#I want to try a flat iron on her but I don’t have one

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Geekcon Revelations Gen 1 pt.81

Thursday at breakfast Mercury, Kason, and Spirit ironed out the final deals for Spooky Day. The following day they would all attend the Brindelton Bay kids' Fall festival, towards the end Kason and M would leave to finish setting up for the Spooky Day party.

Her phone vibrated and when she checked the screen she was pleasantly surprised.

M: Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr.elusive.

Beckett: Hey M, I've been meaning to call you back.

M: Why haven't you, it's been days? Are you still coming to the party?

Beckett: That's why I'm calling.

Spirit: Is that your brother?

She nodded.

Kason: Hey Bek.

Beckett: Tell Kason and Mom hi but about the party. I haven't found a costume yet and I won't be in Brindelton Bay until tomorrow.

M: That's perfect because I have a costume for you. I can't wait for tomorrow.

Beckett: You're a lifesaver. I figured I could wear an old one if nothing else.

Mercury ignored the praise and pressed Beckett about the girl from his date.

M: So, no spooky day plans with your girlfriend? You should invite her to the party.

Beckett: She can't, she has plans. And she’s not my girlfriend.

M: You could have fooled me. Wait, doesn't she live here?

Beckett: Her plans are in San Myshuno and I'll be in the Bay with you guys.

She pressed a little harder.

M: She could come after her "plans" The party is planned till late and the ride from the city isn't too long. Are you ever going to tell me her name?

Beckett: M stop. She can't make it this time. and her name isn't important right now.

M: I heard that. Geez Bek, are we at least going to get to meet her for Harvestfest or are you going to keep her hidden until you guys are already married?

Beckett: Would you give it a rest already!

His tone took Mercury by surprise. She knew she was hounding him but he was her only brother and she knew next to nothing about this girl besides the fact that she was supposed to be great at darts, lived in Brindelton Bay, and that Beckett seemed to feel like he needed to hide her from his family, and she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not considering his attitude.

Kason's phone rang and Spirit excused herself from the table to get ready for the day. M waited for them to be out of earshot before she responded.

M: Beckett what's going on?

Beckett: *Sigh* Sorry M. I shouldn't have barked at you. Everything is fine. Right now we’re- I’m trying to figure some things out. I don't want to rush and risk messing everything up.

He sounded so unsure and it concerned her.

M: You must really like this girl because that has to be the fourth time I’ve heard you say that since the day you met her.

He sighed again. The conversation was clearly upsetting him but she couldn’t understand why. What wasn’t he telling her?

Beckett: I do and I'm pretty sure she feels the same way.

M: Okay, well that's good. So what's stopping you from making it official?

Beckett: It's…complicated. I’d rather talk to you about it in person. It's really important to me that you like her M...

She sensed his turmoil and decided, for the moment, it was best to drop it. Whatever he was going through was clearly taking a toll on him. Beckett hardly ever had angry outbursts, having discovered his proper trait in his young adult years.

M: I guess now is a good time to tell you that Mom agreed to stay in Brindelton Bay.

The change in topic lightened his mood instantly.

Beckett: That's great. I knew you were the better choice to convince her.

Mercury made a noise between a scuff and a laugh.

M: You keep telling yourself that so you don’t feel guilty for putting the job off on me, but I barely convinced her. She only agreed to stay till after the New Year, like a trial run. Micah is going to look after the house while she's here.

He laughed.

Beckett: I bear no guilt. That's better than nothing. I was worried she would turn you down flat.

M: You brat, she almost did. Anyway, I have to go I'm supposed to be walking Comet. I'll see you tomorrow.

She ended her call catching the tail end of Kason’s conversation.

Kason: I'll meet you outside the station, you idiot. Why would I make you carry all the bags from the car with the baby? Whatever. Just focus on the road and I'll see you in the city.

Kason tucked the phone back in his pocket.

M: Peyton?

She smirked.

Kason: *sigh* Who else, I should get ready. They're already on the road and I don't want to miss my train. You know how the king hates to wait.

M: You have no one to blame but yourself, I told you I could go.

Kason wouldn't admit it but he missed his twin brother, his complaining was just part of the act. They spoke often but they didn't see each other nearly enough. They had lived together all of their life until Kason and M made it official and he'd moved out of their shared San Myshuno apartment.

So when Mercury told him Winter was coming a day early and Peyton was traveling alone with the kids Kason volunteered to meet them halfway claiming Peyton would need the extra hands. Peyton would take the drive from Newcrest to San Myshuno where he'd meet Kason and they would take the train back to Brindelton Bay. Driving the whole way would take almost two days and with an infant that seemed intolerable, so they opted for the crosstown train.

Kason came downstairs ready to head out the door when Ishtar and Venus ambushed him begging him to go along. He agreed figuring having the extra company for Crimson and Adrianne couldn't hurt.

When they arrived in the Art District of San Myshuno they emerged to find sims dressed in costumes milling around the streets. Apparently, Geekcon had come to this part of the city. Kason loved Geekcon. He and Peyton had never missed one when they were young. As kids, they would cosplay and enter gaming competitions. As teens they'd stop dressing up and took to more mischievous activities like sneaking into the Spaceship, using the telescope to spy on the neighbors, and trolling the forums using the hack-a-ton computers. It seemed they had revamped the layout for Spooky Day.

Kason checked the time realizing they had at least 45 minutes before Peyton should arrive and decided to let the kids enjoy the festivities. Who knew when they would be back in the city, plus it was a chance to share a small piece of his childhood with his own children.

Kason checked the time as he got up from the computers after achieving an unnoteworthy score in the hack-a-ton and went to look for the kids. He spotted them by the gaming mats and began making his way over then he stopped, recognizing a couple in the crowd gathered by the DJ booth.

Bewildered, he changed course and started in their direction. Determined to make sense of what he was seeing, Kason kept his eyes trained on the spot where they stood to ensure he didn’t lose sight of them when someone called his name.

He turned recognizing his brother's voice. He looked over and noticed Adrianne and Crimson had already joined Venus and Ishtar and had moved on to the arcade games. Kason dared to look back in the direction he'd seen Beckett.

Madison's back was turned to him but Beckett had looked up and spotted him. They held each other's gaze, Beckett's face a wall of masked emotions. He broke the connection and guided Madison away from the dance floor.

Kasons first thought was to follow them and demand answers, but he knew now wasn't an opportune time to pursue them. He had the kids and Peyton needed his help. He settled for telling M when he got home. For the moment, he was more interested in his own brother, who was holding a beautiful snow-white-haired infant. His niece, Hannah. Kason greeted his brother but his attention was on Hannah. Peyton handed her over without protest.

Kason: Well aren't you the most beautiful girl.

He cooed at the mini spellcaster who coincidentally had the same eye color as her uncle.

Kason: Thank the watcher she looks like Winter.

Peyton jabbed his brother's side lightly.

Peyton: They all look like Winter. Fairy gene are strong.

Kason: Leave it to you to marry a fairy. Not that it surprises me that only a magical woman could tame your wild side. Lets go guys, train’s coming soon.

Peyton gathered the older kids while Kason hogged Hannah.

Peyton: You're one to talk about wild sides. I saw the pictures online. I also saw that M won her lawsuit against the paparazzi AANNND considering you still live at home, I'll assume you are innocent of all wrongdoing. But dude what the hell?

Kason shushed him gesturing towards the kids who were only a few paces ahead of them as they headed to the Metro entrance at the bottom of the San Myshuno Bastion Spire.

Kason: Lower your voice. The kids don't know anything about it and I'd like it to stay that way. You didn't tell Adrianne and Crimson did you?

Peyton frowned.

Peyton: I'm not stupid you know. I would never show them your smut.

The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile to show he wasn't completely offended.

Peyton: Those kids love you and M. Showing them something like that would only confuse them, and believe me they have enough to worry about now that they’re in school and learning to use their magic.

Kason: How are they adjusting to Newcrest? V dont stand so close to the edge of the platform.

Peyton: They love the new house, Winter even considered letting them get a pet, or a familiar is what I think they called it. That was the easy part. It's the school that's the problem.

Kason: School? Adrianne did really well her first year does she not like the new school.

Peyton: I wish it was that simple. When they were in preschool they weren't old enough to use their magic and their wing hadn't grown in. But now that they're older and their fairy traits are becoming more dominant, well let's just say not everyone is as open-minded as the people in San Myshuno. When we moved I knew people looked at Winter funny, the white hair and wings were a dead giveaway she was different but Winter never let it bother her so I paid it no mind when she was around but these are my kids. Adrianne brought Crimson home crying after their first day of school.

The distress in Peyton's voice alarmed him. Kason did his best to keep his expression neutral and his voice low because the kids were sitting close enough to pick up parts of the conversation even in the crowded station, but inside he was raging. He understood why Peyton was so bothered. When they were younger kids bullied the pair when they found out that their mother had run off when they were barely infants. They would say mean things like “She left because she hated them”. He didn’t want to imagine what kind of cruel things they would say or worse do to two half-fae kids.

Kason: Are you serious? What, have they never seen a dam- a Fairy in Newcrest?

Peyton: When Adrianne started school in San Myshuno things were different, the city is different. Now every other day she comes home with scrapes and bruises on her hands and face like she'd been fighting. She's stubborn like her mother so whenever I ask her about them she tells me she fell at recess or on the way home trying to practice flying, and it seems she has sworn her brother to secrecy so no one's talking.

The train pulled in and the group boarded. They found seats and got comfortable for the long ride back to Brindelton Bay.

Kason: Have you been to the school what are they doing about it?

Peyton: What do you think? You should have seen the way the Vice principal basically blamed us. The idiot had the nerve to say we should have done more to make sure they didn't stand out. The Principle kicked the asshole out and claimed they would address the issue but I have a suspicion that addressing the issue means separating Adrianne and Crimson from the other kids and not for their safety.

Kason was frustrated that his niece and nephew were struggling to get acclimated to school life. He couldn't understand how rational adults could look at them and not just see innocent children. Wings and magic didn't make you a bad person, but mistreating someone, especially children, because they did, made these the worst kind of people in Kasons mind.

He also couldn't help the overwhelming sense of pride he felt. It was hard to remember that Peyton wasn't the same irresponsible teenager he'd grown up with. He was a husband, a father, and sometimes a damn good brother. Kason felt a ping of guilt as he realized he didn't give Peyton nearly enough credit. Sitting on the train Kason finally saw his brother for the man he had become.

Kason: I don't say it enough but you're an amazing man Peyton. Dad would be proud of you. I'm proud of you.

Peyton smiled at his brother from across the table.

Peyton: Thanks Kas. But you still owe me an explanation when we get there and whats with the blue nail polish?

Kason rolled his eyes.

Kason: I was offered as live bait to your wife and nieces. I got to be a Ken doll.

Peyton: You see why I let her come alone. You're such a sucker.

Kason: Ha! As if you could have said no to Winter, M, and Spirit.

Peyton: The odds were stacked against you. I'm surprised you didn't show up with a pink strip in your hair.

They spent the train ride joking and catching up while keeping an eye on the kids. It felt like old times. Time and distance hadn't changed their relationship in the slightest and just like that Kason felt a part of himself become whole. A part he hadn't noticed had been misplaced, he'd shared a womb with this clown after all.

Previous Next

Beginning

Poses: @rebouks bumperpack random poses @acha-sims kissing poses #1 @libetsims Come here little brother CC: Costumes @plazasims Builds @lesmana-enterprise-ltd San Myshuno Bastion Spire R3 Debug Snow Train EA ID: Komori44 (room) Train Interior set EA ID: diegomemphis (room)

Sidenote: Finding train builds proves to be quite a challenge. So I thank the builders because I wouldn't have been able to finish this without their hard work. I placed a Geekcon because when I originally shot the scene it really was. Then I hated all the pictures besides the one of them gaming and I couldn't wait for Geekcon to come up again so I had to find one on the gallery and being that it was the day before Spooky Day (in-game) this one felt right!

[therealsirsticker]

Love when my mom acts like I don’t have any idea what I’m talking about but I can’t outright tell her her idea is bad because she will take it as me calling her stupid and terrible 😑

[robertsbarbie]

i understand venting without wanting solutions but sometimes there NEEDS to be solutions and you NEED to accept help otherwise you life is always gonna be fucking miserable

[ja3yun]

Guilty as Sin Pt.2 | P.SH

ceo!sunghoon x assistant!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms, dom!hoon, oral (m.rec), deep throating, fingering, cum eating, power dynamics, spanking, window fucking, punishment vibes, he makes her lick his shoe, pet names (good girl, slut), slight degradation, slapping, no aftercare mentioned but implied (kinda), age gap (reader is 22 and hoon is 27), anything else lmk! w.c: 8.2k synopsis: after your boss heard you on the phone last night, it was time to face the consequences of your sins, however, he has something else in mind other than firing you. a/n: hi! it's the much requested second part and i need to tell you i got carried away with this. 6k of this is pure smut so it's kind of a pwp still. you can also read this as a stand alone if you really want to. i hope you guys love it and thank you so much for the love on the first part! as always, reblogs, likes, comments, and feedback are welcome

part 1

The door in front of you seems daunting, an imposing barrier that looms larger with every passing second. The air grows suddenly cold as a draught from the office behind it whooshes through the slits in the frame, sending a shiver over your body. You've been standing here for precisely 2 minutes and 12 seconds, the weight of your hesitation pressing down on you. The confrontation ahead feels monumental, the necessary action of knocking on the door an insurmountable hurdle.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. With your left hand, you awkwardly smooth down your charcoal pencil skirt. The fabric, meticulously ironed earlier this morning, clings slightly to your legs, stopping just above your knee. You adjust the waistband, ensuring your crisp white blouse is neatly tucked in. This is a constant ensemble you wear to your work and has been accepted and sometimes praised by others, yet today it doesn’t feel up to standard.

The coffee in your right hand was supposed to be a peace offering, a gesture to sweeten up your boss after last night’s…escapades. You had hoped the familiar aroma of his favourite brew would set a positive tone for the conversation. But the barista had made the wrong order, a careless mistake that left you with a cup of something less than ideal. With no time to wait for a replacement, you had rushed out of the shop, the seconds ticking away, and now here you are, standing at the threshold, the incorrect coffee staring at the door with you, a bubbling disappointment he will surely add to the list.

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. You were supposed to have a quiet night in with a glass of wine in one hand and a dildo in the other, not your boss possibly thinking that you’re a pervert. There is no way he didn’t hear you on the phone as you climaxed to his voice; it was so loud you think the old lady from three flats down could have heard you. 

As fucking amazing as the orgasm was - possibly one of your most star-bursting - it does leave you with dire consequences that you have to face right this instant. You’re already a minute past 6am and he isn’t going to be too happy about that.

Gathering every ounce of courage, you straighten your posture, shoulders back, head high. You take one final, steadying breath. With your heart pounding in your chest, you lift your hand, knuckles brushing lightly against the door, and tap firmly three times. The sound echoes in the silence, each knock a heartbeat, a countdown to whatever awaits on the other side.

The moments stretch interminably. You can almost feel the seconds dripping by, thick and viscous, each one a testament to your growing anxiety. Your grip tightens around the coffee cup, the warmth seeping through the thin cardboard sleeve, a small comfort against the chill that has settled into your bones.

“Come in.”

His booming voice filters through the oak door, startling you despite your knuckles alerting him of your presence. Although he has given you the go-ahead, you still don’t move for two beats, suddenly regretting the decision not to quit via email as soon as you cleaned the cum from your dildo and finished off the entire bottle of wine.

With a shaky breath, you force your legs to carry you forward. The door feels heavier than it should as you push it open, the creak of the hinges matching the tension coiling in your stomach. 

The office is modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows occupying one corner, offering a panoramic view of the cityscape. The rest of the room is a study in black and white - sleek, minimalist furniture and stark contrasts that give the space a sterile, yet sophisticated feel.

Behind a glossy wooden desk, your boss sits, his stern gaze fixed on you, making the room feel both expansive and claustrophobic at the same time.

“Good morning,” you manage to say, your voice sounding meek and uncertain. You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you with an ominous finality. Whatever happens, whatever reprimanding he is about to bestow upon you, there is no escaping.

Your boss doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes flicker to the coffee cup in your hand, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Is that for me?” he asks, his tone cool and unreadable. He knows you bring him coffee every morning but the hesitance in your step confuses him.

“Yes, Mr. Park, but I’m afraid it’s not your usual order,” you confess, stepping forward and placing the cup on his desk. The surface is immaculate, reflecting the cup and your trembling hands like a dark mirror. “The barista made a mistake and put oat milk instead of soya and a pump of vanilla rather than honey.”

He picks up the cup, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. The contact sends a jolt through you, a reminder of last night’s indiscretion, how you wished it was his hands all over you. He inspects the label, then takes a small, unsure sip.

Playing with the tips of your fingers and tapping your knees together briefly, you wait for a scolding, yet nothing comes from it. His face insinuates that he isn’t exactly thrilled by the taste, but he isn’t throwing it in your face or firing you, so, you relax a little.

He isn’t the type of boss who lashes out at you; rather, he keeps his calm in most situations. Even that one month when you scheduled all his June appointments for July and June was filled with May meetings. That day, he simply told you that you couldn’t leave the office until everything was finalized and settled; it was a long night.

Not looking at you, he goes back to typing something on his laptop, his face now back to that monotonous glare that gives zero indication of his feelings away. Was he mad? Confused? Disappointed? You could never know by his neutral expression.

You stand there awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, awaiting further instruction. The silence stretches on, making the ticking of the wall clock seem unbearably loud. Usually, he has a list of things you should be doing, and to get you up and in the office early seems pointless if you’re just going to stand there in your gifted black, shiny heels - gifted by him nonetheless.

Finally, you clear your throat softly and speak up. “Your meeting is in three hours, sir. Did you want me to come in early to help or���?” You trail off, unsure how to proceed.

Mr. Park looks up expectantly, one eyebrow raised as he peers over his glasses. “Or?”

The single word hangs in the air, loaded with unspoken expectations. By the glint in his eye, it was clear he wanted you to continue, to confess to your sins, which means he did hear you come undone last night. If you could jump out of his office and onto the cold concrete 39 floors below, you would; it would be much less painful.

You feel a tint of warmth along your cheeks, head bowing in a sorry gesture. There is no way you can just turn around and say ‘Sorry about last night, it should be a compliment considering no other man or porn is able to get me off quite like your Instagram does’. That is a HR appointment waiting to happen.

So instead you stay silent, much to his impatience.

Once he realises you aren’t going to use your voice box anytime soon, he shuts his laptop over before sitting back in his chair, inhaling so deeply you see his chest rise under his white Prada shirt. 

As you take in his appearance, a pool forms between your legs. No matter how many times you see him in his work aesthetic; black fitted slacks, a white, tight fitted shirt, the black tie that he forms in a Windsor knot, and those silver framed glasses that you’re convinced are just for aesthetic and not functional, you still can’t control the lewd thoughts in you mind. His face with those perfect eyebrows and dark eyes only makes you draw closer to his face.

It’s worse when you’re both in a lift and you imagine it breaking down, clothes flying as you ravage one another-

“I think it’s time we had your supervision, don’t you?” Sunghoon’s question rips your attention away from your filthy thoughts and back to reality.

“But, Sir, I just had my supervision last month,” you recall. Every three months, Sunghoon calls you in to track your progress, give you direction on how to further progress as an employee, and list areas you can improve on. It is also a time to bring up any issues he might have with your performance.

Last month, like all the other supervisions you have dreadingly attended, had a positive outcome, with no complaints from your boss despite your mistakes. You’re beginning to think he might not be as harsh as he seems, the CEO stereotype of cold, mean, and detached sometimes clouding your perception of him. Sure, he can be scary, but isn't that true of every boss?

“I must have lost the file,” he says, sucking his teeth in a feigned apology. “Please, have a seat.”

Sunghoon gestures to the black leather chair across from him. His pupils expand, and his tongue swipes past his lips as you sit, crossing one leg over the other like you have many times before. Your skirt hikes up to mid-thigh, exposing more skin than is office-appropriate.

Sunghoon adjusts his glasses, peering down at some papers on his desk, scanning through them as if they contain all the questions he needs to grill you on. You know they don’t because he keeps all his files electronically; it's easier for him to find and navigate, plus he hates adding unnecessary pressure on the environment. You discovered his soft spot for the earth after he asked you to double-check his bank statement and you saw multiple transactions to various environmental charities.

“So,” he begins, reading the nonsense papers, “How do you think you’ve performed over the past few months?”

The questions are always the same, so you always answer them the same way; how Sunghoon wants them answered. “Good, Sir. I think I have made progress, but there is always room for improvement.”

“And what would you improve?”

“I believe my performance is steady, but it would be good to challenge myself. The opportunities you’ve given me to explore different departments have been invaluable. It could be beneficial to work closely with you and bring forth ideas in pre-meeting discussions between us.” You repeat what you said last month, just in a different order. Your boss loves it when you subtly praise him; it always causes his eyebrows to rise and a small, tight smile to grace his face.

Except this time, he smirks - a look he only adopts when he’s either about to obliterate someone in the boardroom or win an argument. Neither scenario fits your current conversation, leaving your mind swirling with uncertainty.

The atmosphere has turned thicker with heat. Maybe it's your own problem as you tighten the grip on your crossed legs, watching his large, veiny hands flick through a stapled booklet, sometimes licking his finger for grip.

Should you be looking at him like this after what happened last night? Probably not, but you’re just a woman with needs, and you crave Sunghoon to curb those needs as quickly as possible, no matter the working relationship.

But this is how you got into this mess - letting your thirst for him take over your state of mind. Now, you’re facing an unnecessary supervision that could lead to your termination or a department transfer. You work under Sunghoon as his assistant, but he has allowed you to grow and learn in ways a typical boss wouldn’t. Instead of fetching coffee and running errands, he’s included you in meetings, let you make some decisions, and introduced you to department heads, especially the graphic design team, the field you wish to progress into.

Perhaps that’s the source of the heated atmosphere - not your uncontrollable lust but your fear.

“And would you say you have a good working relationship with others at work?” he asks, his shoulders tenser than before.

This is a new question, one you haven’t rehearsed an answer for.

“Uh, yes?” 

He stops shuffling papers at your lacklustre response, clearly unimpressed, and gives you a moment to elaborate. “I mean, yes, I do get along with most people here. I try to maintain professionalism and have a healthy balance along with friendships.” It’s a generic answer, but mostly true.

“Do you think we have a good working relationship?” Sunghoon hasn’t looked at you this whole time, but you can see him fighting the urge.

“I believe so, Sir. I think we get along well and have a solid foundation built on respect,” you answer honestly, omitting the times you’ve thought about him in a less-than-professional light.

Sunghoon takes off his glasses, pushing his chair back slightly. “I see.” His words are sharp and contemplative, making your chest tighten. He’s absolutely firing you today, and he has every right to do so. He probably feels disrespected and disgusted by what he heard last night.

Circling his desk, he leans against the edge, his body now close to yours, radiating an air of dominance. You can feel the heat of his presence, the way his gaze pierces through you, making the room feel even smaller. 

This isn’t going to end well for you.

“So, what was it you used to get yourself off last night to the sound of my voice?” he asks, his tone low and menacingly curious.

The question hits you like a freight train. You choke on your own saliva, eyes bulging, mouth turning drier than a Ritz cracker without butter. Your heart pounds in your chest, echoing in your ears like a drum. You try to form words, but your mind is blank, overwhelmed by the sheer audacity of his question and the implications it carries.

Sunghoon's eyes narrow slightly as he watches your reaction, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His demeanour is composed, but there's an underlying intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He seems to relish your discomfort, his confidence only growing as he maintains eye contact, making it impossible for you to look away.

Your thoughts race, trying to find a way out of this situation. The room feels suffocating, the silence between you stretching endlessly as you struggle to regain your composure. The memory of last night flashes in your mind, the sound of his voice in the background as you gave in to your desires.

