#Was it just to show the scarves were special?

[driftingballoons]

Day 2: Evolution

it may not evolution in the typical sense, but they can’t dwell on that right now

@heropartnerweek

[dark-moonlust]

The Elf and the Hobgoblins-Part 1

Pairing: 4 goblins x elf fem reader

Summary: you are mated to four hobgoblins. You live together with your hobgoblin mates in a cabin in the woods. It’s a very snowy day and your mates know just how to take care of you.

Pairing: MINORS DON'T INTERACT, this is filthy 18+!!!!, secret relationship, group intimacy (males only with fem reader), size kink, oral (males receiving), orgasm denial, stimulation, anal teasing and fingering, big 🍆, use of lube/oil, lots of 💦.

It was snowing. Again.

Sitting by the window in the cabin, chin on your hand, you watched the snow fall and blanket the woods in a fresh layer of white. You smiled at the little snowflakes scraping at the window. At the corner of the room, a fire crackled in the hearth, infusing it with warmth.

You weren’t alone. Your four hobgoblin mates were also snowed in with you.

Your mating bond was precious and unique.

Most would find it strange, even scandalous. Four goblins and an elf. An unlikely group by any standard. But over time, you’d become heavily bonded and in need of each other. You loved them, and they loved you—adored you, actually. The connection you shared was deep; a mating bond explicitly intimate and for the time being, kept secret from both your tribes. The elf tribe would never forgive you for this… it was why you lived so far from civilization, in a cottage deep in the forest far away from the lands of your people.

Turning, you gazed at your four hobgoblin mates. Gruk, Thrak, Grogo and Nix. Their big bodies made the room feel small. They were all nearly two heads taller than you, their sheer size and presence impossible to ignore. Each of them was strong and powerful, with huge muscled bodies designed for both combat and protection. They had teeth that gleamed white in the firelight, their eyes shining in yellowish hues. Wearing nothing but dark embroidered trousers you had sewed for them, they had similar physiques but unique features that set them apart.

Gruk had rusty-brown fur and was the group's most grumbling member. His long hair was a silken mass of brown strands braided elaborately and secured with one of your golden elastics. Thrak was demanding and bold, with dark-gray skin, his fur shorter. His long, black hair was braided into many tight braids and tied off with one of your scarves. He carried himself confidently, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

Grogo stood out because of his red skin. He could be both sweet and commanding. His fur was also crimson, coarse yet well-kept, highlighting the muscles beneath. His thick black braid was secured with one of your velvet ties. Lastly, there was Nix, the tallest of them, his skin a dark green. He was watchful, always aware. He had long black hair styled in an intricate braid that fell down his back, again fastened with silk ties you had gifted him.

Their long braids signified their might as warriors and wearing your hairbands, showed off their proud place as your mates. It was one of the hobgoblin traditions. Mates had to wear something from one another. Your mates had also gifted you something; they’d gathered strands of their strong hair, braided them, and magically created a necklace for you, with a precious iridescent teardrop stone dangling from it.

It was a very special gift and you always wore it proudly around your neck.

The storm had started a week ago and your mates were doing excellent work keeping the cabin warm and well-stocked with wood. They went out frequently to clear the trails and seek for food. They also kept you entertained and claimed you at least once a day, always insisting on claiming you together — filling your every hole, then watching their seed trickle down.

They were strong possessive beasts with incredible stamina and you loved them so much.

Cheeks hot, you rubbed your thighs together at the memories of the night before. They’d fucked you good and deep, then let you sleep while they went out to hunt and clean the house. You awoke early in the morning, took a bath to clean off the dried seed from your skin, then summoned your elven powers to defend the local homes and people from evil.

After that, you’d attempted to assist with the cleaning and chores but your mates refused. They rarely allowed you to do housework, and when you did, they were furious with you. They were stubbornly committed to serving you, and the only work they let you do was sew their clothes, braid their hair, and take their cum.

Such diverse activities.

This morning, however, you felt extremely warm and wet, once again in need of your mates. You had done everything you could to pass the time and ignore your treacherous body. You didn't want to appear selfish by asking for more... they already did so much for you. You were becoming dangerously dependent on them, enjoying the feel of their arms around you and their dicks inside you.

"Hmm… another white stormy day," you mumbled to yourself, drumming your fingers on the wooden ledge.

"Bored, mate?" Gruk said, from where he was sharpening a crude dagger.

