[ The morning before Gwen's first shift at the Hex Club, an envelope finds its way to her door. Inside is a gold pin in the shape of a hexagon, as well as a note: ]
Gwen, Welcome to the Hex Club. I look forward to working with you. — Silco
Oh, hey Amy! You're a lifesaver. I'll just grab it from you in class, I think.
I know we all have different colors but I wonder if I should get some kind of charm to put on it? A sparkly G, or something. At least if someone confuses mine with Greer's we live in the same suite.
[ it’s not the first time and it’s far from the last time he’ll consider ignoring ash’s instructions completely, on account of them being fucking insane. case in point: the pink panties balled up in his fist, since he’s been tasked to deliver them back to their original owner. the owner who happens to be the cute, freckled blonde, trapped in this snowy hell with the three of them.
ash must have fucking planned this.
there’s enough space in their lodge, in theory, to avoid their two guests. at least for embry there is, who is seasoned in avoidance. whatever ash wants to get up to with gwen — that’s his business, even if embry manifestly believes it’s also his business. ever since ash brought up the possibility that he’d like to be dominated in a way that embry can’t quite provide, he’s been hyper fucking surly about the comings and goings of ash’s dick. which, to be fair, really hasn’t been far.
but now, this. an order to return the panties, and embry can only go so long with disobeying before there are actual consequences to be had. to make matters worse, it’s been particularly impossible to avoid crossing the mistletoe, his fingers icy and his breath tight with cold despite the crackling fireplace, approaching gwen where she sits curled on the sofa, a book in hand. embry looks the part of the model that lounges on the furniture to make any room more enticing — white trousers, a pinstriped button-down peeking out from beneath a slate gray sweater, his eyes as blue as the sharp winter sky.
in his hand, the offending panties. color dusks his cheeks, his jaw flexing as he imagines ash’s voice spilling filth into her ear, her cunt slick and nipples pulled tight. he gives her an aggrieved look, his cock stirring despite the chill settling in his bones. ]
I took these from Ash. [ what he did with them, he only hopes she doesn’t ask. ] I’m told they’re yours.
[ Gwen doesn’t know what to make of Embry Moore. There’s the picture Ash painted, when Gwen was crying over Peter the night they met, of a prince who would always have his heart; there’s Ani’s missive to the Hex Club and Pink Slip banning Embry from both (and, as far as Gwen’s aware, he’s the sole person on that ban list). She means to ask Ash or Greer more about him—or ask Silco about the reasons for the ban—but there’s some weird shyness that’s stopped her short.
Ash is intimidating in a way Gwen’s coming to understand (because it makes her wet, because there are parameters around it, because she can see some of his softness around Greer). Intimidating might not be the right word for Embry, but Gwen gets the distinct sense, from all three words they’ve exchanged, that he doesn’t like her. And she realizes, with girlish embarrassment, that in some fantasy version of meeting Embry she’d imagined he might like her the way Greer liked her, or Ash liked her, some instant affinity slotting into place.
That was naive. She’s not going to dwell on it, which means she gives Embry as much of a berth as is possible in this space that’s really not meant for five people. So she’s surprised when she looks up from her book and sees that it’s Embry, not Ash or Peter or Greer, approaching her with— ]
Oh. [ It’s all Gwen can manage, for a second, when confronted with the sight of her panties in Embry’s fist as the mistletoe’s chill slips down her spine, making her sit up straighter. She’s not dressed for the cold: she’s in a blue knit sweater and white skirt that skims her thighs, slouchy pink knee socks that match the color of the panties she’s very much not wearing.
She wonders if this is—a game? A scene? But Ash hadn’t talked to her about it, and Gwen doesn’t yet know where Embry fits into what they have.
Whatever work her brain is doing to contextualize this, her body knows what the mistletoe means (fingers retreating into her sleeves to try to warm up, thighs pressing together beneath her skirt, nipples peaking with cold) and she can’t help the flush of embarrassment across her cheeks, the way her ears pink at the sight of the pretty lace edge wrapped around Embry’s knuckles. The last set of knuckles they were wrapped around, taken as a souvenir. ]
I gave them to Ash. [ In a manner of speaking. It’s a little humiliating that anyone else knows about that, but she’s trying to stay—composed? Until she can figure out what, exactly, Embry is doing here. Her head tilting, brows knit, ] If that’s what you’re asking?
[ There is no text, no saucy photo: just a series of clips of Deolinda sent from his phone to Gwen's inbox. Sometimes Dom is heard exclaiming, especially when she does a little parkour, or laughing when she puts her nose right up against his camera. ]
[ For a second, Gwen thinks she’s missed a message from Ash—something that would contextualize the mid-conversation leap, until she clicks on the video.
Gwen lets it loop a few times too many. Ash hasn’t—let her see or touch him yet, only the shape of him through his slacks or his sweats, thick and hot when he pulls her into his lap. She’s been waiting, and she wants him, and sometimes she feels like she’d do anything for exactly what she’s watching right now, her cheeks burning.