Sunghoon shifts slightly, his stance more relaxed, yet every movement is calculated, deliberately exuding power. He taps a finger on the desk, the sound sharp and precise, mirroring the tension in the room. His eyes glint with a mix of expectation and something darker, making it clear that he won’t let this go easily.

“Do you need a moment to answer, or should I repeat the question?” he asks, his voice dripping with mock politeness.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, and manage to find your voice, though it comes out as a hoarse whisper. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir.”

He pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek, fighting the urge to smirk fully. “Don’t play coy with me. I heard everything. Now, answer my question.” 

Your mind scrambles for an escape, but there’s no way out. You’re trapped, cornered by his authority and your own actions. The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the tension thick with something unspoken. You know you have to say something, anything, to break the silence and diffuse the situation, but words fail you.

Sunghoon’s gaze remains fixed on you, unrelenting. “Well?” he prompts, his voice a dangerous whisper. He rolls up his sleeves devilishly slow, giving you a show of his veins and strong yet soft hands.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable. “It was a mistake, Sir. It won’t happen again,” you manage to say, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay calm.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your response. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he says, leaning closer, his presence overwhelming as his eyes fixate on yours. “What did you use?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and oppressive. You can feel the weight of his expectations, the demand for honesty. There’s no escaping it. You have to confront this head-on, no matter how humiliating it is.

Taking another shaky breath, you finally confess, your voice barely audible. “I used a dildo, Sir.” You want the world to swallow you whole, to never see the light of day again because how could you possibly admit to that in front of the Park Sunghoon?

His smirk deepens, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “What size?” he asks, his tone almost casual but laced with a dangerous curiosity.

Your heart pounds even harder. Every beat is a reminder of the humiliation you’re enduring. “Six inches,” you whisper, your face burning with shame. Now your boss knows the size of your dildo. Great. 

Sunghoon's eyes gleam with a predatory satisfaction. “And was it me you were thinking about?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low, seductive murmur. The question pierces through the remaining shreds of your composure.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, feeling the weight of his stare. “Yes,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was thinking about you, Sir.”

Sighing with feigned disapproval, Sunghoon crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Y/N, I am very disappointed in you.” That is the last thing you want to hear; the respect you have for him as a boss and a professional makes the words sting just a little bit more than if it was anyone else.

You bow your head in shame, rubbing your knee to comfort yourself against his harsh tone. “I’m so-”

“It should have been at least eight,” he interrupts, causing your eyes to snap to his, widening in shock.

His words hang in the air, and the implications send a shiver down your spine. He pushes off the desk and moves closer to you, his presence even more imposing. “You see,” he continues, his voice low and controlled, “if you’re going to fantasise about me, you should at least get the details right.”

Your heart races, the mixture of fear and anticipation almost too much to bear. Sunghoon leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “Now, let’s assess your performance. I expect complete cooperation from you moving forward. Understood?”

It’s a subtle way of asking your permission, knowing that once whatever is about to transpire in this office happens, there is no going back to your previous assistant and boss relationship, especially if his hungry eyes and your pulsing core have anything to say about the matter.

Nodding, you agree quickly, granting him your consent, but that isn’t good enough for him.

“Y/N, one thing that constantly comes up in these supervisions is your development of communication skills,” he says, tutting with a mocking glare. “Use your words.”

You take a deep breath, your pulse racing as you summon the courage to speak. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

A satisfied smile crosses Sunghoon’s face as he takes in your words. “Good,” he murmurs. “Now, bend over the desk.”

You comply, standing up and leaning forward until your chest is pressed against the cool surface. Your skirt rides up, exposing your thighs, and the vulnerability of the position sends a shiver through you. 

The energy in the office is charged with anxiety and anticipation. The gentle hum of the air conditioner does little to alleviate the heat emanating between the two of you. The familiar surroundings suddenly feel exotic and infused with new vitality. The mixture of the light from the world waking up outside and the glow of his desk lamp creates an intimate, almost clandestine ambience.

Sunghoon’s imposing desk, usually a symbol of authority and professionalism, now serves as an altar for your transgression. The smooth, polished wood feels cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through your body. Papers and office supplies, once orderly and mundane, now seem like silent witnesses to the unfolding drama.

Sunghoon steps closer, his presence looming over you. The scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something distinctly him envelops you, mingling with the faint, clean scent of the office. His hand smooths over your exposed skin, gentle but possessive, sending goosebumps over your delicate skin. He hikes up your skirt so your ass is exposed and ready for the inevitable.

“You need to be taught a lesson, to help you improve your vocal skills, wouldn’t you say?” he asks, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that cuts through the silence.

Without warning, his hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sound of the slap echoing in the room. You gasp, the sting of the impact radiating through you. He doesn’t give you time to recover before delivering another smack, then another, each one firm and precise.

It’s electric and better than anything you could have conjured up using your imagination alone. His spanks are harsh but not unpleasant, each vibration of his hand to your cheeks rippling down to your core. It aches to be touched, wetness glistening over your folds to exhibit your desperation.

Pressing himself against you, you feel his bulge prominent against you. Fuck, you really did underestimate how big he was. Even concealed, you know he’s packing so much that your dildo pales in comparison. His hands now soothe your scarlet ass, giving you some relief.

However, the calm is short-lived. “You’re going to tell me everything you fantasise about, no detail left unturned. Got it?” His voice is dark, his breath warm against the back of your neck, and his lips so close to your skin that you almost whimper out in need.

You can’t believe this is happening. All those months of wishing he would touch you, spank you, punish you, praise you, and do literally anything to you are all coming to fruition right now. Maybe you should have slipped up earlier, maybe those chances to touch his thigh at meetings or drunkenly kiss him at work nights out would have gotten you in this position a lot quicker.

It does beg the question, how long has he wanted this? Has he thought about you at all in any way other than his assistant? Perhaps this is a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing or could he want you just as badly?

“Yes, Sir,” you answer his previous question, cheek pressed against the cool desk as your body heats up.

“Good,” he murmurs, his hands tracing over the redness of your ass, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. “Start from the beginning.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I fantasise about you, Sir,” you begin, your voice trembling slightly. “I think about you touching me, I want to please you in every way.”

His hand comes down again, a sharp reminder of his dominance as he leaves a lingering sting. “Be specific,” he demands. “I want details.”

Your mind races, trying to find the words because what haven’t you thought about? You have imagined him in every possible scenario; loving you, hating you, cuddling you, punishing you, and most importantly, fucking you into oblivion. Even last night, you thought about him punishing you exactly how he is right now. 

“Sometimes I-I think about you punishing me, spanking me until I cum,” you admit, your voice quivering with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. It feels incredibly dirty to vocalise your fantasies, yet Sunghoon seems more than thrilled by the idea you paint with your words.

He has always been the controlling type, commanding respect without arrogance, a quality that naturally makes people want to please him. Unfortunately, you've taken that want and twisted it into a filthy need.

Your boss delivers another firm smack to your ass, causing a gasp to escape your lips and a slick of your arousal to drip onto his polished shoe. He notices, but any reprimand is postponed; for now, he's focused on your communication skills to help you improve as an employee…of course.

Sunghoon’s touch is deliberate, each spank is a calculated act of dominance that leaves your skin tingling and your thoughts scattered. His hand moves with precision, alternating between stinging slaps and soothing caresses, creating a rhythm that both punishes and rewards.

He is nothing if not fair.

“Just spanking?” he teases, his fingers hooking into the band of your panties as he plays with it, feeling the lace on his skin. 

You quake at his touch, caught off guard by his question. His fingers toy with the delicate fabric, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. The air around you crackles with tension, thick with unspoken desire and the heady scent of arousal. 

“No, Sir.” You pause, gathering your thoughts. This is the one time to make your fantasies come to life, whatever you tell him now will probably be what you receive. You need to make sure this is everything you truly want, it could be the first and last time. “I imagine your fingers inside of me, calling me a good girl as I cum.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tenses, eyes closing behind you as the dirty confession sends an electric current through him. His hand tightens on your panties, a possessive grip that both excites and reassures. His controlled demeanour cracks slightly, revealing a raw hunger beneath the surface.

“You want my fingers inside you, hmm?” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “You want me to make you cum, to be my good girl?”

His words send a thrill through you, your body responding instinctively to his commanding presence. Sunghoon’s touch becomes bolder, sliding the lace of your panties aside to tease your folds, his fingers brushing against your wetness.

“You’re so wet,” he observes, his tone both approving and teasing. “Did my spanking turn you on this much?”

You nod, unable to form words as pleasure coils tight in your belly. Sunghoon’s fingers explore your slick heat, his touch igniting a fire that threatens to consume you. The desk supports your trembling form as he leans closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“I’m going to make you cum,” he whispers his voice a promise that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. “But first, you have to beg for it. Prove to me that you can use your voice.”

You whimper, the command sending a jolt of need through you. “Please,” you gasp, your voice pleading and desperate. “Please, Sir, I need it. I need your fingers inside of me, making me ready to take your cock.” You should be humiliated by how easily the sentences tumble from your mouth but the cocktail of your lust and his teasing touch make you weak.

Sunghoon’s lips curl into a satisfied smile, his fingers finding your clit and circling it slowly. “That’s it, you always have been a fast learner,” he murmurs, his touch sending sparks of pleasure to your heart. “So good for me.”

His words fuel your desire, the intensity building with each stroke of his fingers. Your body responds eagerly, hips pushing against his hand in a silent plea for more. His touches are slow and precise, giving just enough attention to your nub to make you want more before he drags his fingers down your folds and plays with your aching hole. 

Sunghoon’s eyes darken with intent, his fingers delving deeper into your slick folds. The teasing pace shifts, his touch becoming merciless as he thrusts his fingers inside you with an intensity that makes you gasp. Sunghoon’s control is absolute, his touch expertly bringing you closer to the edge. 

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks in a deep, governing tone. "Is this what you begged for?"

You can only groan in return, your body arching towards him, yearning for more. The sound of your wetness fills the room, mixed with your frantic whimpers as his fingers curl within you, finding the point that causes your vision to blur.

"Look at you," he says with a satisfied tone in his voice. "So eager and desperate. My good girl."

His words add another surge of pleasure and your hips move in sync with his unrelenting fingers. Every time he calls you a good girl, you swear a piece of your pussy and heart is imprinted with his name. The sensation is overpowering, with each stroke of his long fingers drawing you closer to the brink. You can feel your release building, like a coil of fire tightening in your centre.

Sunghoon’s thumb finds your clit, adding to the exquisite torment. He rubs it in slow, deliberate circles, the dual sensation making you cry out. The pleasure is almost too much, your body trembling with the intensity of it.

“You’re going to cum for me,” he demands, his voice a rough whisper. “I want to feel you tighten around my fingers. I want to hear you scream my name. Be vocal, don’t hold back.”

His directive is all you need. With a final effort, the cord inside you snaps, and your release crashes over you in waves. You shout out, his name on your lips, and your body convulses with delight. Sunghoon keeps moving his fingers inside you, prolonging the climax until you're a shaking, gasping mess.

You are so happy no one else in this building can hear you.

As your breathing slows, Sunghoon withdraws his fingers, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, savouring your taste with a hum of approval. His gaze locks onto yours, filled with a mix of satisfaction and lingering hunger.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to the floor where droplets of your release have landed on his shoe. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Before you can respond, he grabs your hair, yanking you up from the large desk. His body is still pressed behind you, his lips ghosting your lobe as he breathes heavily. “The next part of your assessment is following instructions. Clean it up,” he commands, his voice brooking no argument. “Use your tongue.”

Your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, but you nod, obediently lowering yourself to your knees. The sight of you on the floor, eyes filled with submission, seems to please him. His fingers trace your jawline before guiding your head downwards.

The leather of his shoe glistens with your essence, and you lean forward, your tongue darting out to lap at the droplets. The taste of yourself mixed with the leather is intoxicating, the saltiness of your release mingling with the rich, earthy flavour of the leather. You can feel Sunghoon’s eyes burning into you, watching every movement with rapt attention.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a low purr. “Make sure you get every drop. Lick it spotless.”

You work diligently, your tongue tracing over the shoe, cleaning every last bit of your release. The texture of the leather is smooth under your tongue, each lap bringing a mix of shame and excitement. You should not be this willing to humiliate yourself, especially in front of a man, but he makes it so easy to fall in line.

Sunghoon’s hand rests on the back of your head, a constant reminder of his control. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging and petting gently as you continue your task.

Once you’re finished, you sit back on your heels, looking up at him with pride and submission. Sunghoon’s eyes soften slightly, a hint of warmth breaking through his dominant facade. He crouches down, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips.

“You’ve done well,” he murmurs, his voice filled with approval. “But we’re not done yet.”

He stands, the glint of authority returning to his eyes as he begins to unbuckle his belt. The sound of the metal clinking sends a shiver down your spine, your gaze locked on his hands as they work with deliberate slowness. The belt slides free, and you can’t help but lick your lips in anticipation, the desire to touch him overwhelming.

As your hand moves forward, Sunghoon’s reflexes are swift. He catches your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Not until I tell you to,” he warns, his tone stern. “Don’t make me tie you up.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you nod, drawing your hand back to your side. The threat of being restrained hangs in the air, adding another layer of excitement. Part of you wishes that he would take that sleek black tie from his collar and wrap it around your wrists but you know that if you can’t touch him, you’ll go insane. 

Sunghoon releases your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes down his dress trousers and boxers, revealing his throbbing erection.

The sight of him, thick and pulsing with need, makes your mouth water. It’s fucking beautiful, so much more exquisite than in your sinful fantasies. You lean forward, eager to please, but he places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. “Patience,” he says, his voice a low growl. “You’ll get what you want, but on my terms. Don’t make me tell you again.”

He steps closer, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips. The warmth and hardness of him send a thrill through you, and you part your lips, ready to take him in. Sunghoon taps himself on your outstretched tongue a few times before he guides himself into your mouth, the taste of him filling your senses. You begin to suck gently, your tongue swirling around the head, savouring the salty tang of his pre-cum.

Sunghoon’s hand finds its way back into your hair, gripping tightly as he begins to move his hips. He pushes deeper, his cock sliding over your tongue and hitting the back of your throat. The sensation makes you gag slightly, but you relax your throat, allowing him to press further.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a husky whisper. “Take it all.”

He thrusts into your mouth with increasing intensity, each movement making your eyes water and your throat constrict around him. The feeling of being filled so completely is overwhelming, a mixture of discomfort and pleasure that sends a rush of heat through your body. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat, his cock sliding in and out with a rhythm that leaves you breathless.

Sunghoon’s grip tightens, and he begins to fuck your mouth with a relentless pace. Your hands clutch at his thighs for support, the muscles beneath your fingers tensing with each thrust. His breathing grows heavier, each exhale is a rough pant that tells you how close he is to coming undone.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his voice strained with lust. “Just a little more.”

With a final, deep thrust, he holds himself at the back of your throat, his cock pulsing as he reaches his climax. You feel the hot rush of his release, his cum spilling down your throat as he groans your name. You swallow eagerly, the taste of him lingering on your tongue as he slowly withdraws.

Sunghoon looks down at you, satisfaction evident in his eyes. He brushes a thumb over your swollen lips, smearing a bit of his cum across them before guiding you to stand. He kisses you deeply, the kiss a mix of dominance and raw need, a reward for your obedience. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting himself, which only drives him deeper into arousal.

The intensity of the kiss deepens, his hands roaming your body with a sense of urgency. He grips your hips, pulling you flush against him, the heat between you igniting. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and with a swift motion, he tears them away, the sound of the fabric ripping only adding to the raw desire between you.

You gasp into his mouth, the sudden exposure sending a thrill through your body. Sunghoon’s hands are everywhere, caressing, squeezing, exploring every inch of your skin. His touch is both possessive and reverent, each movement fuelled by a hunger that matches your own.

It’s wrong, he knows it, he should have stopped it at the spanking; he shouldn’t have started this at all. But when he heard you last night, moaning his name and cumming over the phone to his voice, it erupted a desire in him he hasn’t had for anyone in such a long time. 

Sunghoon has kept you as his assistant selfishly because he knows you are better suited in a lead role somewhere else in the company, your ideas and suggestions invaluable to the work that goes on here. Your potential is wasted by his side but he can’t let you go, not now, not ever.

He has never denied your beauty, a bonus to the intelligence you harbour inside of you. He just could never act on it, knowing that even a slight brush of his hand against yours could send him spiralling out of control.

And that is exactly what is happening now. He started with complete control and now he just wants to fuck you against every surface of his office, make you beg for more, and ruin your pathetic fantasies with the real deal.

Your hands find their way to his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons in your haste to undress him. Sunghoon’s mouth moves to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he helps you, shrugging off his shirt and letting it fall to the floor. Clothes fly and shoes scatter as you both lose yourselves in his office.

His hands grip your waist, lifting you with ease as his lips trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and over your breasts. Your legs wrap around his torso, seeking friction against the growing hardness pressing against you. You writhe in his hold, your body desperate for more, your arousal slicking his skin as you move to gain any sort of friction on your cunt.

Your mind, much like always, is going to places where he devours you and makes you his, only driving you to complete desperation. All those months of longing for your boss's cock and knowing that it’s simply inches away from your pussy makes you mewl out.

“Sir-”

“You want to beg some more?” he says cockily, smirking as his lips pepper kisses down to your collarbone and just above your top breast. Sunghoon’s mouth finds your nipple, sucking and biting gently, causing a moan to rip from your throat. His teeth are applying just enough pressure to hurt but not scar, tugging and rolling your nipple until you’re begging him.

“Please, Sir, I need you, I need your cock so badly.”

“Yeah? What perverted fantasies are twisted in your mind now?” His question is laced with curiosity and mockery, knowing exactly all the lewd thoughts that could cross your mind. 

His words send a shiver down your spine as he carries and pushes you up against the tall windows of his office. The cool glass contrasts sharply with the fevered heat of your bodies, making you gasp. The city skyline stretches out behind you, a silent witness to your passionate encounter.

He snarls at you, not in a demonic way - although his dark pupils could have fooled you - but no, he’s snarling like an animal looking at his prey, ready to pounce and ravage you in whatever way you want. 

Glancing behind you, you see the city and even though you know you are too high up for anyone to see you, a gleam of embarrassment shines from your face and your naked body cowering into itself as you hide from the outside world.

Noticing your sudden change in manner, Sunghoon scoffs, forcing you to look at him as he brings your face to meet his gaze, pressing you further against the window with his body to ensure you don’t escape. “What’s wrong, Y/N? You didn’t seem to mind an audience last night.”

You whimper, shaking your head. Of course, you didn’t mean to answer his call during your private session, letting lust take over your senses. But you somehow still have a fraction of your senses left, enough to know that drones fly by daily in this city, and what if birds actually do have cameras in their eyes? They could record you and post it on Twitter or something.

Your mind doesn’t just come up with elaborate scenarios for fucking your boss.

Sunghoon sees your focus drift to what-ifs and wraps his fingers around your throat, squeezing tightly to draw your attention back to him. His eyes are hooded, and the CEO that you know so well is gone, replaced with a primal man needing to devour you right in front of the city he so proudly claims as his home.

“You think anyone out there cares? Or can even see you?” he hisses, tightening his grip slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch. “You wanted these fantasies and I am being more than kind in fulfilling them considering I could have fired you, called HR and made sure you could never work in this industry again. But I’m fair, aren’t I? Generous, almost.”

“Yes, Sir,” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling. He has every right to say all of this to you because it’s true; he could have easily fired you and blacklisted you from every marketing company in the country, never mind the city. Yet, here he is, granting you your deepest fantasies and not firing you.

“That’s better,” he growls, his lips crashing down on yours in a bruising kiss. His hand moves from your throat to hoist you up further, so your cunt is in perfect alignment to meet his thrusts.

The cold glass against your back is a sharp contrast to the feverish heat radiating from both of your bodies. The city sprawls out behind you, an array of lights and buildings that seem distant and irrelevant compared to the intense connection you’re sharing with him. Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

His cock slides into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, each thrust a powerful reminder of his control over you, in both business and pleasure. The way he moves, precise and relentless, has your head spinning. The sensation of him filling you, stretching you, is overwhelming, but you crave more, arching your body to meet his every thrust. The slick sounds of your bodies coming together are loud in the quiet office, accompanied only by the occasional grunt or moan escaping his lips.

Sunghoon’s eyes are dark, almost predatory, as he watches you. There’s a hint of gratification in his gaze, knowing he has you completely at his mercy. His hands grip your hips tightly, guiding you to the perfect angle where every thrust hits that sweet spot deep inside you. The pleasure is blinding, white-hot, and it builds with every movement, a tight coil of desire that threatens to snap at any moment.

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out, nails clawing into your boss as his hips buck ferociously, the head of his cock dragging against the bumps of your walls so perfectly. It’s like his cock was made for you and you curse your dildo for never preparing you for how intense and good this feels.

His right hand crashes against your cheek, stinging across your skin. You moan out, relishing in the feeling. The CEO just slapped you and you fucking liked it.

“Don’t swear in my office,” he demands, slapping you once more but leaving his hand there to ease the pain. He adores punishment but also soothes you straight after.

Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps, the window fogging up behind you from the heat of your exertions. The cityscape outside is nothing more than a blur, your world narrowed down to the feel of his cock driving into you, the hard press of the glass against your back, and the delicious ache in your thighs as they wrap around his waist tighter.

“Such a fucking slut,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. “Sucking me in so good. Is this what you pictured while you fucked yourself with that pathetic excuse of a dildo? It’s nothing compared to my cock, is it?”

The words send a thrill of humiliation and arousal through you, making your cunt clench tighter around him. Of course, your toy is nothing compared to his long, thick cock. The pink dildo never hits up into your cervix like he does, and it certainly doesn’t bulge out your stomach. You didn’t think dicks like this existed except in books or porn, so to have him filling up every inch of you, is enough to send you reeling into a sex-crazed insanity.

His pace increases, thrusts becoming more forceful, and you can feel the desk beneath you shuddering with the intensity. Each stroke is a blend of pain and pleasure, reminding you that this is a punishment, a lesson you need to be taught.

You can feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation that starts low in your belly and radiates outward, making your toes curl and your vision blur. Sunghoon’s hands move to your ass, lifting you higher, allowing him to drive even deeper. The new angle has you crying out, the pleasure almost too intense, and you bury your face in his shoulder, biting down to stifle your screams.

The rhythm of his thrusts becomes erratic, and you know he’s close too. The thought of him losing control, even just a little, is enough to push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you, a violent wave of pleasure that has you shaking and crying out, your walls spasming around his cock.

He wraps his hand around your neck once again, squeezing tight as he claims you, your euphoria heightening as the air struggles to filter to your lungs.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. I want to be buried inside your tight cunt forever,” the admission throws you off balance, intensifying your high even more. His head rests on your shoulder as you grip his hair and tug at it, nodding in agreement. You never want him to leave, always attached to you in some way.

His words, raw and possessive, echo in your mind, amplifying the sensations coursing through your body. The heat between you is overwhelming, your bodies slick with sweat as the world outside the window fades away, leaving only the two of you in this feverish bubble of desire.

He follows you over the edge, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he empties himself inside you, the sensation of his hot release only prolonging your own pleasure. The feeling of his seed filling you, marking you, sends another wave of ecstasy through your body, your walls spasming around him, milking every last drop.

He stays buried deep within you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks. Even though his muscles ache from holding you up, he doesn’t let you fall, his hands gripping your throat and waist tightly. There’s an intimacy in the way he holds you, a possessiveness that speaks volumes about his intentions.

You’re both panting, the air between you thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Sunghoon’s gaze is still intense, but there’s satisfaction there now, a smug pride in knowing he’s thoroughly claimed you. He doesn’t want to say he owns you, but he definitely is never, ever letting you go.

His eyes scan your flushed face, taking in every detail, the way your lips are parted, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your chest rises and falls rapidly. He’s so glad he called you yesterday and so glad you answered. This, this moment, was worth every risk, every potential consequence. 