"I believe I have run out of things to do. The forest’s filled with snow. I can’t go out.” You sighed heavily and leaned back in your chair. “We've been locked here for days, and there's only so many times I can practice my magic, sharpen my blade or play with you guys before I lose my mind."

Thrak, who had been sitting cross-legged near the fire, looked up. "Careful, mate. You are beginning to sound like one of us."

"Worse," Grogo commented with a smirk. "You're starting to complain more than Gruk."

"I never complain!" Gruk reacted but the grin on his face said differently. "I only state the obvious.” He gazed at you fondly. “And I doubt the storm will end soon, little mate. Our bodies can handle the merciless cold but going out in this weather is dangerous for you.”

Nix, your fourth goblin mate, fed another log to the fire and spoke, his sharp teeth catching the light. “I think you all like to complain.”

You couldn't help but smile at that. It was true that your goblins were a little grumpy.

“You know,” Grogo said after a pause, his eyes flicking over to you, “you don’t have to sit over there moping, little one.”

You sighed for the hundredth time. “I know, but even you lot can’t keep me entertained forever.”

Grogo chuckled. “Sounds like a challenge to me.”

“She’s underestimating us,” Nix agreed with a low growl. “It appears we aren’t stuffing our mate good and deep enough. Hm?”

“Oh, shush you…” you muttered, pressing your thighs closed, hoping that your scent didn’t reach their keen noses.

“Why not?” Grogo said, his amber eyes locked on you as he inhaled the air. Damn… he could tell you were aroused. All of them. “We are alone in a cabin, all five of us… and you’re clearly in need of a punishment.”

Gruk set his dagger aside, spreading his legs, his gorgeous cock tenting up from beneath his trousers. “Exactly. And we have the very thing for that.”

Thrak stood up, palmed his equally engorged dick over his pants before winking at the others. “Let’s get to work up boys.”

In a heartbeat, they surrounded you, their clawed hands ripping at your clothes, leaving you naked save for the necklace between your breasts. They kissed you one after the other, their tongues licking into your mouth and tasting your moans. Then they curved your frame on the large couch, hands pinned down, legs bent and spread. Thighs wide open, pussy and ass bare to their eyes. You were shamelessly wet with juices, both yours and theirs from last night's session. Despite having washed most of it off, their seed still dribbled out of your pussy and ass.

Your pulse quickened. “W…what are you doing?”

“You’re bored, mate,” Thrak said simply, licking the underside of one pert tit.

Nix and Grogo sat at your sides, their hands seizing your ankles and holding them wide. They ran their large thumbs over your pussy and opened the lips of your cunt, making wet squelching sounds but never getting close to your clit. You gave a hiss, your pussy clenching around nothing, your clit swollen and needy.

"Please...just…ghphhh—"

You cried out before a cock—Nix's—was forced into your mouth. Mouth opening fully, you took him in; he was inhumanly long and thick, the massive girth ringed by veins. You let your tongue swirl over the bulbous head and down the veins as it moved deeper, seeking to feel the tightness in your throat. His swollen balls rested at your neck, heavy and hot.

"That's it," Nix grunted, studying your face as he rolled his hips further, able to see your neck straining to take him in. "Suck it deep, little mate. Don't you dare become bored."

Grogo laughed at that before grabbing your hand and encircling your tiny fist around his stiff cock. His shaft was too thick for your hand to entirely wrap around, yet he delighted in your physical differences. He also enjoyed seeing Nix feed you his rod of a cock. You let out loud gurgling sounds as his dick pushed deeper, training you to relax your throat and take his shaft fully down your throat.

“Grfff—mphhh—gu—ys—” You tried to talk, but it all came out as an incoherent gurgle.

"Be a good girl and you’ll have more," Gruk said as he sucked one nipple, tugging hard enough to make you whine around Nix's cock.

“Damn, do that again. She’s sucking my cock so hard—”

Gruk hummed and all too eagerly wetted your other nipple, suckling fervently, his tongue swirling around your bud. Again, you let out a muffled cry, then nearly gagged around Nix’s cock. Nix had your arm trapped as he pistoned in your mouth, a hand tightly gripping your ankle as you flailed, barely able to move. Grogo was on the other side, similarly holding your other leg as he pumped his hot cock in your palm.

“Pl-mph—ease?” You choked, inwardly begging for them to stop with the foreplay and just make you cum.

Seeming to pity you, Thrak and Gruk stopped enjoying the show and squeezed in between your thighs, peppering your inner thighs with kisses. You mewled happily around Nix’s cock while Thrak licked a thick stripe from your cunt to your ass. Gruk did the same, consuming the juices that dripped from your tender holes.