She knows he’s fucking Embry. Guilt and desire twist sharp in her gut, and dots appear and disappear a few times as she starts to type, erases, tries again. ]
( having something pretty kneeling at his feet has always been a unique kind of medicine for ash — he thinks clearer, breathes easier, once gwen is on her knees and crawling to him, hot shame turning her cheeks a pretty pink. they're in his room, and he made the impulsive decision to leave the door wide open. anyone passing by might see a flash of her cunt through her panties, the skirt short ash dictated she wear enough to leave little to the imagination. ash sits, somewhat imperially, on a wide backed chair, feet flat, legs spread. when she's close enough, he wordlessly points to his thigh, until her cheek rests on it.
very cute, very pouty. pretty, bright green eyes, shiny in subspace or tears — both are equally attractive to ash, who pets her hair, tugging out the scrunchy and sliding it on his wrist. he has a fascination with blonde hair, it being the first thing he ever noticed about greer — he slides his hand through her silky strands, rubbing threads against his thumb with an exhale of contentedness. once he thinks gwen has suffered in the quiet long enough, he reaches a hand to the side of the chair and picks out a square box, holding it out for gwen to take. )
I got you something. Think of it as a birthday present, for me.
( he waits for her reaction. inside she'll find: one beginner sized butt plug, with daddy's favorite toy printed on the back. )
[ Gwen’s felt like she has to be her best self, this holiday season, and probably hasn’t measured up. Not with Greer, not with Embry— not with Ash or Peter, either. In the absence of concrete tasks (in the absence of school and family, marking a familiar milestone in a strange place) she’s floundered, a little.
It helps, talking to Ash about it. It helps having a set of instructions (pleated skirt short enough he can see her ass when she’s on all fours, white panties she wore under her Halloween costume, leaving the door open to the hall instead of closing it when she enters his room). There’s always a moment at the beginning where she thinks she’ll be too embarrassed to follow through, and then—
All it takes is seeing Ash’s face, the wide spread of his legs once she sinks to the floor to drop in, this time. Her breath is deep and even, as Ash strokes through her hair; Gwen rubs her cheek against the rough grain of his jeans, feels the hard warmth of his thigh beneath. Smells him, masculine and clean.
She lifts her head enough to take and open the box, and heat prickles across her cheeks and chest as she reads the words. Toy, degrading and humiliating and just right, squeezing her thighs together where she’s knelt on the floor. ]
Thank you, Daddy. [ Not quite stammered, though her lashes are low against her cheeks as she takes the plug out of the box, feeling the weight of it in her hand. Light and slim, all things considered, but— Gwen huffs a soft breath, looking up at him again before biting her lip. ] It’s a little embarrassing, but I don’t know how to do this.
I won't be at the club this weekend. Hawk will mind things while I'm away. You're welcome to still come in, if you wish. Shauna or Dom may come by the office; please direct them to my phone. Otherwise, if at all possible, I would prefer that nobody else be made aware that I'm not available.
📦 delivery.
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See you soon!
✉️ text — un: amy.
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I know we all have different colors but I wonder if I should get some kind of charm to put on it? A sparkly G, or something. At least if someone confuses mine with Greer's we live in the same suite.
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@yellowjackie
IDK if you're serious about learning how to draw but I think there's an art studio somewhere around the premises?
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That sounds fun, though! I don't know how good I'll be at it but I could get into painting a mug, or something like that.
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✉️ text — un: amy, day one of the lock-in.
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Can’t complain yet, but we’ll see how stir crazy we all get. How’s yours so far?
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→ action (cabin fever)
ash must have fucking planned this.
there’s enough space in their lodge, in theory, to avoid their two guests. at least for embry there is, who is seasoned in avoidance. whatever ash wants to get up to with gwen — that’s his business, even if embry manifestly believes it’s also his business. ever since ash brought up the possibility that he’d like to be dominated in a way that embry can’t quite provide, he’s been hyper fucking surly about the comings and goings of ash’s dick. which, to be fair, really hasn’t been far.
but now, this. an order to return the panties, and embry can only go so long with disobeying before there are actual consequences to be had. to make matters worse, it’s been particularly impossible to avoid crossing the mistletoe, his fingers icy and his breath tight with cold despite the crackling fireplace, approaching gwen where she sits curled on the sofa, a book in hand. embry looks the part of the model that lounges on the furniture to make any room more enticing — white trousers, a pinstriped button-down peeking out from beneath a slate gray sweater, his eyes as blue as the sharp winter sky.
in his hand, the offending panties. color dusks his cheeks, his jaw flexing as he imagines ash’s voice spilling filth into her ear, her cunt slick and nipples pulled tight. he gives her an aggrieved look, his cock stirring despite the chill settling in his bones. ]
I took these from Ash. [ what he did with them, he only hopes she doesn’t ask. ] I’m told they’re yours.
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Ash is intimidating in a way Gwen’s coming to understand (because it makes her wet, because there are parameters around it, because she can see some of his softness around Greer). Intimidating might not be the right word for Embry, but Gwen gets the distinct sense, from all three words they’ve exchanged, that he doesn’t like her. And she realizes, with girlish embarrassment, that in some fantasy version of meeting Embry she’d imagined he might like her the way Greer liked her, or Ash liked her, some instant affinity slotting into place.