Sunghoon slowly pulls out of you, both of you wincing at the loss of connection. He carefully sets you down, your legs shaky as they touch the floor. You lean against the window for support, your body still tingling from the overwhelming pleasure.

“I’ll clean you up and then we need to go to the meeting. My notes?” He asks, the CEO persona in him slipping back into focus almost effortlessly.

“In the L drive of your computer,” you mumble, exhaustion taking over. He fucked you so good all you feel is relaxation in your spent body. You almost forget you have a whole day’s work to complete.

Sunghoon kneels to your limp body, caressing your face gently. “I’ll get you a coffee on the way there, I need you to be alert.” He leans close, his fingers dipping between your sore folds, gathering your mixed juices and plugging them back inside of you. “And you better be ready, I also think I lost the file for your appraisal.”

You shiver, knowing exactly what that means - your sins are far from over...

perm tag: @immortalvee , @snoopypupp, @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @iikeustar @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull

[poisonlove]

The Tour | w.a

Wednesday Addams X Fem reader

"People are like plants: it’s not the amount of light they receive, but the kind that determines if they bloom." - Anonymous

“I don’t want to do it, Enid,” Wednesday hisses through gritted teeth, casting a cold look at the blonde in front of her.

“It was my turn last year! Can’t you do me this favor just this once?” Enid responds, her tone a mix of sweetness and desperation, her eyes pleading with her roommate.

I decide to look away, letting my attention wander around the room’s decor. I had just arrived at Nevermore Academy, and the headmistress had assured me that someone would show me around. But it seems she had asked the wrong people.

I was born with two powers: super hearing and the ability to read minds. The latter I try to avoid as much as possible; it feels like invading people’s privacy. But with super hearing, there’s no way to turn it off. All I can do is try to distract myself by focusing on something that captures my attention.

One of the main reasons I avoid using my powers is the discomfort of hearing what people think and say about you. Discovering what others are hiding can be devastating, and...

Oh, look. There’s a hand walking by itself.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion, but a slight smile escapes me at the unusual sight.

“Is something amusing you?” Wednesday Addams asks with a hint of venom in her voice. I look up, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as her dark eyes lock onto mine with a chilling intensity.

Her body is rigid, her posture upright, and her head held high with an unshakable pride.

As soon as I meet her gaze, a strange sensation crosses my mind. Then, a phrase materializes in my thoughts: I don’t like this girl. The feeling of discomfort replaces my initial embarrassment.

Enough, Y/N, I think to myself. Stop reading thoughts.

“Sorry, she’s just like that...” Enid interjects with a nervous smile, shooting a sidelong glance at her friend.

“No, it’s fine,” I quickly reply, trying to mask my discomfort as I set my suitcase on the floor.

Wednesday huffs with a hint of annoyance and gracefully walks over to her desk. She grabs the bag that was on the chair and, before leaving the room, gives me one last look that makes me wish I could disappear. Then, without a word, she steps out of Ophelia Hall.

“I think you should follow her,” Enid suggests with a small smile.

I give her a small wave, almost as a thank you, and hurry to exit, trying to keep up with the small but surprisingly fast Wednesday Addams.

Wednesday walks ahead of me, her steps light but purposeful, as I try to match her pace. She doesn’t look back or check if I’m following, but her silence is a clear signal that she expects me to keep up.

Wednesday stops in front of a large wrought-iron gate that leads to a circular outdoor space. In the center stands an old and somewhat eerie fountain, with five paths branching off in different directions, forming a sort of pentagon.

“Welcome to the Pentagram,” she says in her usual flat, unenthusiastic tone. “This is the heart of Nevermore Academy. From here, you can access all the main areas of the school... and encounter the different ‘categories’ of students.”

I stop beside her, observing the area. There’s a strange energy in the air, as if something darker lurks beneath the seemingly tranquil surroundings.

Wednesday turns slowly to face me, her dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes it hard to look away. “Here at Nevermore, we’re not all the same,” she explains, gesturing vaguely towards the paths around the fountain. “There are vampires, of course. They’re not as charming as in the movies, but they consider themselves quite superior.”

She indicates one of the paths with a slight nod of her head. “Then there are werewolves... Enid is an example. Unlike vampires, at least werewolves have a sense of loyalty, though their pack mentality can be... irritating.”

Continuing, she shifts her gaze to another path. “Mermaids,” she says, with a note of slight disdain in her voice. “They’re natural manipulators. They can control minds with their voices, but they’re very appearance-conscious. Never trust a mermaid. They have a talent for deception.”

She takes a brief pause and then gestures towards another corner of the courtyard. “And then there are the Gorgons. Not exactly Medusas, but if they look you in the eye without their special glasses, you turn to stone. Literally.”

I watch her closely, trying to discern if there’s a hint of irony in her tone, but her face remains impassive.

“Finally, there are those who don’t fit into any specific category,” she concludes, looking up at the dark sky above us. “The anomalies. People like me.”

“What do you mean by ‘anomalies’?” I ask, intrigued.

Wednesday stops and turns to face me, her black eyes shining with an intensity that makes it difficult to look away. “Anomalies,” she begins, “are people who don’t fit into the predefined groups of Nevermore. They don’t fall into common categories like vampires, werewolves, or mermaids. They are... different in ways that our classification can’t always explain.”

She looks at me with an expression that suggests how little she understands my curiosity. “They are individuals who possess unusual abilities or characteristics that defy the usual labels. Some may have strange powers, while others simply don’t conform to expectations.”

Her words leave me with a sense of wonder and a touch of unease. “So, students who don’t belong to any of the main groups are considered anomalies?”

“Exactly,” Wednesday confirms.

I remain silent for a moment, reflecting on what she has said. “Then I suppose I belong to this group.”

Wednesday gazes at me with attentive eyes. There’s a subtle shift in her expression, as if my question has finally piqued her interest. “What powers do you have?” she asks, her voice softer, almost interrogative.

My heart beats a little faster. I’ve never liked talking about my powers, but I can’t avoid this conversation. “I can... hear thoughts. And I have super hearing. Though I try to avoid using telepathy, out of respect for others’ privacy.”

As soon as I say this, I notice a slight stiffening in Wednesday’s shoulders. Instinctively and somewhat awkwardly, she raises her hands, bringing them near her head as if to build an invisible barrier around her mind for protection. The gesture is oddly endearing, a contrast to her usual unflappable demeanor.

“Are you reading my thoughts right now?” she asks, with a calm exterior, but her guard is clearly up.

“No!” I reply quickly, also raising my hands as if to demonstrate my innocence. “I never do it intentionally... unless it’s an emergency. I really do respect other people’s boundaries.”

Wednesday watches me for a long moment, scrutinizing every detail of my face as if trying to decide whether to trust my answer. Then, slowly, she lowers her hands, although she still seems cautious.

“It’s... an annoying power,” she comments finally. “It’s not very common here. Nevermore students tend to be very protective of their secrets.”

I lower my gaze, feeling embarrassed. “I know. That’s why I try not to use it.”

Wednesday gives a small nod of approval and, without adding anything else, turns and begins walking towards one of the paths in the Pentagram. After a few steps, she stops and looks back at me.

“Are you going to stand there staring all day, or do you plan on following me?” she asks in her flat tone. “The tour isn’t over.”

I take a deep breath and hurry to follow her. It seems that Nevermore still has many secrets to reveal... and Wednesday has no intention of slowing down for anyone.

Wednesday continues to lead me through the corridors of Nevermore, passing by groups of students chatting or hurrying to their destinations. She doesn’t seem to notice anyone around her, walking with a decisive and assured stride, expecting me to follow without question.

After navigating various narrow passages and dark staircases, we finally arrive at a pair of imposing dark wooden doors. Wednesday opens them without hesitation, revealing a vast hall filled with towering shelves brimming with books that seem as ancient as the school itself. The soft light adds an almost mystical touch to the environment.

“This is Nevermore's library,” Wednesday says in her usual flat tone. “A place many students use as an excuse for making out in hidden corridors or, worse, for reading poorly-written romance novels.”

I can’t help but smile slightly. “That’s not really my genre,” I reply, admiring the massive collection of books. “I prefer something more... stimulating. Like mystery or horror.”

Wednesday stops abruptly and turns toward me, with a slightly curious expression. Her dark eyes scrutinize me as if trying to determine whether I’m serious or just trying to impress her.

“Interesting,” she murmurs with a faint smile.

She gestures for me to follow as she makes her way through the library and heads toward the exit.

“So,” she begins in a measured tone, “if you prefer mystery and horror, who are your favorite authors? I hope you don’t just name the usual clichés.”

I sense that she’s testing me, seeing if I truly have an authentic knowledge of those genres. I think for a moment and then answer confidently. “Shirley Jackson, for example. Few manage to capture the hidden horror in everyday banality like she does.”

For a moment, I see something change in Wednesday’s expression. It’s uncommon to see her surprised, but it seems that the name I just mentioned has struck a chord with her. Her lips curl slightly into a barely perceptible smile.

“Shirley Jackson,” she repeats, as if savoring the name. “Finally, someone with good taste. We Have Always Lived in the Castle is a masterpiece of unease and despair.”

I can’t help but feel a bit satisfied for having passed her test. Wednesday continues to observe me for a few more seconds, then turns and resumes walking. Although she doesn’t say anything, there’s a new dynamic between us, a sort of mutual respect that wasn’t there before.

“Follow me,” she says finally. “There’s still much more to see.”

Wednesday continues to lead me through the school with her determined stride, guiding me down a long corridor that leads outside. We cross the courtyard and head toward a separate building, surrounded by climbing plants and well-tended shrubs.

“This is the greenhouse,” Wednesday says as we open the glass door. Inside, the greenhouse is a tangle of exotic plants, some with an unsettling appearance, with flowers in unnatural colors and leaves that seem to move on their own. “Here, the rarest and most poisonous plants are cultivated. Mortality biology, as I prefer to call it.”

As we observe a plant with leaves that shift slightly as we pass, Wednesday turns to me. “The greenhouse is managed by Professor Thornhill. Many people like to spend time here, but only a few truly understand the lethal potential of what grows here.”

I nod, a little intrigued and a little unsettled. The air is thick with intense scents, some sweet, others sharp, but all decidedly... strange.

Wednesday doesn’t linger longer than necessary. “Let’s go,” she says, quickly exiting as if the greenhouse is just one of many stops of the day.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, we arrive at the Nevermore gymnasium. We enter, and the atmosphere changes dramatically. The room is vast and well-lit, with walls adorned with ancient swords and shields, and fencing equipment neatly arranged. Some students are engaged in intense fencing sessions, maneuvering their swords with extraordinary skill, while others are working out with exercises that combine agility and strength in almost supernatural ways.

“The gym,” Wednesday says with a tone that reveals her disinterest. “Here many seek to refine their combat and fencing skills. It’s a place of competition and discipline. Personally, I prefer to exercise the mind rather than the body. However, if you like the idea of facing others in duels and tests of strength, this is the place.”

I watch the students training fervently, their swords glinting under the fluorescent lights, and the fluid and precise movements of their techniques. It seems like a dynamic and competitive environment, very different from the other areas of the school.

Wednesday continues to walk, passing by the ongoing training. “It’s not my ideal environment, but every corner of Nevermore has its purpose,” she adds, casting a distracted glance at the room. “Don’t worry if it doesn’t seem like your kind of place. Many students feel at home here, but there are others who prefer different spaces to express their abilities.”

Although this part of the school is vibrant and full of energy, it’s not the kind of place where I would feel comfortable. But, as Wednesday says, every place has its role, and Nevermore seems to have a spot for every type of person.

Wednesday gestures for me to follow her again, and we head toward another room. As we enter, the smell of food immediately hits us. The large space is crowded with students talking among themselves as they line up to get food or sit at long tables.

“The cafeteria,” Wednesday comments, observing the environment with an almost disgusted air. “Where the common people eat and socialize. If you’re lucky, you might find a quiet corner. But don’t expect much in terms of culinary quality.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her comment. The chaotic atmosphere of the cafeteria makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, but at least it’s warmer compared to the greenhouse and gym.

“We won’t stay here,” Wednesday says quickly, leading me out again. We move toward a quieter, more serene part of the school.

Wednesday guides me down the corridors of Nevermore, her pace steady and unyielding. “So, you’ve seen almost everything,” she says, breaking a silence that had only been interrupted by our footsteps. “If you have any other questions, now’s the time.”

Taking advantage of her openness, I ask, “I’ve noticed that everyone wears the purple uniform except for you. Why?”

Wednesday raises an eyebrow and gives me a scrutinizing look. “The purple uniforms are standard for all students at Nevermore. They represent a sense of belonging and uniformity. However, my black attire is a personal choice.”

Her answer seems a bit cryptic, so I continue probing. “But is there a specific reason you wear black? It’s not a rule, is it?”

Wednesday smiles slightly, an expression that could be interpreted as a kind of personal satisfaction. “Black is a manifestation of my style and preferences. It’s not so much a rebellion against norms as it is a statement of individuality.”

“I see,” I say, reflecting on her comment. “So it’s a conscious choice that reflects your personality.”

“Exactly,” Wednesday replies with a tone suggesting that the conversation might be closing there.

“Do you know where your room is?” Wednesday asks, raising her gaze with an impatient question.

I raise an eyebrow and reply with a subtle smile, “It’s practically yours.”

Wednesday looks at me with intensity, as if evaluating my answer. “I know, but I have to go somewhere else, and I’m not sure if you know how to get there.”

“I can find it,” I say calmly. “Thanks for the tour.”

As I look at her, I notice her eyes fixate on me with a penetrating intensity. I take a moment to observe her closely. Her figure is petite and slender, but she exudes a presence that fills the space around her. Her black hair is neatly styled in two braids that fall down her back. Her pale face is dotted with subtle freckles that seem to peek timidly above her nose and on her cheeks. These small details add an unexpected dimension to her austere beauty.

Her dark eyes are like two deep wells reflecting an eerie light, and her thin, well-groomed eyebrows accentuate her detached expression. She wears the black school uniform, which fits perfectly with her elegant figure and stern demeanor. Her movements are fluid and measured, imparting an aura of control and authority.

In her mind, I catch the thought: I don’t know if she’s reading, but this girl is really interesting. My cheeks involuntarily flush.

Wednesday, noticing my embarrassment, tilts her head slightly to the side and adds with a faint smile, She’s cute when she blushes

I try to look away and calm the redness on my face, feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. “Again, thanks for the tour,” I say, trying to keep my composure.

Wednesday gives a nod of approval and resumes walking, leaving me with thoughts about her words and the impression of how Nevermore can be both fascinating and enigmatic.

[nova2kss]

No chill

Plug!Connie x black reader

Ever since you and Connie first had sex, he’s had NO chill.Connie didn’t necessarily do anything for you to block him, he only gave you the best dick and aftercare of your life and damn near had you in love with him.

That’s why he absolutely HAD to be blocked otherwise you would’ve probably be impregnated with his seed right now! Per your request.

You knew Connie had been trying to get in contact with you from the various text now numbers that have swarmed your phone since the morning he woke up expecting to see you on his bed side, only for him to wake up to you long gone with no way of contacting you.

His first instinct that morning was to text your mutual friend Sasha and figure out what the fuck was going on, there was absolutely no way in hell you were about to give him some heavenly pussy and then block him on everything including TikTok.

Connie had to find a way to see you and if you weren’t going to face him like the grown woman you claim you are he would have to come up with a way to make you see him.

You sprayed your face with the urban decay all nighter setting spray, the night you were about to have with your friends Sasha and Mikasa you needed your makeup on all damn night!

Just finished flat ironing that all black 30 inch buss down, applying gloss, and blinking the FUCK out your mink eyelashes, you felt unstoppable right now.

The outfit you wore was basic, but the face made up for it, besides according to Sasha she was just throwing a small kickback with a few familiar friends EXCLUDING Connie.

You had to make sure the excluding Connie was very much mentioned when she pitched the idea, and she promised you that he wouldn’t be there even tho she had no idea why you don’t want him around you anyway.

You couldn’t tell her cause it would be far to embarrassing to say “I can’t be around him because the dick is toooo good and I’m gonna become an obsessed dickmatized slut if I keep talking to him”

Not that it was any of their business anyway.

As you were getting lost in your thoughts you got a text from your group chat

“Y/nnnnn we’re outsideeee”

Getting up so excitedly after not being out the house for so long, it felt nice to finally get out the house and even it was for just for a few moments.

Walking out of your apartment doors you spot Sasha’s blacked out kia k5, sash in the passenger since Mika didn’t drink she would’ve been the designated driver.

Hopping in the car happy as fuck! To see your girls after a long time, when you got in reaching up to the front to give them hugs you noticed the opened Don Julio and Hennessy bottles sitting under Sasha feet.

“Damn bitch you started without me?”laughing as she was already bending down to pass you one of the bottles

“I’m sorry pookie I couldn’t wait, you know I wasn’t gone leave you hanging tho” sash responded laughing obviously tipsy

Taking your sip twisting your face as the burning sensation hit the back of your throat, it was never a feeling you could get used to.

The effects you loved tho.

Mikasa driving while west district by party next door played had you zoned out and before you knew it you were outside of Sasha’s big ass house

Multiple cars parked around the block, and at this point you were confused cause it was supposed to be a small kick back??

“Umm Sasha this is a big ass party” you could literally even see people splashing around in the pool.

“It was supposed to fucking be” she said visibly upset

She seemed to have sobered up seeing all these people here, it was evident that she didn’t know all these people were gonna be here.

She immediately got up and stormed inside looking to see where would yall friend group be since somebody in there had to be the culprit that told one to many mofucking people, and of course you and Mika stormed right behind her cause who was running they mouth like that.

as soon as y’all spotted yall group you all stormed over there

Until you spotted a familiar face that had you stopping in your tracks.

Upon Sasha running up to the corner the resided in heads turned toward her, seeing Sasha Connie instantly turned his head past her looking for you.

And he seen you, frozen and confused, his eyes seemed to have darken looking at you, and you didn’t know what thoughts ran through his head you just know they weren’t good ones.

Slipping past an upset Sasha making his way towards you his brown eyes locked on yours.

You don’t know why you didn’t move, walk away, or just leave.

Part of you wanted to see him yes possibly for an apology maybe but the other part really didn’t, I mean there was a reason you blocked him right?

His hand touched yours bringing you out of your thoughts, you weren’t scared just confused because why is he not mad at you?

“Hi..?” The tone of confusion is very evident on your voice

Connie didn’t respond with words, instead he quickly wrapped his hand around your neck bringing you face to face.

“Why’d you block me y/n”

You were to stunned and turned on to speak, his grip tightened around your neck making you whimper and close your eyes

“You don’t wanna speak baby? Mhm k” he let go of your neck and grabbed your hand leading you to the steps of the home

The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy as You could only imagine what he was about to do to you.

“Mmph mmphhhhh”

The squelching as Connie fucking your throat was absolutely disgusting.

His hands resided on the sides of your face roughly thrusting into your mouth as you sat in front of him on your knees, spit dripping down his shaft and down your chin.

“Ouuu fuck ma” Connie hisses

“You don’t wanna tell me why? Ima just have to fuck it out of you baby”

He gripped your hair, pulling you away from his dick, gasping for air as you came up.

With one hand on your hair and the other resting below your chin he looked down at you

“Open your mouth” complying with no further complaints Connie spat directly on to your tongue not letting you swallow before sticking his fingers down your mouth.

Pushing you backward onto the bed he sat on his knees, grabbing your thighs before licking a long stripe up to your clit.

The moan you let out was audible, your skirt still on thong to the side as Connie constantly lapped up on your juices.

The fingers that were previously in your mouth began to rub ferociously at your clit while he tongue fucked you.

You Tried to push his head away, an unsuccessful attempt to get away from the brutal pleasure you were receiving

It was all to much

“Co-con pleaseee, oh myyy FUCKKK”

The orgasm washed over you quicker than you anticipated it to.

Your juices rushing out against his face as he desperately tried to suck up every last drop, while rubbing against your clit with his four fingers.

It was all to much and you felt like you seriously couldn’t take it, not when even after you squirted all on his face he still was licking your soaked slit.

“Mmphhh”, his long arms wrapped around your thighs as you tried to run as he kept his face nuzzled into your pussy.

“Stop trynna run from me mama” his arms had your legs on lock you couldn’t move

“He gave your sensitive bud one last lick before he came up gripping your neck pulling you in for the sloppiest kiss.

“Vas a decirme por qué me bloqueaste, incluso si tengo que joderte, bebé”

You had no idea what he just said, but to be honest you don’t really care with the way he had your ankles resting on his shoulders, just watching him stroke his thick veiny shaft.

His reddened tip had pre cum leaking out of it

He took his thumb and wiped some of it sticking his thumb in your mouth making you moan at the salty taste

“You so wet for me mama” he moaned sliding his tip up your slit

The gasp you both let out as he slipped inside of you was universal

He laid his head by yours as you wrapped your legs and arms around

Moaning at the feeling of his thick cock stretching out your warm walls

The feeling was so so good it had you moaning at the thought of just getting fucked by him.

“Connie m-move please baby”

He followed your command slowly pushing more in groaning slightly

“You want me to fuck you baby?”

“Mhm hmmm” you answered so quickly shaking your head

“No y/n I told you this last time” he said grabbing your chin lightly slapping your face “do you want me to fuck you?” The whine you let out was so desperate.

He was so sexy being this dominant

“Yes Connie please fuck me”

His thrust sped up immediately

Your neck was his hands resting place as he fucked into you

You felt so good right now his moans in sync with yours

In fact everything was in sync

The rhythm of everything matched together perfect like a puzzle piece

His hot heavy breathing in your air had you feral

“Oh my fu… Connie you’re so deeppp”

You swear you felt him in your brainnnnn, this is why you couldn’t keep talking to this man he was hitting it so right.

“Where you feel me at baby”

You couldn’t respond, not with the way he was fucking on you

“Y/n talk to me” he wanted you to speak cause he had a lot of things to question you about.

“Con I can’t” you cried out, eyes shut legs shaking, and your orgasm nearing

“Oh yes you can mama, if You can tell me you can’t you can tell me where you feel this dick y/n”

You moaned, he was talking to you so nasty and you loved it

“I feel it baby” you whined in response

“right here” your hand lightly rested on the bottom of your stomach

His hand reach down pressing onto your lower abdomen making your mouth form an O shape

“Oh shit connieee fuck”

“Mhmm I know mami, I know”

The pressure, combined with his slow sloppy strokes had you about to come.

“Connie I’m gonna cum, oh fuck I’m gonna cum”

The words were rushing out of your mouth quicker than you can think.

“Cum for me baby, cum on this dick baby”

And that you did with a long drawn out moan you were squirting and creaming all over his throbbing dick.

“Oh fuck ma” his thrust were slowing down trying not to nut with you

“Intentas volverme loco en este coño y dejarte embarazada, ¿eh?”

He pulled out slowly rubbing against your slit

“Turn around and get on all fours”

“Connie.” You puffed out of breath

“Nah turn around, you still gotta tell me why you blocked me mama.”

AHHHH I need him so bad

Did y’all like it? And as always not proof read

The first ep of influencer island is coming….once I start writing it 🙂‍↕️

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Wondered If I Could Come Home? (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- It’s been 4 months since you last saw Astarion and 3 months since you killed the Netherbrain with your other companions. Shortly after, you settled down in Silverymoon to begin a life out there and try to push Astarion out of your mind- except it can never be that easy. You shortly discover you are pregnant with his child- a child that could kill you during childbirth. Scared and alone- Shadowheart stays with you to help you deliver the baby and keep you alive.

While out at the local market, Shadowheart runs into Gale and invites him over for dinner. Gale has unexpected company.