Your thoughts scattered when Nix came with loud grunts, spurting down your throat in deep explosive pumps. You clenched your throat, swallowed every drop. With a sigh, Nix pulled his cock out of your mouth and allowed you to breathe. You didn't, however, get much rest. Grogo was next, turning your head, the head of his dick slipping past your lips and down your throat. He wasn’t very patient. He was just as thick and long as Nix, and you whined as he thrust back and forth, using your throat.

Meanwhile, Nix bent to suckle your breasts, nibbling on each nipple. Your chest rose and fell, muffled moans escaping you as they took turns using your mouth and fingering your cunt. They all released down your throat, made you swallow their cum but brought you to no climax. They only teased your clit for a few moments, stopping when you got too close.

“N-nneed to…cum,” you muttered, droplets of pearly seed trickling down the corner of your mouth. “I promise… I won’t say I’m bored again. Please!”

“Lately you always say you’re bored,” Gruk slapped your pussy lightly causing you to jerk and whine. “We take care of you every day, fuck your greedy holes, and yet here you are, claiming you are bored. That is a disgrace to all we do for you, little elf.”

Thrak gave a wet kiss to your needy clit. You whined. Still not enough. “Maybe we’re not trying hard enough. Not fucking her enough.“

“Hmm, I agree. I think we must fuck that boredom out of our mate,” Grogo said, his tongue licking the line of your neck.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate you,” you explained, your voice strained. “You know I do.”

“Do you?” Gruk said, his deep voice rumbling through the room.

“You know I do!” you said desperately. “I love you so much but lately… the bond feels too strong. I need more. I need you so much!”

They groaned proudly at your answer.

Gruk and the others felt so damn honored that you were their mate. Elves were special— they only mated with their kind. They were also made differently, with pristine, sculpted bodies that resembled living works of art. You were the most beautiful out of all of them, heart, body and soul. You were the most lovely elf they’d ever seen, and they fell in love with you at first sight. You were reluctant at first but eventually accepted their friendship, started something so deep neither of you had imagined.

You were gorgeous, pretty, smart and kind. Powerful, too, as you could cast some of the most badass spells they’d ever seen. Your body was just as beautiful, your breasts and nipples begging to be sucked, your pussy and throat flexible enough to receive the entire lengths of their dicks. The same went for your ass, it was always untainted and clean, no matter what you ate or drank.

You were able to take their monster cocks without harm. No one else could handle hobgoblin dick like you did.

Perhaps they did not deserve someone so precious; perhaps they were too hideous and lustful for you. But you'd embraced them, accepted them wholeheartedly, given them your heart. They'd done the same, become so attached to you that the very thought of being apart was agonizing.

“All in good time, love,” Nix smirked as he reached for the bottle of oil beside the table, his eyes narrowing slightly as he lubricated his fingers and poked the gaping bud of your ass. You whined, used to their fixation with your ass.

It was another hobgoblin thing; if their mate had a pouting gaping hole, it was a sign of how much they honored and loved them.

At first, you were hesitant to let them anywhere near your ass; you were a graceful elf, and being fucked in the ass was absurd and desecrated. The thought was horrible, but they’d trained you to accept it. Your hobgoblins loved to kiss, prod and fuck your ass, keeping your hole swollen for them.

And damn them, because you’d never expected to like it so much. Having them use your body so thoroughly, invading you, stretching you, filling you up with their seed.

Lately, your nipples and clit were throbbing constantly, your ass and pussy greedy to be filled at every moment of the day. You were a disgrace of an elf, a lewd creature of lust. You had tried to resist the need… fabricated boredom in order not to hide your slutty nature from your mates. But you no longer cared. You didn’t want them to think you were bored of them or their touch.

You loved them so much, in every wonderful, heated way.

Instinctively, you tightened your anal muscles as Nix drove his thick finger into your ass. You whimpered and all eyes turned to watch your face contract in pleasure as he pumped that finger in and out of your yielding flesh. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw the others adding the lubricant oil to their own fingers. Heat flowed through you, intense and demanding.

"You need more, hm? Look how wide your ass is, love. One finger and it’s barely tight,” Nix said, removing his digit to reveal your cute pouting hole. Damn, he loved the sight.

“That’s your fault!” you muttered, your holes clenching, in need to be filled. “Your fault… for stretching me out — then not fucking me enough.”

“We should have been more thoughtful, hmm?” Nix gently fondled your anal bud before pushing his thick finger back inside. “Hmm, still not stretched. Our slutty elf mate needs more.”