That was naive. She’s not going to dwell on it, which means she gives Embry as much of a berth as is possible in this space that’s really not meant for five people. So she’s surprised when she looks up from her book and sees that it’s Embry, not Ash or Peter or Greer, approaching her with— ]
Oh. [ It’s all Gwen can manage, for a second, when confronted with the sight of her panties in Embry’s fist as the mistletoe’s chill slips down her spine, making her sit up straighter. She’s not dressed for the cold: she’s in a blue knit sweater and white skirt that skims her thighs, slouchy pink knee socks that match the color of the panties she’s very much not wearing.
She wonders if this is—a game? A scene? But Ash hadn’t talked to her about it, and Gwen doesn’t yet know where Embry fits into what they have.
Whatever work her brain is doing to contextualize this, her body knows what the mistletoe means (fingers retreating into her sleeves to try to warm up, thighs pressing together beneath her skirt, nipples peaking with cold) and she can’t help the flush of embarrassment across her cheeks, the way her ears pink at the sight of the pretty lace edge wrapped around Embry’s knuckles. The last set of knuckles they were wrapped around, taken as a souvenir. ]
I gave them to Ash. [ In a manner of speaking. It’s a little humiliating that anyone else knows about that, but she’s trying to stay—composed? Until she can figure out what, exactly, Embry is doing here. Her head tilting, brows knit, ] If that’s what you’re asking?
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misfire, un: dom
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I think I’m gonna need some pics of you, though, if I’m going to accurately judge who’s cuter
[ Because this is now a cuteness contest, obviously. ]
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@kool_jewel_08
The things I shall do to you while you are tied down are the sorts of things only whispered about by the world's great libertines.
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Her teasing’s good-natured, which hopefully translates over text. ]
You could always whisper those things to me, Mr… Kool Jewel 08.
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text — un: COLCHESTER cw: nsfw link
( middle of a conversation to greer — the last good thing shared between him and embry. attached. )
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Gwen lets it loop a few times too many. Ash hasn’t—let her see or touch him yet, only the shape of him through his slacks or his sweats, thick and hot when he pulls her into his lap. She’s been waiting, and she wants him, and sometimes she feels like she’d do anything for exactly what she’s watching right now, her cheeks burning.
She knows he’s fucking Embry. Guilt and desire twist sharp in her gut, and dots appear and disappear a few times as she starts to type, erases, tries again. ]
Daddy. [ So he knows it’s her. ]
Did you, um
mean to show me this?
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text — un: guccibug (misfire)
[ ATTACHEMENT.JPG ]
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Hi. I didn’t know we were doing that kind of Secret Santa this year?
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@faith — misfire
[ IMG_085.JPEG ]
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I think it looks
nice on you? But I’ve always been partial to pink.
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— action. cw: nsfw
very cute, very pouty. pretty, bright green eyes, shiny in subspace or tears — both are equally attractive to ash, who pets her hair, tugging out the scrunchy and sliding it on his wrist. he has a fascination with blonde hair, it being the first thing he ever noticed about greer — he slides his hand through her silky strands, rubbing threads against his thumb with an exhale of contentedness. once he thinks gwen has suffered in the quiet long enough, he reaches a hand to the side of the chair and picks out a square box, holding it out for gwen to take. )
I got you something. Think of it as a birthday present, for me.
( he waits for her reaction. inside she'll find: one beginner sized butt plug, with daddy's favorite toy printed on the back. )
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It helps, talking to Ash about it. It helps having a set of instructions (pleated skirt short enough he can see her ass when she’s on all fours, white panties she wore under her Halloween costume, leaving the door open to the hall instead of closing it when she enters his room). There’s always a moment at the beginning where she thinks she’ll be too embarrassed to follow through, and then—
All it takes is seeing Ash’s face, the wide spread of his legs once she sinks to the floor to drop in, this time. Her breath is deep and even, as Ash strokes through her hair; Gwen rubs her cheek against the rough grain of his jeans, feels the hard warmth of his thigh beneath. Smells him, masculine and clean.
She lifts her head enough to take and open the box, and heat prickles across her cheeks and chest as she reads the words. Toy, degrading and humiliating and just right, squeezing her thighs together where she’s knelt on the floor. ]
Thank you, Daddy. [ Not quite stammered, though her lashes are low against her cheeks as she takes the plug out of the box, feeling the weight of it in her hand. Light and slim, all things considered, but— Gwen huffs a soft breath, looking up at him again before biting her lip. ] It’s a little embarrassing, but I don’t know how to do this.
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🎁 delivery (dated 12/25).
✉️ text — un: silco.
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Is it anything I can help with? Or just taking the weekend off?
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text; un: koby
Hi, Gwen. I hope this isn't invasive, but I wanted to gather your opinion on Doctor House's recent network post.
I noted we both engaged with it, and I value your input greatly, so I thought I'd ask.
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[ what’s the nicest way to put this ]
colorful.
I also don’t really love that he’s talking about puppies in 9 months. Do you think there’ll be puppies in 9 months?
cw: pregnancy, menstruation, etc.
cw unsafe sex mention etc etc
cw more of all that
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