CW: Pregnancy, mentions of potential death during birth, mentions of nudity, mentions of NSFW smut

To my fellow DND fans- no this is probably not canon compliant, yes I’m upset about that, but look I really needed to write this so sue me I guess

Author note- Self indulgent, I have baby fever, but don’t want a baby fic. I’m unsure of how long this will be or if it will have more parts-it depends on how angsty I feel, but I need to have like six different ideas to think about at a time soooo 😂

*This hasn’t been edited ✨well✨so please forgive me

*again, no fucking clue who’s picture it is, but it sure as shit isn’t mine so if it’s yours- reach out so I can give credit!

You keep yourself propped up against the sink in the kitchen as Shadowheart holds your hair out of your face and dabbing away the cold sweat that drips down your neck.

You are really sick of being morning sick. It’s absolutely the worst thing in the world- well besides your potential death from carrying your little girl inside of you. You sometimes think Astarion may get his wish- you may just die screaming.

You dry heave one last time- not a single thing comes up because you haven’t kept a single thing down since two mornings ago. Your morning sickness is inconsistent and comes on with little to no warning.

It’s been five months since you conceived this fricken kid, but it was like all the symptoms hit after you killed the Netherbrain.

A part of you really wishes you had somehow known before then- maybe it would have changed the cruel fate that ended your relationship with Astarion. You were literally pregnant in the middle of fighting Cazador. You think about what he last said to you all the time and just sob hysterically- like it happened yesterday.

A deeper part of you feels abandoned, but you blame yourself for him leaving. You should have been more convincing or maybe you shouldn’t have flat out told him no and explained why in the hells you didn’t want him to ascend.

For example- you didn’t want to lose him to some evil version of himself.

Ironically, you lost him anyway and are pregnant with his fucking child who insists on occasionally making you miserable.

Despite your inherent sadness, anger, and sickness, you find you are actually quite excited to meet her. You haven’t settled on a name yet and Shadowheart has been very helpful in regards to making sure you are healthy and strong for delivery. She’s your best friend and you could not be more grateful for her.

“I’ll go back to the market today and get you more of those herbs,” Shadowheart says quietly when she talks to you, “they seemed to help last time?”

You nod- exhausted and your head is pounding. You and this kid are going to need to have a serious conversation. You will not be letting a second Acunin make you miserable before she is ever born.

Shadowheart guides you to your bed upstairs, standing behind you in case you get hit with a wave of vertigo- which usually happens post vomit episode.

You pull your curtains closed- thankful that the desperate hope in your heart led you to buying black out curtains. You close your door and lay down on your bed- tears spilling down your cheeks freely.

You miss him terribly. You shouldn’t. You should positively hate him, but everyday of this pregnancy makes you ache for him. You should be doing this together.

You know it’s hormones- the weepiness, the intense longing, and the Gods awful horniness. Dreams are the worst. You wake up a squirming disaster at least three times a week with your skin burning hot with memories of Astarion touching you.

You are happy that isn’t the case currently, but the weepiness sucks too. Remembering how he used to curl around you, the way it felt to have him kiss you on the forehead, and all those late night conversations with (now empty) promises. You curl yourself around your pillows, willing your imagination to pretend it’s him, and you sob until you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion tries to contain his excitement and fear as he follows Gale and Shadowheart to your home. Finally, after searching for literal months, he was going to see you again.

Astarion has been haunted by the last words he had said to you for what feels like eons now. He hadn’t meant it at the time and he certainly doesn’t mean it now.

He had been too afraid to come back to you after everything he had said. Astarion decided you probably hate him anyway so he tried to move on.

He tried being with other people (it always failed miserably because they weren’t you), he drank until he couldn’t remember a damn thing, and when all else failed, he began his search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

After the nightlife of Baldur’s Gate lost it’s appeal and he finally found a ring location, Astarion found himself in front of Gale’s door in Waterdeep- begging him of all people to help him.

The wizard had been puzzled and melancholy when he realized Astarion was at his door. Astarion told him every little piece of how he feels about you, how much he misses you, and how he wants to be able to give you the life that you deserve. Astarion was practically on the verge of hysteria while trying to make his case.

Thus began the search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

They were able to locate and obtain one after a grueling three month long journey and some help from one of Gale’s old friends. Then, they headed straight to Silverymoon- your last known whereabouts.

Running into Shadowheart had felt like a miracle, but to also have her living with you had made the trip even easier. Except Shadowheart was being really really weird towards him.

When Gale first asked if Astarion could come along too, Shadowheart had asked Astarion why he wanted to come and see the person he “hoped died screaming?”

Astarion had flinched at the anger and venom in Shadowheart’s voice. He figured the others would be mad, but he was hoping maybe Shadowheart would give him a little easier time like Gale had. Astarion was genuinely surprised by how quick she was to be defensive of you and your whereabouts. When Gale confirmed that Astarion was telling the truth, Shadowheart reluctantly said he could come.

The three arrive at the front of your shared townhome- it faces the beach and has the perfect amount of windows for the sun to light up the house, but one of the rooms is hidden from sight with heavy, black out curtains.

Shadowheart turns to both of them, “Tav might not be able to join us… she’s been sick for a bit now and is… recuperating.”

Astarion feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Sick? For how long?”

Shadowheart shifts on her feet uncomfortably, “5 months, but it got worse around 3 months.”

“Tav has been sick for that long?” Gale exclaims, “why didn’t you write!? I could have helped.”

“This particular affliction is one you wouldn’t understand,” Shadowheart says with a finality that suggests the conversation is done as she leads them into the kitchen.

Shadowheart immediately gets fussing with the herbs while Gale looks around the house. Astarion is still unsure of what he should be doing. The house engulfs him in your scent and he feels positively intoxicated. You must be really sick though because your scent smells different- not bad at all, just different.

Does he talk to Shadowheart? Does he look around with Gale?

Or does he sneak off and find you? Astarion doesn’t want to waste anymore time than he already has. Slowly, he creeps towards the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it, Astarion,” Shadowheart warns.

Astarion looks at her and then back at the stairs. He does this a couple times until Shadowheart appears to be annoyed enough that she’s let her guard down a bit.

Astarion takes off up the steps and he hears Shadowheart and Gale coming up right behind him.

Astarion hears a dry heave from down the hallway and he goes racing for the door.

If you are as sick as Shadowheart has suggested (5 months is crazy long), Astarion may not have much time with you and Gods he needs to take advantage of the time he does have.

Shadowheart be damned.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up feeling even worse than you did when you fell asleep. Your headache feels like it’s taken on a life on it’s own and Gods you are going to vomit all over the floor if you don’t move NOW!

You get up with an impossible amount of speed for how dizzy you are and you grab the pail on your nightstand and heave painfully.

You are rocking back and forth, groaning as more stomach acid comes up because again, not able to even keep anything down.

You hear a pair of footsteps and then Shadowheart screaming after-

“ASTARION! THEY ARE SICK! YOU NEED TO WAIT!”

“I have been looking for them for months now,” you hear him hiss, “if they are sick, I need to see them. If this has lasted five months- then who knows how much time I’ve wasted!”

“Will you stop being selfish for five minutes!? It’s not about you and who even says she wants to see you!?”

Shadowheart and Astarion are yelling in front of your door now. You feel tears prick your eyes- Astarion is here. Here here. A flurry of excited kicks from inside you catches your attention and a feeling of blissful happiness comes over you. Oh look, the nausea is gone. Of course it is.

“Traitor,” you whisper before laying down on your bed for a moment.

You are very happy that your unborn daughter appears to be pleased and feels good about her dad being on the other side of the door. You, on the other hand, are less than optimistic.

Wasted time doing what? And why did Shadowheart say I was sick!? In what world was that going to keep him from going upstairs!? Especially if he, your mind pauses, cares about me? Again?

Which you hope he does- you would hope Shadowheart wasn’t so sick of taking care of you that she brought him here to finish the job. Maybe this is all one big show.

Another, “I WILL DO WHAT I PLEASE” from Astarion, a “YOU SELFISH BASTARD” from Shadowheart, and a “Please can’t we all just be nice, catch up, and get along?” from Gale finally gives you the motivation to get up. The arguing feels far too much like being in camp again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing the growing headache to go away.

It doesn’t so you change into a pair of longer cotton pajama pants, a t-shirt that is unfortunately showing off your bump more than you’d like, and then you swing open the door in tired annoyance.

You are met with Astarion looking at you- his eyes scanning up and down your body- settling on your stomach. His expression is unreadable- it’s somewhere between lust, love, grief, and heartbreak. Embarrassed by Astarion’s intense gaze, you look over at Gale who is all smiles for you.

“Congratulations Tav!!!” Gale practically yells, making you wince, “the father is a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he considers himself a lucky man,” you say pointedly before turning to Astarion, “or do you?”

Astarion’s face changes entirely with your words. His eyes look at you, round and soft. His eyes are full of adoration and need- a look you never thought he would give you again. You have to fight the urge to grab him and drag him into your bedroom. You will not let the hormones win- you will be strong.

“I- it’s- I mean,” Astarion is fumbling over his words, “you are carrying my child?”

“Yes,” you say grumpily, crossing your arms,” and she’s been giving me nothing but trouble. Thanks to your genetics, I’m sure. This is day two of not being able to keep a damn thing down and this fucking headache is UNBEARABLE so please for the love of every God keep the arguing down.”

Astarion is still looking at you with a mystified expression- taking you in as if for the first time in his entire life. You look back towards Gale and Shadowheart- you are entirely too self-conscious and way too excited to see him for him to be looking at you like that. You are trying to be mad dammit!

Shadowheart gazes at you and your surely red tipped ears with amusement before she says, “I’ll go and get the potion ready for you- that should hopefully help.”

“I will- uh,” Gale says awkwardly, looking between you and Astarion, “join you! I might need to know which herbs to use… in the future?”

“Planning on getting pregnant Gale?” You say with a smirk.

Gale snorts at you, “Dear friend, as wonderful as you look right now- none of the side effects sound appealing.”

“Oh they most certainly aren’t,” you say,” but thanks for thinking I look ‘wonderful’. I feel, well, disgusting.”

“Gods, how could you even think that?” Astarion blurts out, appearing shocked that he even said it, “you look like…. A vision. A wonderful, stunning vision, Darling.”

Shadowheart and Gale excuse themselves as you struggle to find the words for Astarion’s comment. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you feel yourself begin to melt a little bit. You feel your emotions bloom into something resembling spring as he steps closer to you- looking at you with pleading eyes.

You clear your throat, “would you like to come into my room and talk?”

Astarion nods eagerly, following behind you so close that you once again have to remind yourself that ripping off the clothes of someone who literally told you they wanted you to die screaming was not healthy- at least not until you get a proper apology.

You sit against your headboard as Astarion walks around your room- running his fingers along the bassinet and rocking chair in the corner. You still can’t get a read on him.

“A girl?”

His question breaks the air.

“Yes,” you smile at him, “no name yet though.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick a nice one,” he says with a smile, but his tone is entirely too melancholic.

A painful thump in your heart fills your body with sadness. He doesn’t want to be involved. Of course he doesn’t want to be involved. You are his knocked up ex-girlfriend. What were you expecting? The lump forming in your throat is unbearable.

“You don’t want to be involved?”

Oh good Gods you are crying. Astarion rushes over to you the minute your tears begin to fall- sitting in front of you on the bed. He reaches out and gently wipes your tears away as he speaks.

“I want to be involved so badly it hurts,” his voice comes out scratchy and emotional, “but that is your decision, not mine. You have been on your own for months, my Love. Instead of trying to come back and make it better- I pushed it off until I thought I could give you what you deserved- a life in the sun.”

You almost whine in protest when his hands leave your face. He twists the ring around his index finger before continuing, avoiding your gaze, “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe what you deserve is a person that isn’t so damaged. Someone who can give you what you actually deserve which is a loving partner who hasn’t hurt you over and over again- a man worthy of being a father to ou- I mean your child.”

His confession and the tears that are streaming down his face are enough for you. Yes, you absolutely want to scream and yell at him, but you also ache for him. You can’t fault the man for being a slave for 200 years and then not taking it very well when you told him what to do. You always knew you would forgive him if he came back- you never thought he would, but here he is and like he said- there is no reason to keep wasting time.

“She is our child, Star,” you whisper and guide his eyes to look at you, “I want you to be involved. I don’t care what you think I deserve either. I have missed you so horribly since you left. It’s almost pathetic really. I’ve tried to blame it on the hormones, but… I don’t know. The picture has felt incomplete up until now.”

You absentmindedly put your hand on your stomach- receiving a kick. You glare at the place where your hand is resting.

“Will you stop kicking me for five minutes!?” You scream, “I WAS IN THIS BODY FIRST!”

Astarion looks at you bewildered and confused, but quickly realizes you aren’t talking about him. The smile that spreads across his face is wide and Astarion gingerly moves closer. You are still a little cautious- needing to protect not only yourself, but also your unborn child. He moves to the right of you and goes to move you just slightly so he can slip in behind you.

“Could I? I mean if it’s not crossing any boundaries!”

Astarion is on edge- you can tell that much, but he doesn’t look at you like he did that last time you saw him- Astarion is looking at you like you are the most precious individual who has ever walked this earth.

You nod shyly, and then Astarion slots himself behind you, your back against his chest, his face in the crook of your neck, and his legs on either side of yours. He cautiously puts his hands on your stomach and is immediately kicked.

Astarion laughs with joy, “she’s strong!”

“Strong willed and strong physically,” you shake your head and you are laughing a bit now too, “you may just get your wish yet.”

“What wish?”

It had slipped. You hadn’t meant to bring it up again- or maybe you did. You want to know for sure if he still feels that way, but the confusion in his voice says he doesn’t. You go rigid and go to dismiss it when you feel his posture change behind you, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“Right… that.”

The silence is nerve-wracking. You’ve lost him again, you are sure of it. A stray tear begins to roll down your cheek.

“Astarion-“

“No, let me think, Darling. I want to make sure I say everything I want to say correctly.”

You continue to sit there in silence, he places soft kisses on your neck. You feel him smile against your skin at the needy moan that escapes your lips. You absentmindedly reach out for one of his hands and begin to play with his fingers while he thinks. Astarion used to let you do this all the time while you were traveling- it helps you feel grounded.

“I was so consumed by all that power in the moment,” he says slowly, “I wasn’t thinking. By the time I had realized what I had done, I felt like it was already too late- you most likely hated me and moved on.”

You have to bite your tongue- you want to scream. Hate him? Never. You had been miserable without him around for that last month of traveling. Your heart had felt like a dead weight in your chest and you had been moving around like a zombie.

“So I tried to move on… I even tried to be with others, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s selfish, but I want you. I never want anything bad to happen to you- I certainly don’t ever want you to die screaming. I don’t want you to ever carry a child that is not mine.”

You are surprised by the warmth in your core when he says his last sentence. There is something so primal there that you have to really focus on what he is saying next.

Astarion clears his throat before finishing speaking, “I don’t want to be without you anymore- four months is too long. I don’t want to miss out on anymore of your pregnancy and I want to be here for you- with you- doing this together like we should have been doing this whole time. I was a horrible fool- please give me another chance. Please, Darling. I love you- so so much more than I ever thought anyone could ever love someone.”

Astarion’s words hang in the air and you are trying not to begin crying for the 15th billion time. This is what you had wanted to hear all along. You can feel his tears on the collar of your shirt- the way he inhales as if to memorize your scent like this is the last time. Astarion is not expecting you to say yes- you know that because he’s starting to loosen up, pulling away from you so that he can respect your decision.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “I don’t want to be without you anymore either. I forgive you- please stay.”

“I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me too, my Love.”

[blackkatmagic]

If ur taking Moonknight ships, Marc Spector and Steve Rodgers with mind control!

“Fuck you, that’s a lie,” Marc hisses, pressed as flat as he can get to the wall of the shrine that the Prince of Orphans led them to. The Mandarin was supposed to be here. The Mandarin is not here.

Scarlet Witch is, though, and it seems like she’s having one hell of a bad day.

Sprawled out in his throne, one leg crossed over the other and a dusty glass of something that absolutely isn't wine in his hand, Khonshu chuckles. “I would never lie to my knight,” he lies. “It’s the simplest way to break her control over him, my son. You asked for a cure and I've provided one.”

“Fuck you,” Marc growls, and ignores the look Clint is giving him from the other side of the small shrine. Clint knows Khonshu is real, or he’d better, after their detour into ancient Egypt that one time when the West Coast Avengers were still a thing. “Give me a different cure. A better one.”

Khonshu cocks his head thoughtfully, like that will hide the gleam of wicked mirth that swirls through the galaxies in his empty eye sockets. “That would require a quest seeking my sister-son Heka, my knight, and a remedy brewed by his divine hands. I don’t believe you have that much time at the moment.”

“If you depart your body now of all times,” Valkyrie tells him, low but very definitely dangerous, “I will tell your cab driver friend where you hid all of his false mustaches.”

Marc grimaces, ducking a little more as there's a loud crash, a thud, a groan. The Prince of Orphans lands hard on the stone, and Natasha drops down a few paces from him, breathing hard with a bruise already disappearing across one cheekbone.

With a loud, ringing thud, Steve’s shield embeds itself into the stone of the wall just to the left of the Prince, and heavy footfalls sound.

“Shit,” Marc mutters, and closes his eyes, ignoring the heavy weight of Khonshu’s amused stare. Breathes, steeling himself—

“Moon Knight,” Valkyrie warns, alarm sliding into her tone. “If it is that foolish an idea—”

“All of my ideas are foolish,” Marc tells her. "If he throws me across the room, try to catch me.”

“Moon Knight!” she protests, but Marc ducks away from her grab, vaults the wall, and then stops dead, something thudding in his chest. Steve is staring at him, looking dangerous as hell in the black of his old Nomad costume, even though no other man alive could probably pull off that V-neck. His eyes are red, though, and his expression is icy cold, in a way Steve would never be when standing in front of his own team. Whatever Wanda did to him—

Whatever she did, Khonshu gave Marc the way to fix it. It’s just a really fucking stupid fix.

“Moon Knight,” Steve says, and there's a rough, almost gravelly edge to it that makes Marc feel like a stupid teenager sneaking Captain America comics and fantasizing about them again. Him again. Which is absolutely not an appropriate thought to have when Steve’s currently a brain puppet of the Scarlet Witch during one of her breakdowns over her teenage kids getting pissy at her. Especially not given what Marc is about to try and do.

Steven would be better at this, Marc thinks, mostly resigned to getting punched in the face. Too bad Steven is a squishy human and Cap would turn him into a slinky.

“Hey, Cap,” Marc says, and tries to think of a way to say how about you let me get within grabbing distance without breaking my arms in a way that will go over well. “If Iron Man sees you walking around like that, you're going to give him the vapors.”

Steve’s expression darkens, and he flexes one hand like he’s imagining closing it around Stark’s neck. That’s a pretty standard reaction to Stark, though. It does give Marc cover to take two steps towards Steve, braced to move if things get violent, and he opens his hands, like an offer.

“Think you want a henchman?” he asks, and hears the bursts of indignation that come from four different directions as the team catches his words. Ignoring them, because Natasha is the only one close and conscious enough to be a threat if they decide to dogpile him, marc reaches up, pulling his mask off deliberately, and tells Steve, “Look, I don’t want to stick with these lunch detention nerd rejects if you're going off to do your own thing, Cap. I can be a good little right hand if you want me to.”

There's a pause, more thoughtful than before, and Steve finally turns, gives Marc his full attention rather than keeping one eye on Natasha and the Prince. “You want to be my henchman,” he says, flat, and the red light clinging to him like a second skin flickers, whirls.

“Henchman, goon, pet damsel if that’s more your speed,” Marc says, taking another two steps closer. He’s almost within arm’s reach now, and Steve still hasn’t tried to twist his head off his neck, so that’s promising. Probably. “I look great in a pink feathered negligée.”

Somewhere behind him, Clint gags pointedly, and Marc tries not to scowl, making a mental note to put ink in his coffee as soon as he gets the chance.

“Pink feathers?” Steve asks, and for the first time his tone slips out of cold anger, right into bemusement.

“I can lounge around your secret lair and let you test it out, if you want,” Marc offers, not even bothering to try for charming. Steven could manage that, but—yeah, Steven isn't going to touch this one. Besides, Steve seems blindsided enough by the offer that Marc steps right up to him, reaches out, and presses a hand to his broad chest without losing his head. When he looks up at Steve, halfheartedly trying to make it looking through his lashes like Marlene sometimes used to do to him when she couldn’t tell it wasn’t Steven in front of her, Steve looks down at him, something Marc can't read on his face, but—well. It’s not violent, at least. Marc got worse responses from other guys in the Marines, and given Steve’s from the 40’s, he wasn’t holding out much hope of better.

“So what about it?” he asks, leaning in, and Steve’s hand settles on his waist—

Marc kisses him, hard, no time wasted with finesse. He slams their mouths together, and feels more than hears the dry-bone-rattle of Khonshu’s laughter. Something burns, burns right through him and into Steve, as bright as the moon hanging full and round above them, and Steve jerks. His arm snaps tight around Marc’s back, and Marc braces to get tossed like a frisbee—

Instead, there's a groan, winded, warm. The kiss gentles, and a hand curls over Marc’s cheek, tips his head into an angle that’s a little less awkward. It feels a bit like an electric shock, and Marc twitches, almost jerks away, but…this is actually kind of pleasant. Not just awkward bodies, like sometimes happens, but—well. All those years spent crushing on Captain America probably have something to do with that.

Then, slow, gentle, Steve draws back, the shimmer of red around him gone. His eyes are sky-blue again, bright and familiar, and Marc takes one look at him, catches his breath, and says, “Fuck. Cap?”

Steve blinks, blinks again. Then, all at once, his eyes widen, and he says with deep relief, “Marc. You broke her control?”

“It was the image of the pink feathered negligée,” Marc tells him, flat, and desperately tries to jam his mask back over his head before something in his face gives away the whole I have a crush on the most unattainable man in existence thing. “You’re welcome. Thank Khonshu.”

“If I'm thanking Khonshu, I feel like it probably wasn’t that,” Steve says, and grimaces, putting a hand up to his head. “Ugh. I think I have a migraine.”

“Wanda’ll do that to you,” Clint says, cautiously poking his head above the edge of the low wall. “Moonie, did you really just break the evil witch’s curse with a kiss? Are you a fairy tale princess?”

“No, I'm Sailor Moon. And Wanda’s not evil,” Marc says, rolling his eyes, and drags his mask down a little more securely. “Shut up, bastard.”

Khonshu, still chuckling, tips his glass full of unidentified and unsettlingly-colored liquid at Marc. “You would make an excellent henchman, my knight,” he says, and is gone in the space between seconds.

“Damsel?” Natasha asks judgmentally, raising one red brow.

“Who wouldn’t want an easy retirement?” Marc counters. “If Cap wanted to take over the world, I think he could.”

Natasha weighs that for a moment, then snorts and waves in agreement, leaning down to check the Prince of Orphans.

“Please don’t ever let me take over the world,” Steve says, one hand still pressed over his eyes. “Even for the sake of your retirement.”

“Don’t look at me,” Clint tells him. “I look terrible in pink feathers. And my kiss can't break a curse.”

Marc flips him off, going to grab Steve’s arm and steer him out of the shrine. “Come on,” he says pointedly. “You should probably lie down. The birdbrain can handle getting everyone back to the ship.”

“While you play damsel? Come on, I can rock purple feathers—”

“Not as well as Moon Knight,” Valkyrie says, and between her and Natasha, they heave the Prince up. “Retrieve the good Captain’s shield, Hawkeye.”

Marc very firmly kicks the door closed before he can hear Clint’s protest.

Steve makes a quiet sound of amusement, body heavy where he’s leaning on Marc’s shoulder. “Do we need to have a talk about you offering to be a villain’s henchman?” he asks.

Marc rolls his eyes. “Only yours,” he counters, but instead of getting uncomfortable, the way he expects, Steve shoots him a thoughtful look.

“We should have downtime in Berlin once this mission is over,” he says after a moment. “I know you normally go back to New York, but you should stay. If you meant that kiss.”

Electricity, again. A frisson, sharp through Marc’s nerves, but—it makes breathing a little more difficult than it really should be.

