hand around the back of your neck. Her touch felt so soft..so right—like silk brushing along your nape with a grip so gentle. Her seemingly innocent touch nearly made you relax and lean your head back against her hand, almost making you forget the malicious intentions behind her so called loving contact.

A loud click echoed along the room as the prong clamped down and locked against the opening hole, sealing the leash against your throat. A weary gasp fell from your lips upon feeling Topaz immediately tug on the leash, burning the skin of your throat slightly as she grasped onto the rope controlling you like a puppet along with that god awful leather circling your neck. You were silenced by her thumb abruptly pushing against your bottom lip, pressing down on the feverish and worn skin as her index finger slipped below your chin.

“Ah. You’re still not listening to me…not completely atleast.” She muttered, her azure eyes piercing into your gaze as if she was staring directly at your soul. Gnawing on her bottom lip, she thought to herself for a moment, eyeing you up and down as your chest rose and fall with each staggering breath. Silence crowded the clearing for a solid moment, allowing you to briefly snap back your sanity for a moment and feel an uncomfortable pit in your stomach as the gravity of the situation dawned on you.

Topaz clicks her tongue and tuts, still reeling back the end of the leash fastened onto your neck. “Not good enough. Just not good enough.” She grumbled in slight frustration, her grasp becoming tighter as her knuckles grew more pale from her agitated state. Fear fogged your mind upon seeing her so…mad. It was just like that one time. Of course, you knew that she’d never directly harm you physically…yet that gnawing feeling in the back of your mind always told you otherwise.

You stumbled forward at the sudden tug on the leash once more, finding yourself face to face with Topaz, your noses brushing against each other as her hot breath fanned against your cheek. “To…paz..” you drawled out pitifully, suddenly being shushed by her touching foreheads with you and muffling you with her palm as she covered your mouth.

“Jelena.” She corrected with a low, breathy voice. Her intimidating gaze only felt like a spear was twisting in your stomach, adding to your growing apprehension. Nodding in response, you began to cautiously comply with each word strung out of her venomous lips. She bowed her head down to meet your flushed throat, placing a trail of attempted soft kisses above your collar. “Promise you’ll listen now?”

You cleared your throat, looking up at her with dreary eyes as you exhaled deeply. “I’ll listen…Jelena.” You muttered, avoiding eye contact with her. She immediately grasped your chin, fingers digging into your cheeks as she insistently turned your head to face her with a twisted, yet elated smile adorning her lips. “Good.”

Reclining on the couch, Jelena now gave a more gentle tug to your collar, beckoning you to ease yourself before her. Of course, you weren’t one to refuse—you obediently relaxed your shoulders, seating yourself between her thighs with an anxious and fearful pit in your stomach.

The moment Jelena began to slowly strip your clothing down, sliding your shirt off of your shoulder and running down your arm as the fabric glided along your skin, you couldn’t help but feel a sort of..excitement. Were you so mentally far gone that the woman who kidnapped you was arousing such an exhilarating feeling within you? It didn’t matter anymore. No matter how much you believed that you wouldn’t listen to her, your mental efforts were futile. Jelena broke your mind to the point where you knew that you were made to obey her.

Heavy breaths slipped past your lips as your clothing was completely discarded in a pile at the foot of the couch, skin flushed as Jelena’s traversing kisses tainted your bare body. Bites and marks littered your rose tinted skin as you whimpered in her grasp, feeling her hand sink between your plush thighs to brush her middle finger along your slit while still kissing your body.

Quiet moans were lodged out of your throat as your head fell back against Jelena’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and brows knitted. You couldn’t help it. Part of your mind was telling you not to succumb to her antics, yet your mind blanked the moment you felt her middle and ring finger part your walls as she pushed them in, ridges of her fingers dragging along your cunt clenching around her digits.

Pathetic whimpers fell from your lips every time her fingers curled inside you, each thrust jerking a new noise out of you each time as you clawed at her thighs on either side of your waist. Jelena only smiled against the side of your neck upon feeling your pussy throb around her drenched fingers, letting out a satisfied hum as her free hand brushed against the front of your throat.

Slipping a finger into the blistering leather, she gave a gentle pull as she angled her hand upward, moans falling from her own lips as she ground her clothed clit against you from behind. She relished in your soft whines and hiccups whenever her palm roughly massaged your clit, finding herself overjoyed by your obedience and willingness to do this with her. Waves of pleasure swept over your body at her slick coated fingers scissoring themselves inside you, stretching your cunt out impossibly wide as tears rimmed the corner of your eyes.

Jelena leaned over to whisper in your ear, soft lips brushing the shell of your ear as you craned your neck to meet her gaze. “You’re such a pretty girl, (Name).” She slurred, still gasping out from her own stimulation as the couch grew damp from both of your fluids moistening the couch. Your grip on her thighs tightened, digging your nails into her plush skin, hips bucking up in quickened motions as your climax built up closer and closer. Jelena’s brows furrowed at the sting from your nails dragging along her thighs, but she wasn’t mad. Who could blame you? Especially when your response to her touch was everything she yearned for. She gave a quick pull to the collar to ground herself, breath ragged as her sweaty skin stuck to your own sweaty, bare back.

A choked hiccup was drawn out of you at the tug on the collar you hated so much, hips grinding down onto her buried fingers in your cunt and your expression practically pleading her to not do that again. Neither of you had spoken much, barely even during this moment. Jelena didn’t want to mess up anything with useless words when her actions could show you how much she loved you. After all, words led to you rejecting her in the first place and driving her to such drastic measures.

Shallow breaths circled the room from the two of you as you rode out your orgasm, the collar making your throat all the more uncomfortable and scratchy when you moaned loudly at your climax. Your own soft pants were audible in your ears as your head hung low, trying to recover from your intense orgasm. You curled up against Jelena, breathing slowly evening itself out as the collar made it near impossible to say anything, and only allowing you to nuzzle your face against her white hair to seek comfort.

Jelena rubbed your cheek reassuringly, heart melting at the sight of you all ruined with tear cracks decorating your cheeks and relying on her as if she was your lifeline. Your eyes shot open at the sound of a click, along with the sudden cool air caressing your reddened throat, your breathing becoming suddenly relaxed and more comfortable as she gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“You’re finally obedient to me. I trust you now, sweetheart.”

You cuddled up to her, closing your eyes as your breathing evened out altogether. You felt content, happy with her now. Yet, that comfort was mixed with a twinge of fear still lingering in your mind. You would be fine with this now. You’ve spent so long with Jelena that you would’ve accepted your new conditions with her. But there was just one thing that ate away at you like a subconscious knowing that you can’t brush off.

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this.

A/N: I told u this wasn’t going to be romantic and more mind break type shit and I apologize if it’s too disturbing but regardless I hope u like it

also, ik im usually silly with my content warnings but this time I made them a little more serious since this legitimately needs content warnings. BUT this was interesting to write and I did enjoy it!!

@hedgehogthetraveler <3