Gruk’s grin was quick as he squeezed a finger next to Nix's into your anus. “We can definitely manage more.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Thrak murmured as he added his own finger to the other two, stretching your hole decadently wide.

“Oh, I want her trembling, walking on legs stained with our seed. Her holes soaked and tender from our cocks,” Grogo drawled, shoving his well-oiled finger inside alongside the others. “Is that what you want, love?”

“Yes! Yes! Please, fuck me!”

You heard them mutter a response, but it was lost on you as their fingers worked in tandem, fucking your ass with more than enough oil and juices to keep them going. You whimpered and trembled, but they kept you there, their fingers making lewd wet sounds. Then they used the pads of their thumbs to circle your tits and clit. You saw stars, felt your climax coming. When euphoria hit, you cried out, your entire body going lax.

Did you enjoy? Comments and reblogs would make me super happy!!This is an ongoing series.

Pssst.... if you're craving more, there's already more waiting for you. Things are heating up in ways I can't share here. But you know where to find more.

Hugs, Kate!

[w1w2]

A Holiday to Remember

Huh Yunjin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 3,5k

Synopsis: In the magical glow of a snow-covered holiday town, Y/N and Yunjin prepare for their first Christmas together.

Note: Have a great Christmas babes! Thank you so much for your support and kindness, it truly means the world to me. 🥹 I hope you enjoy this magical time, surrounded by love, laughter, and all the things that make your heart happy.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The small town looked like it had been plucked straight from a Christmas card. A fresh blanket of snow sparkled under the glow of twinkling fairy lights strung between lamp posts, their warm yellow hue casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. Storefronts were decked out in holiday displays: miniature Christmas villages, red and gold ornaments, and faux snow glimmering in the soft light. The faint aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted from a nearby bakery, mingling with the brisk, frosty air. Somewhere down the street, a group of carolers harmonized to the gentle melody of Silent Night, their voices as soothing as a crackling fire.

Y/N strolled through the bustling town square, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. The energy of the holiday season buzzed all around her, but her mind was focused on one thing or rather, one person.

“This is going to be the most special Christmas ever” she thought, her heart fluttering at the thought of Yunjin. It was their first holiday season as a couple, and every little detail felt significant. Y/N had spent weeks daydreaming about the perfect way to celebrate, imagining cozy nights by the fire and stolen kisses under the mistletoe. But today, her mission was clear: finding the perfect gift for Yunjin.

As she weaved through the cheerful crowd, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. This town had always felt magical during the holidays, but this year, it was different. Everything seemed brighter, warmer because she had someone special to share it with. She paused by a street vendor selling handcrafted ornaments, her gaze drawn to a delicate angel carved from wood.

“Would she like this?” Y/N muttered to herself, tilting her head as she examined the tiny figure. But then she remembered something Yunjin had said in passing a few weeks ago I love gifts that come from the heart. They don’t have to be expensive, just thoughtful.

The memory sparked a mix of excitement and nervousness in Y/N. It was sweet of Yunjin to care more about the meaning behind a gift than its price tag, but it also meant the stakes felt impossibly high. She wanted her gift to be perfect, something that would show Yunjin how much she truly meant to her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a child’s laughter as a snowball fight broke out nearby. Y/N chuckled, the sound lifting her spirits. She adjusted her coat and decided to keep looking. Somewhere in this picturesque little town was the perfect present.

“Alright, Yunjin,” she whispered with determination, “you’re getting a Christmas gift you’ll never forget.”

With that, Y/N set off down the street, determination settling in her chest like a warm ember. The twinkling holiday lights above her seemed to cheer her on as she made her way toward her next destination. She’d heard about the bustling holiday market in town, a place filled with unique treasures that might hold the perfect gift for Yunjin.

The gentle hum of Christmas carols grew louder as she approached, and soon, the vibrant scene came into view.

Y/N pulled her coat tighter around herself as she stepped into the heart of the holiday market. The place was buzzing with life, vendors calling out to advertise their goods, couples strolling hand-in-hand, and kids gleefully tugging their parents toward colorful stalls.

Each booth was a treasure trove of unique, handcrafted items: delicate glass ornaments, cozy knitted scarves, wooden toys, and candles in every imaginable scent.

Her eyes flitted from stall to stall, her thoughts consumed by one question What would Yunjin love the most?

She stopped at a booth displaying an array of intricate ornaments. One in particular caught her eye, a frosted glass globe painted with a snowy forest scene. It was stunning, and she reached out to pick it up carefully. Or at least, she tried.