“I could mean it,” he says, and looks away, feeling entirely too self-conscious. It was a bad kiss. Right up until Steve took over. “Assuming I didn’t scare you off.”

“I'm hard to scare,” Steve says gently, and—

Well. There's a fine line between supporting Steve and walking with Steve’s arm over his shoulder. Not that Marc is about to protest.

[zhukzucraft]

Wild Life - Chapter 2

A fan-made Life SMP session project by Zhuk and Schmomo

>Chapter 1< or >Read it on Ao3<

“So you’re breaking up with us,” Martyn said, matter of factly.

“Is this supposed to be shocking?” Cleo asked, “You leaving to go be with Etho, instead?” She laughed a little, cycling through her inventory for her iron pick. 

“It’s nothing personal!” Bdubs insisted, quickly, “I just feel bad for the guy, you know?”

“He is washed up,” Grian agreed, his voice carrying from up high where he was building up their tower of cobble. 

“Exactly. Wait, no! No, he’s not!” Bdubs huffed, “But it was harsh how we all ditched him.”

Yesterday had been a mad dash for resources, like all first days in the Life games tended to be. Bdubs’ plan for starting the Life game challenge had remained the same as always: stick to Etho. But that hadn’t really played out the way he wanted it to. When he’d circled up with his group near the exposed iron vein on the side of the mountain, everyone had realized at the same time an important fact: He, Impulse, Cleo and Skizz were all dogs. 

Etho was not. 

“He’s a cat, Bdubs,” Martyn said, his tail swishing about in warning behind him, “A filthy feline, if you will.”

“Shouldn’t we be building bridges?” Bdubs tried, his own short tail quite flat against his body.

“No, we’re building a tower,” Grian called from above. 

Cleo snorted, trying to cover her smile with her free hand. 

“The man is lost without me,” Bdubs continued, “And I really just want to check on him, is all. Don’t you trust me?”

“Not at all,” Cleo said with a smile, “But go on then, find your cat boyfriend if it’ll calm your anxious heart.”

Bdubs rolled his eyes, turning away and padding to the edge of their platform. After the iron had run dry, Skizz and Impulse had ventured further up the mountains. Bdubs knew his history with fall damage well enough to stick to more solid ground. Cleo had decided to join up with Martyn and Grian who were discussing some grandiose plan to take control of the entire lake. He had followed them without a second thought. 

Now, he stared out at the vast expanse of water before him, “You know, we really should build a bridge–”

“No bridges!” Grian shouted, “That’s the whole point!”

Bdubs threw his hands up in the air, defeated with his teammates–former teammates? It was unclear at this point. Bdubs was about 65% certain he would come back to them. Maybe less so now that this base Grian and Martyn were insisting on would prevent him from any kind of sustainable horse travel. 

He pinched his nose and jumped into the water, shuddering as the cold temperature hit him. He pushed through, diving down past the many salmon and cod to head to shore. By the end he was doggy paddling, which was fitting he supposed. When he reached the shore line he shook himself out, his ears floppy atop his head and smacking him ever so lightly. 

His comms buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. 

Solidarity has made the advancement [Diamonds!] Smallishbeans > ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Smallishbeans > HE’S THE FIRST ONE?????? Smajor1995 > just wait for the swimming in lava message to appear soon enough Skizzleman > i don’t have anything to contribute but as another S name i felt the need to say something GoodTimeWithScar > same! Grian > Your username starts with G, scar GoodTimeWithScar > are we starting our own train now, G? Solidarity > DOES ANYONE HAVE FOOD THEY CAN THROW DOWN MY HOLE?

“Poor fella,” Bdubs sighed out without even a hint of pity. He put his communicator away. He glanced around, seeing the remnants of other players from the falling leaves and missing dark oak trunks. He decided to keep to the edge of the forest, just in case. After a few hundred blocks, the dark oak gave way to a plains biome and–

“HORSE!” Bdubs shouted, sprinting over to the magnificent herd of beasts. There were six of them, all deep browns and blacks. Some were even spotted with white. “What beauties,” he praised as he petted one of the wild mares, who shook her mane out at him. He hauled himself onto her back, only to be bucked off. He was no stranger to the process, however, and kept at it, taming the entire herd by the time the sun was shining directly above him. 

“Now I just need a saddle,” Bdubs said aloud, before frowning. Right. He needed a saddle. What were the odds he’d stumble upon a dungeon anytime soon? He wondered if they were using the leather recipe in this game. That would be oh-so-fortuitous. 

He hadn’t been paying attention, and the horse he was seated upon had wandered further into the plains, toward the great big snowy mountain they’d all pillaged for iron yesterday. He wondered if Skizz and Impulse were still up there. Why were all his friends moving into such horse-hostile environments? Bunch of scum, the lot of em. 

The land opened up in front of him and he let out a surprised shout of terror. He quickly jumped off the horse, only to land precariously at the edge of the gaping ravine. 

That was a close one, Bdubs thought to himself, imagine being the first to die. And to fall damage too. 

He scurried backwards, giving himself a few blocks of distance. Sheepishly he looked around to see if anyone had seen him shrieking. Luckily, no one was around. 

Where the heck was everyone? Had no one decided to settle in these plains? He frowned, turning all the way around before getting himself dizzy. How was he supposed to find Etho with everyone hiding? Everyone was still green for void’s sake! There was no need to be so un-neighborly yet. 

“Cowards! All of ya!” he shouted out to no one in particular, cupping his hands around his mouth to make sure his important message carried. 

“Is someone out there!?”

Bdubs startled, looking around for the owner of the voice. 

“Hello!?” 

He narrowed his eyes, following the voice several blocks to the right. He stopped right before the ground gave way to another hole. 

“OH THANK THE VOID!”

All the way down below, surrounded by dripstone, was Jimmy. In full diamond armor. 

“BDUBS YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” Jimmy shouted, “I'VE GOT HALF A HEART AND NOTHING TO MY NAME!”

“I don’t know about that,” Bdubs called back, sitting down on the edge of the hole, “You’re covered in diamonds.”

“I’ve got no wood, no tools and no food,” Jimmy lamented, “Please, do you have any food to spare?”

“How’d you manage this?” Bdubs asked, his ears perking up.

“There was some mild panicking when I dug into lava,” Jimmy said, “Very mild. I may have thrown half my inventory into it. These are minor details. Anyway, can you spare a mutton? I’d take it raw at this point.”

Bdubs cringed, “You’re lucky Scott didn’t hear that. He’d never let you live it down.”

“Scott’s dead to me!” Jimmy shouted back, “He and Joel and Etho found me just to laugh! The nerve!”

“Etho?” Bdubs blinked, honing in on his mission with laser focus, “You know where he went?”

“You get me outta this jam, I’ll take you straight to him, I swear on my half of a heart.”

“And one of your diamond pieces,” Bdubs added, standing back up. 

“You’d take the shirt off my back in my most trying time?”

“If it’s made of diamonds? Of course!” Bdubs replied, rummaging through his inventory, “After all, my hand might slip and grab my lava bucket instead.”

“ALRIGHT!” Jimmy shouted, “Just please! I can’t live down being yellow first again.”

Bdubs chuckled, taking mercy and flooding the hole. Jimmy quickly swam up, clawing his way onto solid ground and giving himself a firm shake to dry himself off. His long fluffy golden tail rained water droplets everywhere.

“Ah, a fellow dog of culture, I see,” Bdubs noted.

Jimmy cracked a smile, “Once a big dog, always a big dog. Woof, woof.” He picked himself up, taking off his diamond boots and handing them over. “Now please, some meat would be nice.”

“Oh I don't have any food on me,” Bdubs replied casually, slipping the armor on. “Should have probably grabbed some before leaving my crew, now that I think about it.”

Jimmy let out an anguished cry, hands shooting out to take hold of Bdubs shoulders. He dug into the iron armor there, “Are you KIDDING ME?” he shouted, close to tears, “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through!? Wave after wave after wave of creepers and zombies hounded me down there. Half a heart, Bdubs! I could trip and it’d be the end of me.”

“I’ve got a bed if you want to set your spawn here,” Bdubs offered with a bright cheery smile. Jimmy screamed out in aggravation. Bdubs patted his shoulder.

“Oh, that explains it.”

Jimmy and Bdubs turned at the sound of a third voice, and emerging from one of the rolling hills of this biome was Mumbo Jumbo of all people. 

“Mumbo!” Bdubs exclaimed, giving a friendly wave. “And on top of a mound!”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes! Once a mounder, always a mounder,” Mumbo replied with a grin, carefully hopping down the blocks to make it to their sides. His skin black and white tail shot out for balance. “Although, I’ve graduated to new heights this go-around. You could say I’m a mountaineer, now.”

“Well, ain’t that nice,” Bdubs complimented, “Are Skizz and Impulse with ya then?”

“Oh yes!” Mumbo assured, “BigB too.”

“Lovely catching up,” Jimmy interrupted, eye twitching, “But we have pressing matters at hand! Mumbo, do you have any food on you, bud?

“Hmm? Oh. Oh right, food. That would have been a good idea, wouldn’t it have been.” Mumbo realized aloud, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“YOU PEOPLE ARE IMPOSSIBLE!” Jimmy screamed.

Bdubs laughed, patting Jimmy’s shoulder and spreading his other arm out over the horizon, “Look, we’re in a plains biome, I’m sure we can find ya something to munch on.”

“All the animals are gone already!” Jimmy snapped, “This is the life series not Hermitcraft!”

“There’s plenty of horses,” Mumbo pointed out, unhelpfully. 

“I CAN’T EAT A HORSE.”

“Not hungry enough, eh?” Mumbo replied. 

Jimmy paused mid scream to laugh, “Alright, that’s a good one.” He then returned to screaming, “I’ve got two ticks left in my hunger bar before I starve to death. And that’s gonna be on both your consciences now, I hope you know.”

“I’m sure I can convince Etho to part with some snacks when I find him,” Bdubs assured.

“Isn’t Etho a cat, though? At least, that’s what Impulse told me,” Mumbo said, “Why are you looking for him?”

“Because I’m me, Mumbo, that’s why,” Bdubs snapped. 

“Right,” Mumbo said, “Should have expected that. Anyway, if you’ll excuse me I need to collect some redstone down in that ravine. No reason, of course.”

“Of course,” Bdubs played along. He waved as Mumbo pushed past them, black and white spotted tail wagging behind him. He turned back to Jimmy, “Now which way did Etho go?”

Jimmy sighed,  “He went further up, toward Scar’s place, I think. Have you been there yet? Last I saw him he was making some sort of shanty on the lake edge.”

“And that’s where we shall go,” Bdubs announced. 

“I can’t sprint,” Jimmy said, looping an arm around Bdubs’ as a preventative measure. “Don’t you dare leave me behind.”

Bdubs laughed, but acquiesced. Slowing his pace down as they walked through the peaceful meadows. It was strange to see so few mobs and people. Eerie, really. But eventually from the fog appeared a new structure at the lake's edge. A fishing hut made of oak and spruce, already with a nice pier jutting into the water. 

Scar came into view first, arms waving about as he spoke to three other players. Even before he rendered, Bdubs could tell the tallest silhouette to be Etho, most likely standing beside Joel and Scott based on Jimmy’s previous recollection.

“ETHO!” Bdubs shouted, abandoning Jimmy completely to sprint over to him. 

Etho’s head shot up, and there was a soft crinkle around his eyes as they lit up in recognition. “Oh snappers, it’s a Bdubs!” he exclaimed, lifting  his hand to wave at him. 

“Why, hello there, Bdubs,” Scar intercepted, coming in between them before Bdubs could go in for the hug, “Welcome to my dock.”

“Right,” Bdubs nodded. “It’s a nice dock.”

“Thanks, I made it myself. Took all my wood,” Scar continued proudly, his gray and black tail swishing dangerously behind him.

“That’s not even true,” another voice snapped, and Bdubs quickly saw Lizzie coming into view. She was munching on a fish, her small ears folded close to her head, “I made the dock. You only made the shanty.”

“Details,” Scar waved off with his ever present smile. 

“Food!” Bdubs shouted, pointing at the half eaten cod in Lizzie’s hand, “Jimmy needs some! Lizzie can you spare a fish  for the starving man behind me?”

“Oh, Bdubs,” Joel groaned, his striped tail drooping in disappointment, “You actually helped him?”

“He was supposed to stay in the hole.” Scott clicked his tongue, shaking his head. 

“Dogs, amiright?” Joel offered cheekily. Bdubs couldn’t help but let out a petulant little huff at that. 

By that point Jimmy had finally staggered over to them, doubling over to rest his hands on his knees. “One tick! One tick left and I die before your callous eyes!”

“I’ve got food, Jimmy,” Lizzie assured, digging through her inventory, “But you’ll have to swear your undying loyalty to me first.”

“FINE!” Jimmy agreed. 

“See, this is how you get into so much trouble, Jimmy,” Scott commented, “You agree too quickly to things.”

“The man’s on death’s door, Scott. You can’t blame him,” Scar defended, even as he took out his own cooked cod to eat in front of him.

“To seal the deal I shall give you this!” Lizzie announced, handing over a bone. 

“Am I joke to you?” Jimmy growled, holding the bone, “You expect me to eat this? Just because I’m a dog? Har, har, har, everybody.” He pretended to give the bone a bite, only for his jaw to snap right through it. He blinked, surprised, nostrils flaring and bringing the bone to his mouth to properly chew on it. 

And then he ate it completely. 

“Oh,” Lizzie said, dumbfounded.

Joel started to laugh, “Did he seriously just–”

“There’s a terrible bone joke just waiting to be made here,” Scott snickered, politely covering his smile with his hand. 

Jimmy’s face colored, “Shut up! Just hold on a second,”

“Did it work?” Bdubs asked, intrigued. His floppy ears did their best to perk up.

“It…worked,” Jimmy confirmed, eyes widening 

“So I can punch you now? Thank void I’ve been having to hold back this whole time–” Joel started, pushing his way forward and winding his arm back.

Jimmy screeched, high pitched. Etho’s arm shot out to grab Joel by the scruff of his shirt while the poor golden retriever quickly ran behind Bdubs. “It didn’t FILL me up! I’m not anywhere close to healed yet. Get away from me, Joel!”

Lizzie stared at one of her bones, appraising it. Carefully, she raised it to her mouth and gave it an experimental gnaw. She grimaced.

“Let me try it,” Bdubs pawed at the bone, curiosity having gotten the best of him yet again. He immediately managed to snap it in half with his teeth, despite missing several. His eyes widened, “Huh. It’s not half bad!”

“This must be a dog thing,” Lizzie murmured, putting a finger to her chin, “I mean you can feed bones to wild wolves so it sort of makes sense.”

“Wait a tick,” Jimmy said, straightening up, “Wouldn’t that…Wouldn’t that mean…” He let his voice fade off as he rifled through his inventory to pull out a piece of rotten flesh. 

“Oh that is vile, Jimmy!” Joel snapped. 

Jimmy took a bite. His eyes widened. “NO WAY! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

Bdubs tilted his head to the side. Jimmy handed him another piece of the zombie flesh and he took a brave bite. An explosion of flavors hit his tongue all at once. Savory rich barbecue with just a hint of heat at the edges. He could feel himself salivating for more as he gobbled up the supposed rancid meat. “Oh my! This is gourmet!” 

“Are you telling me, I’ve been panicking for the past few hours when I could have eaten any of the 40 pieces of rotten flesh in my inventory!?” Jimmy cried, sinking down to his knees. 

“This is amazing,” Joel snickered, “I’m glad you dragged us out here, Scott.”

“I’m full of great ideas,” Scott preened, flicking his hair back to emphasize the point. His blue gray tail swished behind him for added effect.

“Anyway,” Etho said, finally making his way to stand by his old friend, “Fancy seeing you here, Bdubs.”

“Etho!” Bdubs shouted, remembering the whole point of the day. 

“Shouldn’t you be with your pack?” Etho faux sniffled, turning his head to the side. 

“I came to check on you!” Bdubs insisted, pushing toward him. “Sure, I was led astray momentarily, but here I am in the end! That’s got to count for something, right?”

“I’m not letting more people move in with me,” Joel growled, putting his foot down. 

Etho patted Joels’ shoulder, lifting his other hand to scratch the back of his own neck, “Ya see, Bdubs, after that whole debacle, I kinda joined my own alliance. A Fe-liance.”

“Oh.” Bdubs took a step back, wounded. “Oh, I see.”

“Aww man, Joel,” Etho caved immediately, turning to the tabby cat, “Can’t we keep him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But look at him. How could you say no to that face?”

“Easily,” Joel said. Scott laughed. 

“Gentlemen,” Scar clapped, grabbing everyone's attention once more. Lizzie made a loud ahem, her tail lashing out in warning. Scar quickly amended, “And Lady. Although this has been quite the joyous reunion, I do believe you three came here for business?”

“We came for information, actually,” Scott cut in, taking a step forward, “From Lizzie, really. I hear you’ve got quite the advantage in this game, this time around.”

Lizzie blinked owlishly, “Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, she’s good,” Bdubs whispered to Jimmy and Etho, who were standing closest to him. 

“That’s the same look you pull half the time,” Etho huffed, crossing his arms.

“Game recognizes game,” Bdubs nodded. “Did I say that right? Gem taught me that one.”

“Joel told me everything,” Scott said bluntly. Joel’s ears pinned back, betrayed. 

Lizzie scowled, turning to her husband, “Joel! You had one job!”

“I didn’t know it was a secret!” Joel snapped, tabby tail lashing behind him.

“Of course it was a secret!” Lizzie huffed. She crossed her arms, glaring up at Scott. “Well, you already know, then. No fall damage.”

“No fall damage?” Etho repeated, eyes widening a fraction. 

“At all?” Bdubs added. “Well, wouldn’t that be nifty.”

“Interesting,” Scott continued tapping his chin, “What else do you know?”

Lizzie glowered, “Maybe that’s all I know.”

“Oh, come on now,” Scott started, his tone lilting as he bent forward to get closer to Lizzie’s face,  “You expect me to believe the great LDShadowlady spent all of her imperial days as a cat and learned only one thing?”

“Oh, Scott,” Lizzie said, turning her head shyly to the side, “You’re gonna make me blush.”

Joel visibly scowled. 

“Anybody got blocks?” Etho asked, “I gotta try this no fall damage thing.”

“Oh, it’s amazing Etho,” Joel egged on, eager to latch onto any distraction from his wife’s annoyance at him, “I went all the way to the height limit. You saw!”

“I did see,” Etho agreed with a light laugh. 

“Lizzie’s got cobble in her chest,” Jimmy pointed out, uncrouching from the chest he’d been rifling through.. 

Lizzie whirled around at him, “Jimmy! I saved your life and you’re going through my things?”

Etho grabbed two stacks easily, turning towards Bdubs, “What do you say, wanna give it a shot with me?”

Bdubs reddened, but he took the offered stack, “Oh, well, when you ask so nicely how could I possibly refuse?” Then he pocketed the stack and put his hands on his hips, “Are you CRAZY? I’m no cat! You think me a FOOL?”

Etho cackled, “Just keeping you on your toes, is all.” He wiped at his eye, and hopped up onto a block, “I’m still gonna check it out for myself, though.” 

Bdubs watched with growing wariness as Etho ascended upwards. He could hear the bickering around him start to die down as all eyes veered toward the white cat in the sky. 

“You know, this has me thinking,” Scar started, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “We could be a whole traveling circus. Think of all the trapeze arts! No safety nets. It’d be spectacular. People would pay a fortune to see it. And there would be absolutely no clowns.”

“Shh,” Joel shushed, “He’s gonna jump. Jump into my arms Etho!!” he extended out his hands, only to be nudged in the side by both Scott and Lizzie adding up to one solid tick of damage against him. 

Etho did jump and, without a drop of water,  landed on his feet before them. His tail pointed straight out for balance and his own eyes were wide like even he couldn’t believe it. Then he turned toward his audience and asked, “Did that make you jump?”

“Oh, BROTHER,” Bdubs lamented, rolling his eyes. Hopefully, his lambasting would cover up the jealousy and admiration festering just underneath the surface. 

“I didn’t go that far up,” Etho admitted sheepishly after a moment, stepping away from his stack, “But you know what, Bdubs? I bet you could water bucket clutch from that height.”

“No way,” Bdubs said.

“Perhaps we should change the saying from scaredy cat to scaredy dog,” Joel goaded. 

“Good one,” Scott replied flatly. 

“It was NOT,” Jimmy snapped, “Don’t listen to them Bdubs! You don’t need to prove nothin’.”

“Of course I’m not doing something that stupid,” Bdubs assured. 

“I’ll give you this saddle,” Etho offered. 

“Alright,” Bdubs sighed, pulling out the stack of cobblestone and starting to hop up into the sky. He ignored Jimmy’s squawking and Joel’s cackling, instead focusing on not slipping off his precarious tower. As he reached the halfway point he realized very quickly how stupid he was being. “Committing to the bit never did me wrong before,” he murmured to himself. He blinked and then snapped aloud, “Except for every time it did! What the heck am I doing up here!?”

He stared down at his audience and pursed his lips. He couldn’t mine down to them now. He’d never live it down. He’d bring great shame not only to himself but to all of dogkind. Plus, he really did want a saddle. 

“You’re a professional, Bdubs,” he reminded himself, shaking off his nerves and squaring his shoulders. He pulled out his bucket of water, counted to three, then counted to three again, and then finally psyched himself out enough to just jump at the number two. 

BDoubleO100 fell from a high place. ImpulseSV  > OH NO! IntheLittleWood > First Blood TangoTek > Jimmy you can breathe now! ZombieCleo > I let you out of my sight for FIVE MINUTES

Bdubs opened his eyes at spawn and let out a frustrated scream. He stomped around trying to let the anger out. Oh, he was going to murder Etho, his eternal alliance be damned. He started hoofing it to the otherside of the lake, lamenting his lack of horse. His lack of anything. Especially with the sun already starting to set. It wouldn’t be long until night befell them. 

“Bdubs! Over here!” he heard Jimmy shout. He turned his head to see that both Jimmy and Lizzie were running toward him, meeting him about halfway. 

“We grabbed your stuff,” Jimmy said quickly as he started chucking items out of his pockets and onto the ground. 

“I gave Etho quite the tongue lashing too,” Lizzie assured, “Put the fear of the void in ‘im for messing with my dogs like that.”

“Your dogs?” Jimmy questioned. 

“I gave you each a bone, didn’t I?” Lizzie reminded him. 

“I’ve got a bone to pick with a certain someone,” Bdubs interrupted, pushing past them after accounting for his relatively small amount of things.  He sprinted the rest of the way and in no time he found exactly who he was looking for. 

“ETHO, WHAT THE HECK!” Bdubs shouted, glaring as the white cat seemed to curl in on himself nervously. His white ears pinned so close to his head they became lost in his unruly hair.

“I swear I was gonna put down some water as a safety last minute,” Etho muttered, not looking him in the eye. He rummaged through his inventory and pulled out a horse saddle, “You still want the saddle?”

“I don’t want your BLOOD SADDLE!” Bdubs bellowed, stomping his foot for added effect. “I want my life back!”

“Uh,” Etho started, glancing over to his alliance for help. 

Joel stepped in easily enough, “Sorry, Bdubs, we don’t speak dog.” He grabbed hold of Etho’s arm, pulling him away, “Etho! Scott! Uh, we should go work on the base! That isn’t here!”

“Right,” Etho agreed as he allowed himself to be dragged, “We’ve got a tree to build.”

“You’re even building trees without me, now?” Bdubs called out, “I hate you!”

“Quite the tragic break up we’re witnessing, huh boys,” Lizzie commented, shaking her head solemnly where she stood between Jimmy and Scar. 

“What, you and Joel?” Scar blinked. 

“What? No! Bdubs and Etho!” Lizzie snapped. 

“But you’re sticking with me right? Not following your husband out there? I take loyalty very seriously here, Lizzie,” Scar warned. 