The ornament slipped from her fingers and tumbled toward the ground. “Oh no!” Y/N yelped, her heart skipping a beat. She winced as the glass shattered into tiny pieces at her feet.

The vendor, a kind-faced older woman, waved it off with a warm smile. “Don’t worry about it, dear. It’s just a sign that you’re meant to find something even better.”

Y/N let out a relieved laugh, crouching down to help clean up the mess. “I’m so sorry. I’m a bit clumsy sometimes.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” the woman said, placing a comforting hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Take your time. It’s not about the first thing you see, it’s about the one that feels right.”

Thanking the vendor, Y/N moved on, her cheeks still pink from embarrassment. She turned a corner and found herself at a quieter stall selling antique trinkets. Her gaze landed on a small music box nestled among the clutter. She picked it up and wound the key, and as the melody played, her heart swelled.

It was their song, the one Yunjin had sung softly to her on a late-night walk months ago, when they’d first started falling for each other. Y/N closed her eyes, letting the tune wash over her.

“This could be it,” she murmured. But doubt crept in as quickly as the excitement. "Is it too simple? Too small?" She hesitated, unsure if the music box alone would be enough to express how much Yunjin meant to her.

She pulled out her phone, scrolling to a familiar number. “Sakura Unnie” Y/N said as soon as the call connected. “I need your help.”

Sakura’s teasing laugh rang out on the other end. “This is about Yunjin, isn’t it? You sound lovestruck.”

Y/N groaned. “I’m serious! I found something, but I’m not sure if it’s the right gift. I mean, it’s cute and meaningful, but what if—”

“Y/N,” Sakura interrupted, her tone affectionate. “You’re overthinking this. Yunjin loves you, and she’s going to love whatever you pick as long as it’s from the heart. Just go with your gut.”

Y/N sighed but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re right. Thanks, Unnie.”

“Of course I’m right. Now stop panicking and focus on making her happy,” Sakura said, and Y/N could hear the grin in her voice.

Ending the call, Y/N felt her determination solidify. She decided to buy the music box, tucking it safely into her bag before heading to her next stop. The cool evening air nipped at her cheeks as she walked down the festive street, her thoughts racing ahead to where she might find something else that would speak to Yunjin’s heart.

She passed a row of brightly lit shops until her eyes landed on a boutique with a chic display of accessories in the window. A glimmer of inspiration struck her, and she pushed open the door, a small bell jingling softly overhead.

The boutique’s interior was sleek and modern, with soft jazz playing in the background and rows of beautifully displayed accessories. Y/N wandered through the aisles, her eyes drawn to a delicate gold necklace with a charm shaped like a star. It was elegant, timeless, perfect for Yunjin’s sophisticated side.

But then, she spotted something equally tempting: a pair of quirky earrings shaped like tiny microphones. They were playful and fun, just like Yunjin’s sense of humor.

Y/N stood frozen, holding one in each hand. “Why is this so hard?” she muttered, biting her lip.

“Having trouble deciding?” a friendly voice asked. The shopkeeper, a stylish woman with a sharp eye for detail, smiled knowingly.

“Yeah,” Y/N admitted. “I want to get my girlfriend something special, but I can’t pick between these two.”

The shopkeeper chuckled. “Let me tell you a secret. The best gifts aren’t about how they look, they’re about what they mean. Think about what each piece says about her and your relationship. Which one speaks to you?”

Y/N stared at the necklace and earrings for a long moment before the answer became clear. She smiled, thanking the shopkeeper as she made her choice. With her purchase carefully tucked into her bag alongside the music box, she stepped back out into the chilly air.

The streets were quieter now, the golden glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the snow-covered ground. She checked her list one last time, a new idea forming in her mind as she recalled a little craft store she’d passed earlier.

By the time Y/N reached the craft store, the sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting the snow-covered town in shades of orange and pink. Inside, the store was a riot of colors, bins of beads, shelves of glitter, and racks of paints lined the walls.

Inspired by the shopkeeper’s advice, Y/N decided to make part of Yunjin’s gift herself. She picked out supplies for a small photo frame: pastel paints, a handful of tiny star-shaped beads, and a glittery gold ribbon for finishing touches.

As she paid for her items, Y/N could already picture how it would look: a simple, heartfelt frame to hold a photo of one of their favorite moments together.