“Of course!” Lizzie waved off, “That man’s dead to me.” She ignored the strangled cry of I heard that from Joel, instead giving Scar a bright cheery smile. He echoed it and the atmosphere seemed to grow a bit tenser, enough for Jimmy to take a wary step back. 

“Timmy, where are you going?” Scar asked, turning towards him.

“Yeah, Jimmy, you’re one of us now, remember?” Lizzie cautioned. 

Jimmy swallowed, “Uh, right, about that. You know, you two being cats, and us being dogs–”

“The circus doesn’t discriminate,” Scar waved off. 

“You took the bone, Jimmy,” Lizzie reminded him sternly.

“Erm, Bdubs, what do you think?” Jimmy tried, turning desperately to the silent pug still watching the trio retreating in the distance.  

Bdubs ignored him entirely, instead screaming out “WAIT!” at the top of his lungs. 

Jimmy blanched as he watched his fellow dog sprint away from him, calling out a desperate plea of, “Don’t leave me here alone!”

Bdubs caught up to the cat trio easily enough. He stood right in front of Etho, who still looked too sheepish to meet his gaze. With his sternest glare he demanded, “Give me the saddle.”

Etho gave a nervous chuckle but handed over the item all the same. “So…we’re good now? No hard feelings?”

“Nope,” Bdubs answered with a cheery smile, “You’re absolutely dead to me!” He then swiveled round, racing back to  join Lizzie, Scar and Jimmy where he left them. 

“Oh, thank the void you didn’t abandon me,” Jimmy sighed out in relief. 

“Abandon you? No! Never!” Bdubs assured, throwing an arm around the taller dog, “We’re bone brothers now.”

Lizzie cheered and Scar gave his own approving cackle as he swept them all in for a group hug. From within the inner circle, Bdubs continued, “Alright, new family, here’s the deal. I’ve got intel I can share about a whole host of these TRAITORS on this server.”

Still, even as he shared all he knew about the locations of the other players and their species, he couldn’t help glancing behind his back every now and then, just in case. And each time his eyes met only the empty landscape, he felt the cold wrap around his heart just a little bit tighter.

[phoenixinthefiles]

Wear My Love

Miles 42 x reader 💜...🖤🔗 (my first Miles 42! fic be gentle) @dolligent

There’s a Laffy Taffy wrapper about two feet ahead of you on the library floor, with sticky bits of the candy still in it. You can’t see the riddle but you can see the hearts scattered on the wrapper and the to-and-from tag on the front.

So many teachers handed out Valentine’s candy bags today, it was really sweet. DIdn’t help out the littering problem that so many students seemed to have. 

A sneaker came down on the discarded wrapper, a purple and black sneaker.

Miles stood in front of you with a confused look on his face.

“What are you doin?”

Zoning out so I don’t have to confront the reality of you hating my gift.

Obviously you don’t say that. 

“What are you doing standing on a candy wrapper instead of picking it up? That's not very eco-conscious.”

He gives you a flat look and you give him one right back until he smacks his lips and bends down to pick the trash up. He flips the wrapper around and smirks before looking back up at you.

“What kind of tea is hard to swallow?”

“I don’t know, what kind?” You ask with an eye roll.

“Reality.” He huffs a small laugh, because of course he doesn’t know how ironic that joke really is.

“That’s funnier than half the jokes you tell me, maybe you should start eating more Laffy Taffys.”

Like the mature 16-year-old he is, he throws the wrapper at you before sitting down.

You roll your eyes and crumble the paper up and stick it in your pocket. Presumably to throw away later but you would most likely forget. 

He keeps shifting in his seat and tapping his fingers on the table as you try to continue reading. You already can barely focus on your book not knowing if he’s seen your gift or not, now he’s decided to become a drummer. 

“Miles please.” 

“Yeah? Oh I’m distracting you, my bad.”

“It’s fine I couldn’t focus anyway.” You said as you turned slightly to slip your book back into your backpack.

“Y’know somebody dropped something into my locker?”

Your hand froze on your zipper, when you twisted to face him again Miles was watching you with his eyebrows raised.

“Really, what was it?”

He gave you a deadpan look and you sighed.

Your eyes widened when He started fiddling with the collar of his shirt before pulling out a silver chain.

You immediately started trying to get a read on him; eyes darting from the necklace to his eyes and back. Surely he likes it if he’s wearing it?

Right?

He doesn’t say anything though and you clear your throat. 

“Do you like it? You can be honest, it won't hurt feelings, I just want to know.”

It absolutely would hurt your feelings. More so from the thought that you had overstepped not that he didn’t like it.

Miles reached back and unclasped the dog tags from around his neck. He didn’t look upset, more like he was trying to figure out how to look. 

“I like it, I swear.”

Your breath doesn’t come rushing out of you, but the tightening in your chest loosens and you do take a deep breath. 

“I like it a lot. How’d you get all the information?’

“I asked your mom.”

It was surprisingly easy to find someone who makes custom dog tags. The hard part was psyching yourself up to ask Ms. Río about her husband’s birthday. It took you 15 tries in front of your mirror to come up with the least insensitive way to phrase your question.

It paid off though. Miles likes it.

10 months ago you would’ve thought he was completely unemotional about it.But over time you learned to read him a little better.

Right now he was fiddling with the dog tags and twisting his lips around. 

He was fighting a smile.

He lost the battle against his facial expression and a smile broke out on his face.

You matched it and let out a nervous laugh when he looked at you again. 

He huffed a small laugh and you tried to tame the grin that felt like it would split your face. 

“Thank you.”

You nodded a bit too quickly and you ignored the ache in your cheeks from smiling so hard and the warmth you started to feel in your face.

“You’re welcome, I'm just glad you liked it.”

He nodded and a little smirk took shape on his lips.

“Yeah I like it a lot. Just don’t know why somebody I’ve been dating for 10 months would slip a gift in my locker instead of just giving it to me.” 

Your eyes widened for a split second before you rolled them in an attempt to brush off your embarrassment. 

“I was just adding a layer of mystique.”

“Uh huh, or you was just scared.” He said with a shrug. 

You scoffed but he was dead on. 

“Me? Scared? You must have me confused with somebody else?” 

He rolled his eyes and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.

You watched him pull out a small box and reach it across the table to you.

He rolled his shoulders back and forth as he watched you pick it up. 

Seems like you weren’t the only one scared.

“What is it?”

He deadpanned again, “What’s the point of telling you instead of you just opening it?”

You rolled your eyes and refocused on the gift.

Gasping as you opened the lid, you pulled out the locket necklace sitting inside.

You looked up at Miles and smiled.

“It’s so pretty.”

He smiled hesitantly and cleared his throat.

“Open it,” he rasped.

You did and your smile grew wider. Inside the locket was a sketch of you from the day you and Miles went to the arcade. It was the only one in the city with a full set of games that still worked.

“I haven’t drawn in a while y’know so…” He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck.

You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen or heard him talk about drawing something. You can also name everything he drew. Being able to add yourself to that list feels…amazing. 

Trying to calm yourself down and not embarrass yourself by doing something like leaping across the table to hug Miles, you run your hand along the chain of the necklace.

“I don’t know if I look as good as you drew me.”

When you look back up at him he’s staring at you with an expression that’s much too adoring for you to focus on.

“Nah you look better.”

You immediately looked back down at the necklace in your hands and ignored Miles’ snickering.

As you continued to run your fingers along the chain you noticed something and your lips quirk up.

“Did you make the chain yourself?”

He rolled his shoulders again, “It’s that janky?”

You shook your head and tried to match the way his signature smirk. 

“Nah, it’s that good.”

He immediately caught on and let out a small laugh.

“I see what you tryna do, but you just not as smooth as me.”

Your eyes roll again but you laugh a little too, “Whatever Miles.”

You stood up and took the few steps to his side of the table and turned your back towards him. He took the que and stood behind you, taking the clasp and leftover chain and securing it. 

When he finished, you turned to him smiling.

He smiled back at you and straightened his necklace around his own neck.

Before you could second guess yourself you took a step closer and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Happy Valentine's Day Miles.”

His arms came up around you and you could feel his chest heave.

“Happy Valentine's Day, mami.”

[minnie-cai]

i saw your art x physical therapist and tashi x makeup artist post and i know you’ll understand what im about to say: being a trainer/ makeup artist/ something along those lines and hooking up w two of your clients. is it a little unethical?? maybe, but you’re a grown up, and you can do what you want! and you really like both of them and they bring very different things to the table. but at the donaldson x duncan home, both art and tashi are having affairs and trying to keep it a secret from the other person and failing pretty hard. little do they know, they’re hooking up w the same person: you. and maybe, just maybe, they’re falling for you a bit. thoughts? feelings?

holy fucking shit i was smiling and nodding while reading this. yeah. yeah, you GET IT💜 i’m so writing something full-length about this about this but until then, have some thoughts.

not proofread, just shitposting. also, not a hairdresser. i can’t even braid hair. if you are one and throughout my thoughts on this scenario i fuck up, please correct me.

I think with Tashi it would be pretty quick with the physical aspect and emotional connection would come into play later.

She starts connecting to you when she realizes you’ve done something small for her that she doesn’t pay you for. Don’t get her wrong, she knows Art loves her and he’d bend over backwards for her approval and validation but he is too caught up in how miserable their routine is to keep noticing details about her. Art is her husband who had been pining over her for years but you know her coffee order and it’s on your table by your next appointment, casually waiting for her to take it, not making a big deal out of it. She tilts her head a bit and furrows her eyebrows, thinking of whether or not she’d asked her assistant for coffee but soon enough you emerge from your break with a small smile, untangling the cable of your flat iron.

“Morning, Mrs Duncan!” You beam and she gives you a small nod, clearly caught up in sizing the plastic cup because she feels like she’s gone insane. “I hope it’s not wrong.” You chime in on her thoughts, as if reading her mind. “You ordered this?” She asks pointing to the drink and raises her eyebrows when you nod, an almost repressed but impressed expression on her face. “Well, thanks.” She mumbles taking a sip and her spot on the chair, sitting in the same place she did every time.

She wouldn’t admit it but she feels a bit bad when people take her stand-offish attitude personally. She doesn’t like it when they change their personality to be quieter or less sociable around her just because she wasn’t very talkative or was particularly professional, she felt like they had no backbone, that they were fragile to be affected by whether she approves of their behaviour or not. She enjoys the fact that you don’t. You’re still sweet as sugar and by that point you’ve just figured her out. In contrast to Art, she likes to spend her appointments quiet as you pamper her and hum. It gives her time to think peacefully, even with your humming.

On the other hand, Art sees you as a break from life.

When he comes in and he sits in that chair in front of you and starts talking about something random like the music you have on, his brain is empty. It’s like for the first time in so long he doesn’t have to think about anything else. The next time he’s doing his warm up before training, he’s listening to the songs you recommended to him instead of the brown noise his trainer has said he should listen to in order to focus and it feels good to add a little something of you in his day, it feels like color in his sad, beige gym and boring green juice.

[1d1195]

Protection I

Okay I did the quickest of Google searches to get some of this info, please don't hold it against me. I have no idea what I’m doing as usual.

Hope you enjoy, I'm looking forward to writing more of it.

5.2k words

“Y’could’ve jus’ asked,” he called from behind her. “S’dangerous t’walk alone this late at night.”

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see it. “No one is going to try and kidnap me for political purposes on a Wednesday night while I get a drink with friends,” she told him.

“Love, s’not what I meant,” he said gently.

Harry was ready.

He ironed a white button-down shirt and paired it with a blue tie. He put on a grey suitcoat over it to match the slacks he picked out along with black dress shoes that he had long since broken in. In fact, he thought he could probably run a marathon in them if necessary.

He looked over his freshly shaven face, rubbing his jaw with a face lotion his sister got him for his birthday last year. He used the mirror to fix a few astray pieces of hair that refused to sit neatly but not perfectly flat on his head. Part of him wished he didn’t volunteer to do this because his stomach was flipping with anxiety. Sure, he was used to this. Used to the nerves and the first day jitters. It was a good job and was hopefully going to be a great way to see the country. While his English accent made him stick out a bit, it also helped him blend a bit into the background; no one would think that Harry was a special agent there to protect a family member of the US cabinet.

Plus, he was doing Niall a huge favor. Niall was the one that got Harry a job with the Diplomatic Security Service in the first place, so he owed it to Niall to at least try. Make his friend look good and not ruin his reputation. One of Niall’s favorite coworkers was the one that trained Harry to be an agent for the DSS, since Niall wasn’t one. But Niall was the one that had heard horror stories of the girl that wreaked havoc on many of the agents put in place to protect her. Going toe to toe with her meant a more...fulfilling job...after a couple months. At least that’s what Niall had heard and shared with Harry.

“I don’t know what her issue is Harry. But you’re all but DSS’s last hope,” he said. Niall didn’t have to take a round against her. He wasn’t an agent in the protection division. He sat behind a desk going over paperwork. Frequently the paperwork assigning and reassigning the girl’s security detail. But he knew Harry needed a job and he was happy to recommend him. He vouched for him, but Niall was certain the agency would have taken someone off the street and thrown them in the ring at this stage in the game.

Harry was on the younger side. Close to her age, so he had been told in the interview. Maybe that would help. He seemed unfazed. It was just a job. She was just a girl. They had to protect her. But through all he heard, it didn’t sound like they really wanted to protect her all that much anymore.

How much trouble could a twenty-four-year-old graduate biochemistry student get up to?

Niall wished him luck as Harry was debriefed once more about his job. Keep an eye on her, run checks on people she interacts with, make sure she doesn’t die. “Her father is Secretary of State,” they reminded Harry.

Harry nodded. “Got it.”

He took the address that was sent to him into his phone’s GPS and followed the directions to the apartment complex in the small, undercover black SUV issued to him. There was bulletproof glass protecting him from the outside world and tinted windows hiding him through the glass. His mum messaged him.

Good luck, honey bun!

He smirked. Harry may have been twenty-nine, but his Mum’s messages made him feel like a little kid. He adored her, all the way across the pond recognizing what time it was so she could make sure to send him a good luck text as she always had; first day of university, first real job, or even just a trip to the dentist (Harry hated the dentist).

The little apartment complex was inconspicuous. There wasn’t anything special about it, just a brick building with several floors—it couldn’t have been more than 8 apartments. A buzzer door and buttons along the side. The code was sent to him to let himself in.

It’s just a girl. He reminded himself.

Harry took the stairs to the top and fourth floor. It gave him time to calm his nerves and plan his approach based on the way he heard the tales from coworkers. Maybe he would try and befriend her? Harry was down to be friends with her if she wanted. Or maybe that was a bad idea. Maybe he should just try and out-stubborn her. Harry and Gemma used to have contests about who could hold their breath longest when they were young. Harry wasn’t against passing out in the name of winning.

The final steps to her apartment were silent. The current agent at the door looked at Harry with relief. He saluted him, muttered good luck, and hurried back down. Surprised by the immediate departure, Harry gently knocked on the door. The man didn’t even confirm that Harry was his relief. “DSS,” he said quietly to the door.

It took a moment, but at once the door was out of the way. She was shorter than Harry—which arguably wasn’t hard to do with his six-foot frame. Her hair was pulled back by a clip at the back of her head, some strands falling from it to frame her round face. She had a freckle on her brow line and Harry found it unbelievably cute and surprised himself that it was one of the first things he noticed. The space between her eyebrows was pinched together and Harry wanted to smooth it out because even though she was going to be a pain in his ass, she was adorable. Her eyes scanned him quickly and he hoped despite the stories he had heard that she would at least appreciate his professionalism. Her lips were pressed together—not hard, just...resting against one another. Harry was quick to realize it was the least professional thing he could think of: staring at her mouth.

Mum always re-quoted that the eyes were windows to the soul. It was always the first thing Harry noted when he pursued a girl. He loved the idea of gazing into her eyes and trying to find out more about her just through her irises. Maybe if he looked into hers, he would understand why a short little thing like her could scare an entire division of special agents with varying degrees of combat training or intelligence operations.

Her lips pursed into a mocking smile, and she spoke. “Oh, I get it. Send someone young so I relate to them. Someone that will understand my attitude,” she rolled her eyes. Harry raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. Not even a hello. No introduction. Feisty. Right away.

“I’m sorry?”

“Daddy dearest only sent you here because the last seven agents couldn’t handle the paperwork that I made them do. I escape a lot.”

Harry sighed. “Thought y’were gonna be easy,” it was a fib. He knew she was going to be difficult but maybe if he played the part she wouldn’t be as tough on him.

“Nope,” she said petulantly, like that was going to piss Harry off. He assumed it worked on the others that came before him.

Harry could play the petulant game. He was the younger sibling after all. He nodded. “Got it. Well. M’name is Harry. I won’t bother you. I’ll be here if you’d like t’get t’know me. Or when y’leave,” he pulled the door shut and stood beside it. Hands behind his back, listening to the silence inside the door.

“Is this a joke?” She asked through the wood after a full minute. He didn’t respond. The door opened.

“Going somewhere?” Harry asked without looking at her. He could see her in his peripheral.

“No,” she looked at Harry curiously. “You’re not going to...try?” She wondered.

“Try what?” He asked innocently staring at the wall opposite her door.

She shook her head and sighed. “Uh... I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly, uncomfortableness rang in her voice. Harry turned to her, honestly a bit surprised at how readily she apologized. Didn’t seem like something that would be in her repertoire. “Do you want to come in?” She asked. See? Harry thought. She could be perfectly reasonable. “I have seats... you don’t have to stand out here the whole time,” she murmured.

“Thanks, love,” he said politely and followed her through the doorway. He dropped his bag into a seat closest to the door. It just had the department issued computer inside it.

The space was homey. Again, he was surprised by the contrast of the stories he heard versus the sunny outward appearance. He expected rage which he wasn’t sure how that would translate exactly into interior design, but he thought it would be messy. The only hint of a mess was a spot on the coffee table littered with papers and notebooks and a laptop. The grey sofa was also covered with papers and a plain black backpack.

He did not anticipate it being a pretty place. It could rival a florist shop. There were prints of flowers hung on a white mat with black frames at regular spaced intervals. Vinelike garlands decorated with an array of pink flowers of all sorts draped along the slate blue (nearly grey) painted walls near the top of each of the three walls making up the big room—almost like a bordered edge. The fourth wall was the back of the kitchen and contained various appliances leaving no room for flowers, but Harry thought she probably tried when she moved in anyway.

The whole room was open: the sitting room, the dining area, and the kitchen. There were two loveseat sofas, one a modern grey facing the TV. The other perpendicular to the grey one; a solid navy blue that sat in front of three windows. Each window had a sheer grey curtain that matched the sofa, draped with more vines of flowers across all three windows of course. Between the TV and the grey sofa was a grey coffee table and besides the papers and notebooks, there was of course a little vase with pink sunflowers. A large bookshelf was to the left of her TV stand.

In the back corner beside the door was a round dining table and four mismatched dining chairs where Harry had dropped his bag. Another little vase sat in the middle of the table with more pink flowers. The kitchen smelled yummy. Like bacon. That was as much as he could see from the entryway. There was a short little hall but hidden behind a wall he couldn’t see around but assumed a bedroom and a bathroom were around there.

“S’a very nice place,” he murmured.

She was still staring at him as if he just said he liked to eat handfuls of dirt and drink from the river. “Thank you,” she said kindly after a beat of silence. Like she thought maybe it was a trick. “I...I don’t really have any plans tonight. I’ll be studying for an exam I have tomorrow...you could honestly probably leave if you wanted to,”

He thought she sounded genuine but given all the stories, he wasn’t sure. “I’d rather stay put. I can go back in the hall if that would make you more comfortable,” he suggested. “But may I see the rest of the place or would y’rather I wait till later? When you’re less busy?” He asked.

She blinked almost surprised. Harry imagined she wasn’t used to privacy but since he wanted her to like him, he thought respecting her boundaries was going to be the easiest way to do it. Most of her previous details were older. They probably had children of their own around her age or younger and thought treating her like one of their own and bossing her around would be easy. In all the meetings Harry attended and interviews and explanations of the girl before him not once did they seem to note she was an adult.

“Oh...uh...yeah,” she mumbled and gestured for him to walk down the hall. He was right: a bedroom and a bathroom, but he was surprised to find a second bedroom. It didn’t seem like the space was big enough from the outside. She opened all the doors. “This one’s the spare,” she said and showed him the room with nothing but a bed and small three drawer dresser and a chair that looked like it belonged in a college dorm in the corner. There was a door leading to a closet (he assumed). Compared to the main room, it was lackluster given there wasn’t a single flower in the room.

Along the same wall was the bathroom. The room was the same slate grey as the sitting room. The shower curtain was white, with a pattern of pink flowers. The fuzzy bathmat and hand towels matched the pink flowers. A little flowerpot was placed on a shelf hanging above the toilet, but Harry could have predicted at this point that pink flowers would be in the little pot. A chic gold brushed mirror that doubled as a medicine cabinet hung over the sink with the same gold brushed faucet fixtures. A linen closet opposite the light switch right as you walked in, no door to it so he could see her well-stocked array of bathroom necessities, extra towels, and cleaning supplies.

“My room,” she shrugged and pushed the door open. Another bookshelf was draped with green vines. Fascinating. She liked to read a lot, it seemed. A long dresser was beneath the window along the back wall. A nightstand with a biochemistry textbook and a copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was closest to the door near the top of her bed. A weird pair of books for late night reading, he thought. Harry would have to pick the non-textbook one up at the bookstore later. Find another way to relate to her. This room was painted a light blue—so light it was almost white. More vines and flowers. Her bed was made neatly. This time slate-blue-almost-grey color again. Once more pink flowers.

“Are y’a botanist?” He asked, turning back for the main room. He didn’t want to spend a lot of time staring at her room and make her uncomfortable.

She smirked, closing the door following behind him. “Just love color and flowers,” she shrugged. “The grey makes it pop,” she explained. “But I wanted a little bluer for my bedroom. Didn’t want it to seem all dreary.” It was the furthest from dreary.

“S’lovely.”

“Well thanks,” she repeated, just as graciously as before.

She sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. “You can make yourself at home, there’s some drinks in the fridge—non-alcoholic of course, since you’re on the job, but I wouldn’t tell anyway,” she murmured and began scribbling on her papers almost instantly.

Harry felt deeply surprised. He pulled his laptop out and checked the emails. The internal messaging system alerted him that Niall had sent a message. How is she?

Fine. He responded.

Harry’s phone vibrated in his pocket immediately. It was Niall. “FINE?” He asked in shock.

Harry shrugged. “Yes.”

Niall released a breath through his lips in surprise. “I can’t believe it. Usually she has people begging for reassignment after five minutes.”

Harry looked over at the girl working at the coffee table. He looked back at his laptop. “Don’t know,” he murmured.

“You can tell whoever you’re talking to that I’m not the bitch everyone makes me out to be if you’re fucking nice to me,” she grumbled.

Harry smirked. “I like her,” he said loud enough for her to hear. But she didn’t pause at all. Nor did she stray from her position or what she was doing to notice Harry’s kind comment.

*

She left Harry in the main room. He would stay until midnight when some woman would take over the detail. She didn’t hate the woman. She at least allowed her privacy when she wanted it. But she was surprised how much she liked Harry and they’d hardly interacted beyond an exchange of pleasantries. Him leaving in a couple hours seemed unfair.

Harry already had her phone number and he told her he would send her a message, so she had his in case of an emergency. “Not sure what emergency exists in my bedroom,” she muttered. He smirked and shrugged.

“Protocol, love,” he said. So he was one of those. She thought.

She liked his accent. Honestly, she liked everything about Harry. He was gorgeous. It was shocking. There was a moment where she forgot she was supposed to be agitated by her security detail when he introduced himself. It was almost instinctive that her hand wanted to reach out and play with his brown locks that curved every which way around his head. His eyes were this piercing green that she felt the desire to repaint her room the same emerald color. She nearly had to crane her neck to see all six feet of him. And in a simple suit, he was just...beautiful.

But then he pulled the door shut not taking her shit for even a second. Her brain felt out of sorts as she tried to reconcile the attitude, she wanted to have against the one she felt. Not once did someone just back off her. Maybe having someone closer to her age was the trick. But she didn’t want a security detail. Right?

Harry was so utterly polite, complimenting her place, respecting her boundaries as much as possible given his position. Ugh. He was ruining all the hard work she had put in to be a bitch toward DSS.

Fortunately, her phone vibrated as she closed the door to her bedroom. It was a friend from one of her classes telling her they were having a round of drinks before their final exam in the morning. She didn’t want to go. It was ten o’clock and her brain was exhausted from the marathon studying all afternoon and evening with her only breaks introducing herself to Harry and when she ordered them pizza.

Harry insisted on paying. Another weird notion from him. She never really ordered food for her security details, but she always did offer, and she always paid. Her mother taught her to have manners and be polite, even if she was mad—it would make her more amicable. However, she thought a lot of her previous agents assumed she was trying to poison them when she ordered them food. Harry didn’t talk much to her while they ate. He asked her what she was studying and if she felt confident about the exam.

She worked her ass off to be successful in her classes. She was one of the top students, she knew it. But everyone else saw it as the Secretary of State’s doing, not her own. But yes, she was confident about the exam.

But now it was 10:04 and she wanted to be included. She didn’t want to come off as “Daddy’s little princess” and the goody-two-shoes she was accustomed to being. Biting her lip, she pressed her ear to her door. She couldn’t hear Harry at all. Harry seemed cooler than her other details, she could probably just ask him to take her and hang back as far as humanly possible. He told her he was going to read the files on the people she surrounded herself with while she went to sleep.

He would be back first thing in the morning for a full day of watching her every movement. She quietly changed into an easy, comfy outfit. Jeans, t-shirt, her most comfortable broken-in Keds. She glanced at the mirror on the back of her closet and put on a couple dabs of concealer around her eyes and a few swipes of mascara. It was one round of drinks; she would be back before Harry left his post and she wouldn’t even have to worry about locking up her apartment. She shoved her ID and her credit card into the back of her phone case and then put it in her back pocket.

Carefully, she opened the window pausing around the part that always groaned in the humidity from the outside August air. She quietly pulled the screen in and laid it on her bed. With cat-like soft feet, she got out onto the platform of the fire escape. Closing the window behind her, once more minding the swelled portion. She made her way down the fire escape. The walk to the bar was less than half a mile.

As she turned the corner of the building to walk along the streetlamp-lit roads she was pushed suddenly and almost violently against the building. She nearly lost her footing, but the person kept her upright and was surprisingly gentle with her before she slammed into the bricks. Her lungs inhaled, ready to let out a scream, but a hand was covering her mouth at the same time causing her heart rate to skyrocket. “Seriously?” Harry’s accent cut through her terrified mind.

The terror seeped out of her mind as anger coursed through her. Maybe the close in age thing wasn’t going to be a good plan after all. If this was one of her other agents, they wouldn’t have known she was gone until she had finished her drink and was walking back home. She shoved his hand from her mouth, and she glared at him. Her body was shaking with her fight or flight response and a lot rage. “What?” She snapped and started marching down the road.

“Y’could’ve jus’ asked,” he called from behind her. “S’dangerous t’walk alone this late at night.”

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see it. “No one is going to try and kidnap me for political purposes on a Wednesday night while I get a drink with friends,” she told him.

“Love, s’not what I meant,” he said gently. The kindness in his tone made her attitude waver again. But she was mad that he caught her. That never happened. She didn’t want to be sneakier. She thought she might actually like Harry. He even said he liked her to whoever he was on the phone with—that made her heart warm despite how she pretended not to hear. If Harry liked her, it would be much harder to maintain the isolated, bitchy attitude she gave all the other security agents.

“What’s there to worry about? Someone shoving me against a building and covering my mouth?” She grumbled.

“I didn’t want t’scare you; I was jus’ trying t’show you that someone could’ve snuck up,” he was keeping his distance from her, but she listened intently for the practically soundless footsteps. The only reason she could hear him was because it rained and made the little scratchy pebbles and dirt crunch under his feet ever so slightly.

“By scaring me,” she stated, still not looking at him.

He sighed. “M’sorry. I thought...” he trailed off. She didn’t make him finish his sentence. She thought too—he knew the stories of her, but he thought he would be different. They walked probably two tenths of a mile in silence. “M’sorry, love,” he repeated. “S’my first day. Didn’t want you t’get hurt.”

She sighed. He did sound remorseful. And she still kind of liked him. Mostly because as tragic as it sounded, he seemed to be more worried about her safety as a female walking dark streets and not a political official’s daughter. “It’s alright,” she mumbled. “I should have just asked,” she agreed a bit begrudgingly. “Just figured it was one drink and I’d be home before you left.”

He didn’t say anything. She stopped in her tracks. She could see the sign for the bar where her friends were down the long street before her. She turned to Harry. He looked relieved.

They gazed at each other a moment. Harry would be a worth adversary, she thought to herself. It was like he heard her thoughts because his next words almost tried to refute the idea. “I don’t like t’do paperwork,” he told her those pretty green eyes focused on her intently. He was serious. His jaw flexed tightly.

She smirked. “No promises.”

*

She spotted Harry at the end of the stairway, leaning against the wall as she exited the building where she had taken her exam. He had to be sweating in the suit slacks and button down—even if the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His left arm had several tattoos lining his arm while the right only had one or two. He wasn’t wearing a tie today nor a suit coat—she wanted to tell him she didn’t really give a shit what he wore, but he seemed the professional type. Being the middle of August, it was hot as could be. He didn’t seem to care, glancing every which way through a pair of black sunglasses. She couldn’t see his eyes and she suddenly realized she missed seeing the green even though she’d only gotten one good look at them.

Unfortunately, in all her ogling she missed the last two steps sending her straight into someone in front of her and she fell to the ground on the hot sidewalk, scraping her knee like a child. Fortunately, as a biochem major, she had to wear pants whenever setting foot in the lab so the yoga pants she wore—while hot for a summer day—probably saved her just a bit from a worse cut. It did cause a few tears in the fabric and her knee would surely bruise.

Harry started to rush over but the guy she bumped into helped her back to standing. “You okay there?” He asked.

Harry stood back a few feet as the guy helped. “Uh...yeah. Sorry, I missed the last step,” she said with a slight awkward laugh. She brushed the dirt from her hands that were also scraped as well as the length of her forearm since she was allowed to wear short sleeves (especially since it was exam day).

“Oh hey! You’re—” As soon as she realized he recognized her she closed her eyes and sighed.

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Sorry,” she hurried off, limping slightly as she realized she really smacked her knee and the way it scraped definitely made it sore to bend. She didn’t want to be recognized. She wanted to be herself and not have this political precursor follow her everywhere.

They were making their way back toward the SUV Harry had parked nearby when he had dropped her off this morning so she wouldn’t be late. Good luck he had called out when she closed the door behind her. “Are y’alright?” Harry’s accent was a few paces behind her. She felt embarrassed so she didn’t turn around. She nodded.

“Yeah. Just a scrape. Want to go home and take a nap in the AC.”

“Can’t argue with y’there,” he chuckled.

She smirked; glad he couldn’t see her. “You don’t have to wear a suit all the time,” she told him. “It’s a thousand degrees out. You’ll die of a heat stroke before you can protect me.”

He seemed to ignore her joke, but she was still a bit genuinely concerned he would overheat. “How was your exam?” He asked.

She turned finally and looked at him. He stopped short, still a few steps behind her. They probably looked odd beneath the shaded trees. Both dressed not for a summer day. Harry looked threatening, surprisingly. He didn’t when she saw him in her apartment or even when he walked her home at eleven last night. He looked like a regular guy even if he was overdressed in a half suit. She noted the gun in its holster on his hip and she wondered how good of a shot he was. Not because she thought he would be bad or because she thought he would ever need to shoot it in her presence but because she was genuinely curious about him. She still had her backpack on of course. Her knee bent slightly with a tear in her pants. Quite the pair.

His glasses were still covering his eyes, hiding probably the most assured way to understand what he was thinking. But despite all she thought about the DSS, Harry was nice. Even if it had only been the inside of 24 hours.

It was shame she was a bitch to her security detail.

“Uh...easy,” she said. “A lot of my friends complain about studying and it sucks, but obviously it was worth it,” she shrugged. “I only struggled with one long response question, and I knew that I would going into it,” she explained.

“S’good, m’happy for you,” a little smile twinged at his lips and he sounded so genuine. It surprised her. Like he was really taking an interest in her.

But then she remembered this was his job and he probably couldn’t give two shits about her or exam. She tilted her head and scanned the man before her as if that negative thought would reveal itself. Of course, it didn’t. The glasses were hiding his true emotions. She would have to figure out Harry later. It was too hot, even in the shade.

Silently she turned on her heel looking at the air-conditioned oasis of that SUV. Harry opened the door for her, something she was not used to before closing her neatly and safely inside. Once Harry opened his door she asked her question. “Can we get coffee?” She asked.

“Coffee?”

“My treat,” she smirked.

“I thought you wanted a nap?”

“Yeah, but I have to work later and if you drink coffee before a nap, the coffee will kick in right when you wake up.”

He tilted his head at her before he pulled into the road. “Didn’t know y’have a job.”

“It’s remote,” she shrugged.

“Oh.”

“So coffee?”

“If that’s what you want, love.”

Harry drove in silence to the closest coffee shop he could find, and she got out of the car quickly before stopping at the driver’s window. “Can I get you anything?” She asked kindly.

“Uh...an iced tea would be nice,” he said curiously.

She was not the bitch everyone made her out to be. “Sure,” she said and rushed inside. Harry kept the window rolled down and could see her perfectly through the window. It took no more than ten minutes, and she was back at the car handing him iced tea through his open window before she got into the car. Harry wasn’t really sure what to make of her. But he was sure that he liked her. She was funny. In her own sort of way. He watched her sip her drink as she settled back into the car.

It would be fun.

Protecting her.

“I could send you a picture if you’d like to stare at me longer,” she blinked in excess at him. Fluttering her pretty eyelashes as her quick witted tone pierced his thoughts.

Right?

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

Protection tag list: @youcouldstartacult

Please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :) If you would like for me to start a taglist for this series, please let me know as well!

[wordsinhaled]

Aziraphale returns to Earth, but his memory’s been wiped, like Gabriel’s was. He instinctively comes to the bookshop, but Crowley’s not there.

Muriel’s there, instead.

Muriel doesn’t really know what to do with him and Aziraphale… he doesn’t remember being Aziraphale. Just that something drew him inexorably to London, to this neighborhood, this street, this shop. He’s still wearing the bespoke new clothes he was given in Heaven, not a stitch of tan or tartan or vintage fabric anywhere on his person.

He’s subdued and pensive at first, robbed of his usual verve and lust for all of the beautiful things in life; and he doesn’t remember how he takes his tea, or even that this is his shop, actually—it couldn’t be. That’s absurd. He doesn’t believe Muriel that he is, in fact, an angel named Aziraphale. An angel owning a bookshop in Soho. Really, it couldn’t be any more fantastical if it came right out of a fantasy novel, could it?

Nina and Maggie come by, and when they see Mr. Fell’s condition Muriel very, very narrowly convinces them not to take Aziraphale to A&E right then and there.

And then Crowley shows up.

He’d stayed away, for a bit, at first. He’d wanted to stay away for always, maybe wish himself to another star entirely (not Alpha Centauri, that one was utterly out of the question, thank you very bleeding much). But being in his new, empty, hyperminimalist flat with only his plants for silent company is leagues worse than any torture hell has ever thrown at him before. It doesn’t really bring him the joy it used to. If he’s honest, which he would prefer not to be, nothing much does; but maybe that’s just what life as a demon is supposed to be. Joyless and colorless.

And so he’s taken to coming by; only for a bit, only about once a week if he’s very disciplined. Someone’s got to make sure Muriel hasn’t sold any of the books, don’t they?

And. Well. It hasn’t been that long, really, since Aziraphale left. Sometimes Crowley just walks up and down the street. Orders a nine-shot espresso from Nina. Visits Maggie’s shop, takes a listen through the records she keeps aside for him even though he’s never asked her to do it. But in the end, he finds himself back at the threshold of the bookshop, pulled there like iron to a lodestone. It’s all very… regular, very boring, very mind-numbingly bland and dull without Aziraphale there with him, and yet… it’s the only place Crowley’s found ever that feels remotely like home.

So. Crowley shows up.

But this time he looks through the window and almost discorporates on the spot, because that’s Aziraphale. That’s Aziraphale standing in the bookshop, lit gold by an afternoon sunbeam.

It’s worse, somehow, seeing him right there within reach, than it was simply remembering him. It feels a bit like being crushed slowly in a vise: a vise with great big spikes in it for good measure. Aziraphale is back. Back on Earth. Back in the bookshop, and he didn’t even look for Crowley, didn’t even try to find him—

(Of course he didn’t, Crowley reminds himself, because he’s not on their side any more. And there it is. There’s the lick of bitter, blunted anger he’s become used to, twisting round his heart alongside the aching, terrible grief he wishes he were too proud, or too disaffected, to still feel.)

He almost doesn’t go in. It would be better, not to go in, wouldn’t it? It would. He can pretend to himself, to everyone, that he’s there to look in on Maggie, or to pop into the brand new plant shop just opened a few doors over, he really has been eyeing the gorgeous Persian carpet flower hanging in the bay window. He doesn’t have one of those—

But blast it all, it’s almost like he’s summoned her because suddenly Maggie’s there with him on the pavement, and she’s a lovely girl, really, on most days, only he wishes she wouldn’t sound so distraught on this particular day, when Crowley’s already suffocating. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she’s saying. “It’s Mr. Fell. He’s back. And—I think he needs you.”

Crowley… well, he scoffs all the way to the shop door, scowls at the cheerful jingle of the bell, scoffs harder still as the door creaks shut behind him. It’s fitting that Aziraphale’s standing now turned away from the entrance, all the better not to see him skulk in. Aziraphale’d made perfectly plain that he doesn’t need him at all.

But all of Crowley’s thoughts go right out of his ridiculous, hopeless, besotted head the moment Aziraphale turns round to look at him.

He looks…

The tailored clothes he’s wearing are doing a surprising amount of wonders for him, actually. That’s Crowley’s first thought, he’s a bit ashamed to admit. The cool grey silk of the suit makes Aziraphale’s eyes an impossibly bright, crisp blue, or maybe it’s that Crowley’s forgotten somehow how blue they always were.

Crowley’s second thought is that he hates how much he’s missed him. He hates how, already, his shoulders are dropping down from where they’ve been perpetually scrunched up about his ears for weeks, just at being in the same room. He can’t stand the treacherous lump rising in his throat and the way the scent of violets follows Aziraphale everywhere and really, he’s got to thank someone in this hope-forsaken universe for the paltry sanctuary of his bloody sunglasses, because...

“Oh,” Aziraphale says to him. “Hello. I’m—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathes, a little wetly.

“—Ezra,” Aziraphale finishes.

Crowley blinks. He takes a swaying step backwards. “…Ezra,” he says. And a part of him, see, a part of him is still livid, it really is, still bruised and raw and curled in on itself somewhere deep inside like a wilting blossom. But another part of him is—is confused. Aziraphale hadn’t chosen him. He knows that. He can come to terms with that. But surely… surely they aren’t going to be like this, now.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale says, “of course. Ezra Fell. That is my name, isn’t it? And this! This is my shop. Naturally.” He smiles at Crowley beatifically. That smile, at least, seems unchanged, if the way Crowley’s chest seizes at the sight of it is anything to go by.

“Right,” Crowley says. “…Naturally.”

“And how may I help you, sir? Is there a particular title you’re looking for? Though I must tell you quite up front, I’m told I dislike selling books, but you might, if you’re very careful, be permitted to peruse them on the premises. You do look like a nice fellow, after all.”

And it’s then—only then (too late, he thinks, and isn’t he always too late?)—that Crowley begins to realize something is very, very, very wrong with Aziraphale.

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXVI. — THREESOME (GUARDIAN ANGEL / FALLEN CHERUB AU)

cw: Threesome, Fingering, Yandere Undertones, Religious Undertones, Obsessive Thoughts / Behaviors, Possessive Thoughts / Behaviors, Quirkless AU, Violence / Violent Undertones, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Oh, yes, a very self indulgent AU. I actually have quite a bit of lore about this AU. If you'd like to see more content from it, let me know! I'd be happy to write more for it. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.4k words.

“Hands off.”

Touya cackles a little before it tapers off into a chuckle, and he shakes his head softly. He leans to the side a smidge, and his arms shift  around your body to draw you closer to him. The back of your head rests against his chest—he doesn't have a beating heart, you’ve always thought that was ironic—and his lungs rattle whenever he breathes. Touya flicks a wrist so he can poke the bottom of your nose. 

“Woah, calm down, Chisaki. You’re being so haaaaaarsh right now.” 

There’s a hint of something to Touya’s lilt, but you don’t dwell on it. He’s trying to tease Kai, yeah, but it's always a deadly game. Kai doesn't like to be played with—he doesn't deal with nonsense, he doesn't waste his time on useless things that have no relation to his current goal—you. 

Kai has always been here for as long as you can remember. He told you that he was your guardian angel, whatever that means. It means that he’s always hovering over you, watching, leering, and you have to remain under his gaze, his care, and you’ll be with him until you die. You once asked Kai if he would be your guardian angel for eternity. He told you that there was only one way for that to happen because humans don’t have an afterlife—but then he refused to elaborate. Touya is nothing like Kai. 

“You’re not allowed to touch her. Get your filthy hands off.” 

Kai crawls forward, hands and knees, and those big wine hued feathers on his back flutter before they span out, flat. There’s this look in his golden honey eyes, piercing, predatory, and they’re seeing you in a way you’ve never felt before. His nude body glistens under the moon, but it’s not sweat. It’s something pure, something akin to tiny pearls, gems in the sand. Your cunt throbs, and you realize that you’ve never felt like this before. You’ve never even considered Kai like this—not even whenever you first begin developing sexual urges, whenever your hormones birthed and spiked, whenever you began touching yourself at night. Even whenever Kai would lay by your side at night while you masturbated, eyes open. 

Touya’s fingers drum on the sides of your waist. 

“C’mon. She wants it, pretty boy. We’re in love.” 

Touya had pierced you with that arrow of his—just a tiny little dot on your pinky, you hadn’t been paying attention, but you met his gaze, fell in love. That’s how those tricky arrows he carries work. He shouldn't even have them, but he intercepted your real cherub, murdered them. Touya never totally explained it, but he said he saw the perfect opportunity, and said Kai had been the perfect target. He’s a fallen cherub, his dove wings now raven. Touya had shot one of those arrows into Kai’s back, the heart-shaped head far into his flesh, digging underneath cloudy epidermis. Kai hadn’t screamed, hadn’t yelled, nothing, but he had been staring right at you. He’d been reprimanding you for attempting to invite someone over—they could hurt you, didn’t you know?—and he’d been so exposed. Touya wanted to fuck with him. It worked. Kai changed, morphed, and he was an antichrist that towered over your frame and demanded to be your lover. He was obsessed with you now—Touya said a guardian angel had never been hit by a cherub’s arrow, that’s why he wanted to attempt it to see the outcome, he had been giggling whenever he said that—and he was your lover now. 

But so was Touya. 

Kai growls. 

“You sacrilegious failure—what gave you the right to piece my human with your arrow?” 

Touya shrugs, and you can tell he’s smirking, you can feel it. 

“‘Cuz you’re so stuffy. I figured she would need a schmoozy lover instead a’ you.” 

Kai looks insane whenever he pounces forward. He’s between your knees, his claws are flexing and real, and his pupils are dilating. They grow and shrink, camera lenses, and you can tell he’s calculating the best way to tear out Touya’s throat, he’s done that before, his teeth glitter underneath your eyes. There are chainsaws and bullets in the back of his throat, animalistic sounds that make you shiver and tremble, but Kai doesn’t pay attention to that. He never quits imploring Touya, but his hands start trailing all over your legs. You barely have time to register Kai slipping a hand down between the line of your thighs so he can strum his fingers down your naked slit. A gasp leaves you, Touya tilts his head back and hums, and Kai shoves two fingers inside of you. 

Touya squeezes your arms whenever you scream. Kai hadn’t even warmed you up, hadn’t prepped you, he just took what he wanted, just put himself inside of you. Sometimes he does that, and you’re not wet enough to accommodate his long fingers but it doesn't seem to bother Kai. 

“She’s mine. Don’t you forget that. I was assigned to her. Me. You aren’t even supposed to be here.” 

Tears are welling in your eyes, spilling over the lips, trickling into the apples of your face, salty, soaking. Touya moves his hands, one cupping a breast and the other locating your barely pulsing clit. You’re not even that aroused right now. But you want them. You feel made for them both, like a wishbone shredded down the middle. Circles are rubbed into your clit, soft, delicate. It’s like Touya doesn’t want to force you. It’s a stark contrast to Kai’s furious pumping. He’s so ferocious, and the way his face keeps rippling back into wrinkles and snarls makes your knees weak. 

You’ve always been a little afraid of your guardian angel. 

“Yeah, well, sorry to let you down. She wants me here, don’t you, little dove?” 

You just limply nod. 

It makes Kai terrifying.

“Don’t say another word. She’s mine for the rest of eternity.” 

You blink. 

“Kai. You said we’d only be together until I died. I can be Touya’s until I die too, right?” 

Both pause to look at you. It’s an uncomfortable few seconds that stretch on so agonizingly, but Touya breaks the silence by guffawing. He laughs so hard that he shakes you, metal pops off of his face, he’s lost some of his staples, his burn scars shift, and the hand on your clit presses down harder. His accidental spit sprays on your shoulders.  

“Oh! Ohhh, pretty boy, you didn’t tell her?” 

You turn your head to stare at Touya. 

“Tell me what?” 

Touya’s teal twinkles.

“You gonna tell her or should I reveal your secrets?” 

Kai remains silent. 

“Touya. Touya, what are you talking about?” 

It’s like an explosion whenever Touya begins laughing again, blood trails from the corners of his eyes, and he begins jerking you off again. 

“How many times have you had sex with Chisaki? With me? A shit ton?” 

You’re awkward whenever you nod, but Touya eats it up. 

“Little dove, that means you’re like us now. You ain’t dying anytime soon.” 

He doesn’t elucidate further, but he doesn’t need to for the horror to start settling into your bone marrow. You’re sure you look horrified, and you are, that’s abhorring to hear, macabre, and you feel a tingling forlorn whisper tickle down from the shells of your ears down your flesh. It’s regret, but it’s sin, it’s accidents, it’s lies, it’s lust, it’s love, it’s everything and more. Touya’s fingers are deft, and you start moaning despite it all. Kai’s fingers are like dead weight inside of you, but they twitch, they twitch and suddenly you’ve never felt more on fire. You’re gasping, falling into Touya’s hold, and Kai starts to draw in closer. Both eyes wrench shut—you don’t want to look at them, but Kai whispers. 

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this, angel.” 

It doesn’t soothe you. 

Touya’s gone again. 

“Come off it, Chisaki. You’ve been lying to her since the day she was born.” 

Kai’s golden honey is sweet whenever you open your eyes, addicting, and it’s too sticky to escape, sinking in. 

“Because she was born to be mine.” 

His fingers start moving again, finally, and you see his hard cock bounce by a fraction. It’s hard to swallow. Touya’s laughs are driving into soft groans, and he’s just shaking his head and letting it rest within the cove of your neck. 

“Oh, dove. What have you gotten yourself into?” 

Wine wings expand out into the night. 

“I don’t know.” 

[waves-against-a-cliff]

Cookies and Brownies - Gaz x Reader

Content Warnings - Fluff with some very, very minor angst.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Normally, Gaz did not find leaving his flat so difficult. Usually he was already gnawing at the bit to get back onto the field from his mandatory leave, to get back to doing something instead of lying around. Well now he had a reason to want to stay, for the person next door who also happens to work at his favorite bakery/cafe.

There is something cruel about that, ironically cruel. Gaz has never had any trouble getting people to come home with him, sometimes he didn’t even need to put on any of his charm. But he knows it was because of his looks, charming like a prince in a fairytale. Was it the military lifestyle? Was that why he found it so hard to keep people around him and wanting him? Maybe.

But you, you were different. You didn’t see his return to the military as a goodbye, closing your door on whatever is happening between the two of you. No, you worked out a solution in mere seconds. Gift packages, he’d seen some men he’s worked with before get them. Packages usually from loved ones, like family or partners. Sometimes from friends. Gaz hadn’t gotten one since his early days, back when his grandmother was still around. God rest her soul.

It’s two weeks later, two weeks into being at this base in this fucking desert that the package arrives. His name is called out alongside others and he is handed a package, it has several postmarks slapped onto it with your handwriting on the box for the address.

His stomach twists at the sight of your handwriting, how is that possible? How can he feel that way over handwriting? It’s not just anyone’s handwriting, Gaz thought, it's yours. Distinctly and completely yours. Something no other person could replicate, just you.

Gaz waits until he’s in his tent, empty thankfully, to cut open the package. Inside there is a letter on top of several tins that his mind immediately thinks are sewing supplies until he connects the dots. He opens the letter first, imagining his grandmother slapping the back of his head for being rude and going for the gifts first.

More of your handwriting, his heart pounds as he reads through the letter. He can’t help but rub his thumb over where you wrote his name. Kyle. His real name, not a call sign given to him years ago. Kyle Garrick.

Kyle opens the first tin and finds it filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookies. It dawns on Kyle then that there are four tins, which means lots of baked goods. He licks his lips as he pulls out the other tins and opens them, just to know which one’s hold which.

There is another tin of cookies, white macadamia nut and two tins of brownies. One looks like the classic kind and the other filled with cookie-brownies. He feels like a wolf staring down prey, unguarded sheep ready to be eaten. Before he digs in, he puts the tins away and rips a piece of paper from his notebook and writes.

Dear Kyle,

Hello! I hope the package found you alright and that I had added enough postmarks for it to make the journey. I hope you’re still at base and not somewhere fighting bad guys haha. Things here have seriously slowed down or maybe its because our best customer isn’t currently here. I made some cookies and brownies although they might be stale. If they are, I’m sorry but I’m not sure how to stop that from happening. Do you have any kind of favorite candies? If you send me a letter with your favorites I’ll be sure to include it in the next batch, maybe even bake it into the cookies.

It’s been raining impossibly often but according to Mrs. Thompson its that time of the year. Is that true or is she trying to keep me from rightfully complaining about not seeing the sun in a week? Why is it that when you left the sun decided to hide behind rain clouds? Do you have some kind of deal worked out with the weather? If so, let me in on it, there’s only so much rain a person can handle. Well, I don’t want to hold you up. Enjoy the likely stale cookies and brownies.

[peachesofteal]

Alone / Chapter 2

Part eight of the Sassy series.

Simon Riley/female reader 4.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, panic attacks, angst, PTSD, trauma, blood and torture, hospitals, emotional hurt/comfort, medical stuff, coparenting, relationship issues, reader is going through it, soft dad Simon Riley. You’re living in a nightmare.

Blood has a distinct smell. To many, it’s the pungent minerality that turns their senses but to you, it’s the tang of the metal that makes your lip quiver. It’s the saltlick iron that makes you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and breathe through your nose slowly, an effort to try to prevent the tossing of your stomach. 

Here, the scent is everywhere. On the walls. On your face. On your clothes. There was a puddle of it, beneath your knees. It’s a combination of yours and nameless others, their blood one of the only things left of them in the world, seeping into the fabric of your jeans, staining the concrete blocks of-

“Mrs. Riley?” Your doctor, your therapist, looks at you expectantly over the rim of her glasses, and you huff. “Where were you just now?” You try not to scowl. Be honest. You’re supposed to be honest. 

“The room.”

“Where you were being held?” You nod. You force your fingers flat against your thighs, beating back the urge to scratch your nails against your skin. “And what were you thinking, about the room?”

“I was remembering what all the blood smelled like. What it tasted like.” To her credit, your shrink doesn’t flinch. She holds your gaze steady, until you are the one looking away, glancing over her shoulder at the clock that always seems to move too slow.

You’ve tried this once, already. Tried to get her to crack, to push you off. Tried to get her to cower, or recommend you speak to someone else. She’s stronger than you originally thought, you’ll her give her that, but you supposed it didn’t hurt that she’s been having twice weekly sessions with Simon when he’s not away on an op for over two years now, and you’re well aware your dog and pony show are nothing compared to whatever he’s been telling her.

Simon Riley, the closed off ghost who wouldn’t even show you his face when he got you pregnant, turned father of the year who bent over backwards for his wife, now goes to therapy, and meditates when he’s out on ops.

“Do you remember how you felt, when you were in that room?” Oh, for fucks sake. You nod, lips pressed into a line. “Can you tell me?”

“Worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“Theo. And Simon.”

“Not for yourself?” You shrug. Your lungs hurt, like they’re being constricted, and you look down to your shoes.

“Can we talk about something else?” You say it to your laces, not to her, but you know she hears it when her pen clicks and the scratch of the tip scrawls across her pad.

“How is co-parenting going?” Your head snaps up, and you smother the glare that pulls at the edges of your face.

“It’s fine.”

“You and Simon are communicating alright?” Jesus christ. 

“Mostly.” You shrug and don’t elaborate. She nods at your silence, an indication she wants you to keep going. You grit your teeth. “Sometimes, he calls, or texts and I don’t answer him. Or I don’t answer him in a timely manner.” Your fingers make air quotes around the timely manner bit.

“Why is that?”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“Are you uncomfortable with the communication?”

“No!” you rush out. “No, no of course not… I want him to see Theo as much as possible. I just feel, mixed up. So, when I see him, or hear from him, it makes those mixed-up feelings feel… more intense. More mixed up.”

“Can you name a few of those feelings?” You close your eyes and picture Simon’s face. You see him holding Theo’s hand in the supermarket or pushing him on the swing set in the park. You see him in bed beside you, before, eyes soft and full of love, his smile beautiful and easy on his lips. Unburdened. 

“Sadness.” You pause to take a deep breath. “Sadness and anger, confusion. Guilt.” The pen scribbles on paper when you pause, and you glance up at the clock. Bingo. “Looks like we’re out of time.” You supply, smiling at her cheerily when she narrows her eyes, and then writes something down before giving you a nod.

The man says your name.

Not Sassy. Not Sass.

Your real name, before he tuts in your face, like you’ve let him down.

“Yer da ‘d be real disappointed in ye.” Saliva builds in the back of your throat.

“Don’t talk about my father.” You hiss and he outright laughs.

“Still fightin’ even when broken.” His fingers fold over the wound in your arm, pressing into the open, infected flesh, digging against it with his fingernails and the pain burns, it scrapes across your skin like a million little knives. “Maybe ye’re not so worthless after all, eh?” You launch the spit into his eye, grim satisfaction creeping over you when he staggers back in surprise, rage brewing across his face before he’s gripping you by the collarbone and thrusting you backwards, tipping the metal chair until you’re slamming into the ground, your head bouncing on blood slick concrete like a child’s ball.

“Stupid bitch.” His leg draws backwards until he’s firing the toe of his boot into your stomach, kicking you once, twice before you’re gasping for air, pain blooming across your abdomen as he batters you.

You close your eyes, and think of Theo. You think of Simon, of the two of them together. At home, safe. You pull the string of a memory until it comes to the forefront of your mind, Theo’s first words, his first steps. His second birthday party, when Johnny bought him that obnoxious drum set, and Simon bent you over the couch after Theo went to bed. The day you got married, your first wedding anniversary, the hotel room in Florence. You slip into these memories like they’re real and try to block out the smell of the blood and the pain in your body, try to drown in the shadows of your old self, your past, while you lose everything to the present, over and over again.

The little house is quiet when you get home in the afternoon.

At first it doesn’t bother you. Theo is with his dad for the night, already been picked up from school and probably taken to the park, his favorite Friday activity. Si will probably get him pizza, because he spoils him endlessly, and he’ll let him fall asleep while they cuddle on the couch and watch some awful kid’s show. You can see it, in your mind, the image of Theo in the crook of Simon’s elbow where he still fits, his little arm stretched across his dad’s ribs, Simon with his feet on the coffee table.

It rips your heart apart. The swell of emotion is strong enough that tears pool in your eyes, dripping down over your cheeks while you curl up into a ball on your own couch, blanket tucked up under your chin. You did this. You are a nightmare. You did this to yourself. You press your palm to your lips and scream into it, smothering the sound as best you can, your throat turning raw with each breath. Your body shakes with sobs until you’re exhausted and your eyes slip shut, tears still webbed in your lashes, while the sun shines through your living room window. 

Your phone jolts you awake a few hours later, your hands scrambling to find where you’ve lost it in the couch, the realization that it’s going to be Theo breaking through the heavy weight of your misery. Must be close to bedtime. When you slide open the facetime call, he’s grinning at you, little dab of red sauce on his chin.

“Mum!” he shouts, glee coloring the word and you smile back at him easily, hastily rubbing your face to erase the evidence of your state. “Dad got ‘izza!”

“I see that.” A big thumb drifts in front of the camera to wipe the glob of red away and Theo giggles.

“Say goodnight.” Simon says in the background and Theo pauses, little eyebrows creased in confusion before he recovers and looks back to the phone.

“Goodnight mum. Luh you.”

“Love you too bug. Have fun with dad.” The phone shifts, darkness covering the camera for a second before it’s righted, and Simon’s face fills the frame. Your stomach clenches.

“His mates from school are all gonna be at the fields tomorrow morning. I told him I’d take him, if it's alright with you.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Thanks.” You can see him studying you through the screen.

“Everything alright?” his tone shifts, takes on something softer, something sweeter, something that feels like a memory, and your chest tightens.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

“If you need-“

“I’m fine.” You snap. He sighs.

“Alright then. Goodnight, Sass.”

“Night.”

“There she is, see?” Simon points, and Theo frowns when he sees you, lower lip tugging downward, his face confused before he looks back to his dad, burying his face in his chest with a cry.

“Hey bug. Come here.” You hold your arms out to him, but he just cries into Simon, the scared wailing splitting you open and pouring concrete into your lungs, so it feels like you’ve got an entire building sitting on your chest. “It’s okay baby.” You call, hands still waiting, voice edging on desperate. You want your baby. You want to hold him, to feel him in your arms and know he’s okay, that he’s here, that Simon’s here, and you’re here and there is no danger, nothing to fear. Simon steps closer to you, his emotions raw across his face, and Theo screams in his arms, legs kicking ferociously.

“It’s mum, Theo. Stop. Look.” Simon tries but it’s no use. You know Theo is terrified of you, your battered and bruised face, the wires and tubes that are connected to your chest and the IV that’s stuck in the back of your hand. Your brain buzzes, a low droning noise between your ears making your head spin and you call Theos’ name with a croak.

“NO!” Theo shrieks, he screams it at the top of his lungs and Simon looks lost as you stare wordlessly, hands reaching out into the void, begging to hold your son that doesn’t even recognize you.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel the tears drop down onto the arm that’s folded across your abdomen.

The door slides open, and Johnny appears, pulling Theo from Simon’s arms, patting his back softly and giving you a sympathetic look.

“C’mon lad, let’s go get a lolly, yeah? Give mum and dad some time.” Theo hugs his uncle around his neck, and heaves little sobs into his skin while Johnny shushes him and carries him back out the door.

“I-“ you choke on whatever it was you were going to say, the buzzing in your head so, so loud that it drowns out your thoughts, covers up your feelings until you’re pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes.

Knuckles tap against the glass, Johnny’s face appearing in the window.

“I’ll be right back.” Simon assures you, leaving his foot in the door while he talks to Johnny, their voices fuzzy, and suddenly, the world is tilting and all you can smell is blood.

The buzzing in your head is ferocious, a searing sharpness that feels like a lobotomy, your mind screaming inside your head. The stitches in your skin burn, and you swear you can feel each cell trying to pull closed, the sticky edges of your wounds slowly seaming back together, sealing shut everything inside of you, trapping the buzzing away within your own body so you’ll never be able to pull it out.

You need to go home. You have to get out of here. You can’t stay here. You have to get home. Where everything is safe. Where there is no danger.

You fidget with your central line, trying to unclick, unscrew it until you’re just tugging on it as hard as you can without making a sound, pain throbbing into the hole that’s been created for the port as you start to pull the sticky pads off your lower rib cage. The noises in the room are going berserk, bells and whistles chiming and beeping while the buzzing in your head gets louder and louder, and your fingers dig into your IV, trying to rip it from your skin before Simon is grabbing your hand.

“I have to get out of here.” You tell him. He’ll understand. You know he will.

“Bloody hell Sass, stop.” Your fingers are still scratching away, trying to crawl towards the IV, the last thing tethering you to this place, keeping you from your family, and you push against the pressure holding you still. The buzzing in your head is screaming now, louder than Simon’s voice, louder than the frantic beeping of the machines that have lost their leads.

“Let me go! I ha- have to go. I have to get out.” Simon tries to grab your other hand but you’re too quick, nimble and lithe like you always have been, and you latch onto the needle in your skin, ripping it free, blood trickling down your arm and dripping across your thin hospital gown. Heavy hands grab your shoulders and press you back against the bed.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.”  His elbow pins your collarbone down while his hand comes up to cradle your face. “Everything’s alright.” What? No, it isn’t. It’s not alright. This is certainly not alright. Can’t he hear that noise? You shake your head vehemently and he tries to hold you steady. 

“No. N-no, no, Simon. I have to go. Please, we have to go.” The door swings open and a man in blue scrubs with a badge walks through, a nurse at his side, capped syringe in her hand. Your stomach roils. “Simon.” You plead as you eye them, their slow steps bringing them closer and closer to you, and you shift on the bed, up against your husband, trying to bury yourself in his body, hide from whatever the people in scrubs are going to do. “Simon, we have to go home. Please, we need to get home.” 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He strokes the hair away from your face, and you realize he’s got tears in his eyes, his gaze heavy and sad, and your own eyes widen in fear when you feel a new set of hands on your body.

“Get off me!” you scream, thrashing in the bed, Simon trying to talk to you, trying to calm you while the man in scrubs pins your arms down.

“Don’t hold her like that.” He snarls, and the foreign hands on your body adjust, letting your forearms go loose while the pinch of a needle punctures your skin. “It’s alright, I promise.” Simon’s voice breaks. “I’m here, Sass. I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re safe, I swear.” The needle pulls free of your arm and the world shifts, bright light blowing out the edges of your vision until your eyes are slipping closed, Simon’s face the last thing you see before everything goes dark.

It's three in the morning. The dark and stormy nightmares that keep you under in your sleep have finally slipped away, and you’re staring at your bedroom ceiling while your brain turns a mile a minute until you’re reaching for your phone.

Your thumb hovers over Simon’s contact for too long, way too long while you think about what it might be like to hear his voice before you’re scrolling to the next name and clicking the digits.

The phone rings and you try not the count it, try not to think about what you’re doing and the line clicks open to a bleary, sleepy Scotsman saying hello.

When you don’t say anything back, you can hear him sitting up.

“Sassafras?” Johnny tries, and you blow out a breath.

“It’s me.”

“Ya okay?” No. 

“Yeah.” He sighs, and then starts to tell you about his day, his family, what he’s been doing in his off time. It’s not the first time you’ve called him in the middle of the night, and probably won’t be the last, and he knows it. He fills your head with mindless details, funny stories about his latest op and the 141, other things he thinks you’ll want to hear. You never talk, just listen, and he does a good job of distracting you from whatever it is that’s going on in your head until you’re chuckling on the other end of the line, spirit just a hair lighter than it was when you called.

“Thanks, Johnny.” You murmur into the phone.

“Anytime. One more thing-“

“Yeah?”

“Call your husband next time, yeah?” Prick.

“Bye, Soap.”

“Bye Sassy. Love ya. Kiss the wee lad for me.”

“I will.”

At ten in the morning, the doorbell rings. Even though he has a key, he won’t use it, just waits patiently for you to open the door, not wanting to encroach on your boundaries.

Theo runs straight at your legs when you open it, and you scoop him up in a big hug until he’s complaining, insisting you put him down and let him show you the picture that’s clutched in his hand, something he drew last night.

“That’s you!” he points to a sloppy stick figure that’s holding hands with a little stick figure, a bigger stick figure on its other side. “an’ that’s me and that’s dad!” His eyebrows raise and you rub his head affectionately.

“Good job, you’re a real artist!”

“Put it on fridge?” As soon as you nod your approval he takes off, running towards the kitchen, leaving you and Simon in the living room, the straps of his backpack fisted in his dad’s hand.

“Johnny called me this morning.” You draw a quick breath before letting it out slowly. Traitorous bastard. “If you want me to take him for the rest of the day so you can get some rest-“

“I’m fine. Thanks, though.” Simon sets the backpack down, and you hear the click and clack of the alphabet magnets against the stainless steel.

“You can… call me, too. If you want. If you need… someone to talk to.” You expect to rebuff him immediately, to snap at him, to tell him you don’t need to talk to anyone, let alone him. You want to. You want to keep taking it out on him, keep dumping it on him, over and over until there’s so much of it between the two of you that he’ll never find his way back. Why would he want to? After everything you’ve put him through? You’re broken. Useless. 

“Why?” you blurt, and it surprises you. Looks like it surprises him too.

“You’re my wife, Sass. I love you.” Your skin feels hot and your heart thumps loudly in your ears. “Your trauma, the torture, what happened after… nothin’ is ever gonna change that.” You scoff, anger flickering in your veins, the heat of your irritation warming you from the inside out. 

“You can’t mean that. Not after… everything that’s happened.” He studies you for a long moment, eyes pinning you where you shift your weight uneasily, until he’s raising the back of his hand, holding it upright to display the ring. The ring, that he refuses to take off. The ring, that he still wears, even after you tossed your own at his head. The ring, that has your call sign and his last name initialed on the inside. 

“I will love and honor you all the days of my life.” He whispers it, and you swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Mum!” Theo yells, and you turn away, shoulders tight under your ears, fingers clenched together. “Mum, can we ‘ave popcorn?” Theo shouts again and you give him a tight-lipped smile when you reach the kitchen, your enthusiastic four-year-old trying to push a chair in front of the pantry.

“Popcorn?”

“Daddy said you might wanna watch a movie.” Theo pauses, eyes flicking between you, and his father, who you can just feel at your back, before he nods decisively, like he’s already determined that will be his next activity. “Moana?” He shrugs a little, face hopeful and you ruffle his hair.

“Sure, baby. We can watch Moana.” Your heart pangs when you realize that Simon probably told Theo you’d want a movie because he was thinking about how you didn’t sleep, how you might be too tired to go to the park or do something more involved. He’s still taking care of you, after everything. Still wears the ring, still calls you his wife, still tells you he loves you, he- 

“Can daddy stay?” The room suddenly feels devoid of oxygen. 

“I’m sure dad has things he’s got to do tod-“

“I don’t.” He cuts you off and you smother the glare that threatens to pull across your face. You look down at Theo, who’s so excited, so blissfully pleased at the idea, head shifting as he looks back and forth between the two of you and you crumble a little bit, unable to take his happiness away from him. You destroyed his family, why can’t you let him have this? Guilt sears across your skin, the pressure of it so intense that you’re nodding your agreement before you even realize it.

“Okay then.” Theo shouts with excitement and sprints to the couch.

“I can go, if you’re not comfortable.” Simon offers when he’s out of earshot and you shake your head.

“No, it’s fine. Makes him happy.”

“Mum! Make popcorn!” Theo calls to where the two of you still stand, an awkward distance apart in the kitchen.

“What did you forget?”

“Pwease?”

“Thank you, much better.” Your crinkle the thin plastic of the popcorn bag into the trash, the noise similar to the static that’s now playing in your head, before you clear your throat. “Want to uh, go get him settled? And then I’ll be in. In a minute.” Simon doesn’t respond, just disappears from the kitchen, and you focus on the minute countdown on the microwave while you take deep, long breaths, a desperate attempt to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as possible, until it beeps and you’re pulling the door open to dump the popped kernels doused in butter into a bowl.

You’re tracing the wood grain pattern in the living room floor between your feet when you distantly hear a voice, calling you over and over. It feels far away, impossibly far away, like you’re at the bottom of the ocean or you’re on another planet. 

“Hey, mum.” Simon’s voice draws you out of the depths sharply, and he strokes a gentle fingertip down your arm, over the pockmarked scar beneath your shoulder. The touch startles you, your head snapping up to see Theo standing in front of the coffee table in a red cape, construction paper mask, and Simon sitting delicately on the couch next to you. “Someone’s trying to show you something.” He inclines his head to the excited little boy, and you blink before shaking your head, trying to clear the fog that’s settled in your brain.

When it doesn’t, you shake your head again, and then look to Simon hopelessly. He reads you instantly, ushering Theo upstairs, enticing him with blocks and promises of story time later.

Blood. The scent of blood fills your nostrils, so strong that you think it might be dripping from your face, washing over your tongue, filling your mouth, filling the whole house.

Not real. It’s not real. You’re not there, you’re here. There is no danger.

Large palms cover yours, and then you’re looking up at Simon, his eyes soft, sympathetic, and you know he knows. You know he can see, what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. 

He can see it all, because he’s been here before, too. He’s survived, he’s fought, he’s lived.

But he’s never been… this. He’s never been a nightmare. Never been useless. Never been this broken like this, dirty and pathetic like this, weak like this. 

Simon was strong. He fought. You failed. You couldn’t even get back to him. Couldn’t get back to your baby, your family. 

You feel his touch again and you choke on a gasp.

You can’t let him touch you, he’ll know. He’ll see it. He’ll feel it.

“D-don’t.” you hiss, forcing a hand forward to hold him at bay.

“Shhh. It’s just me, Sass. I’ve got you.”

“No, n-no.” He can’t know. “No, I… I need” You stand, stumbling forward, catching yourself on the coffee table before straightening, Simon’s confused gaze tracking your every step while you put as much distance between the two of you as possible. “I need to lay down.”

When you cross into the living room, Simon’s sitting on the couch, Theo already snuggled up into his side, both watching the television intently. Theo looks so happy, his eyes light and joy filled, body weightless with love and the knowledge that he’s with his family.

His family, that you broke. That you destroyed. That you took from him.

Simon’s thighs are spread wide, their width in his jeans momentarily distracting you before you’re cataloguing his face, his lips, his eyes, the line of his nose, all things you used to know better than yourself, things you used to be able to trace in the dark. Your stomach flips, and the walls of your house look like they’re shaking, the buzzing noise in the back of your head roaring to life, drowning out the sound of Moana singing to sea.

“Mum?” Theo calls, hand out for the popcorn, and you deposit the bowl on the table before you’re backing away.

“I have to go fix something, in the kitchen really quick.” You explain to him, and he shrugs, eyes fixing back on the movie, fingers mindlessly bringing pieces of popcorn to his mouth.

Theo doesn’t notice when you take the stairs instead of turning into the kitchen, but you know Simon does, and you’re not surprised when he’s rapping his knuckles against your locked bedroom door, where you’re sitting with you back against the wood, hands pressed to your head, trying to control your breathing. He knocks again, but there’s only silence to answer him, and it stretches on for miles. 

“Sass?” you hear him shift, feel his weight press against the door and at first you think he’s trying to come through but then you realize, he’s sitting against the other side, just like you.

His fingers slide underneath where there’s a gap between the floor and the door, just wide enough for a few fingers, just enough for you to see the glint of his ring.

Without thinking, your own fingers cover his.

Neither of you speak.