Back at home that evening, after Yunjin had returned to her dorms, Y/N spread her supplies across the kitchen table. It was her turn to pour her heart into something special. As she painted and glued, she accidentally spilled an entire tube of glitter across the floor.

“Oh no!” she laughed, watching the sparkly mess spread with every movement. Her laughter turned into a full-blown giggle fit when she realized the glitter had gotten into her hair, shimmering under the soft light.

By the time she finished, her fingers were sticky with glue, and the photo frame sparkled under the light. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers and she couldn’t wait to see Yunjin’s reaction. With a contented sigh, Y/N carefully set the frame aside to dry and glanced at the clock. She still had a few more stops to make before the day was over.

Next day while Y/N was out putting the final touches with her gift, back at her apartment, Yunjin had been busy with her own preparations.

The soft glow of fairy lights bathed Y/N’s living room in a warm, golden hue. A freshly decorated Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, adorned with delicate ornaments and shimmering tinsel. Yunjin stepped back to admire her handiwork, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. She had insisted on decorating the tree herself, wanting everything to be perfect for their first Christmas together.

Yunjin had perched on the couch in Y/N’s apartment, letting out a content sigh as she surveyed her handiwork. The Christmas tree twinkled softly in the corner, the fairy lights casting a golden glow over the room. Cozy blankets were draped over the couch, and she had even set out mugs for hot cocoa to complete the scene.

Every detail was wrapped in anticipation of seeing Y/N’s face light up later that evening. Her gaze drifted to the small pile of wrapped gifts under the tree, and her chest tightened. Among the presents was her main gift: a hand-written song.

The idea had come to her weeks ago, during a sleepless night at the dorms. Writing it had been cathartic, every note and lyric spilling straight from her heart. But as she sat there in the quiet warmth of Y/N’s apartment, doubt began to creep in.

What if it’s not enough?

Yunjin ran her fingers through her hair, her mind replaying moments from the past year. She thought back to a chilly evening in spring, when they’d walked by the river after a particularly grueling day. Y/N had noticed her quietness right away, wrapping her arm around Yunjin and insisting they take a detour to get hot chocolate.

“You don’t have to pretend everything’s okay,” Y/N had said softly, her warmth cutting through the chill.

Yunjin had opened up that night in a way she rarely did with anyone, and Y/N had listened,truly listened without judgment or interruption. It was one of the many moments that had made Yunjin realize she’d found something extraordinary in Y/N.

How do you put all of that into a gift?

The memory lingered as Yunjin reached for her guitar, which she had brought along to finalize her song. Her fingers brushed over the strings as she hummed the melody, letting the words come naturally

"In the glow of your smile, I find my peace,

Every moment with you feels like a masterpiece.

Through the highs and the lows, the laughter, the tears,

You’re my constant, my comfort, my reason to cheer."

Her voice faltered, and she frowned. Is this enough to show her how much she means to me?

Yunjin leaned back, the guitar resting on her lap. She thought about adding something else to the song, a special touch to make it feel even more personal. Maybe a custom necklace with their initials? Or a small charm that symbolized something only they would understand.

She closed her eyes, letting the melody play in her head again. The lyrics weren’t perfect, but they were hers. Every word carried the weight of her feelings for Y/N, and deep down, Yunjin knew that was what mattered most.

A knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. It was Y/N’s neighbor, stopping by to drop off cookies they’d baked for the holiday. Yunjin thanked them with a polite smile, tucking the tin away on the kitchen counter. As she returned to the couch, her mind drifted back to the song, her fingers instinctively strumming the chords again.

She pictured the way Y/N’s eyes would light up when she heard the first notes, the way her hands would clasp over her heart as the lyrics unfolded. The thought made Yunjin’s lips curl into a soft, almost shy smile.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “This is going to be perfect.”

With her resolve firmed, Yunjin placed the guitar back in its stand and got to work. She rewrapped one of the smaller gifts, adding a bow for extra flair. She adjusted the fairy lights to ensure they cast the most romantic glow. Every little detail, every touch, was for Y/N.

As the evening deepened, Yunjin curled up on the couch, her heart fluttering with equal parts excitement and nervousness. This Christmas wasn’t about extravagant gestures or lavish presents, it was about the love and connection they’d built together.

And as far as Yunjin was concerned, there was no greater gift than that.

The evening air was crisp as Y/N climbed the steps to her apartment, her bag tucked under one arm and her breath visible in the icy cold. From outside the door, she could already see the soft glow of fairy lights spilling through the windows, casting a warm and inviting light into the winter night. Her heart raced, not just from the cold but from anticipation.

She fumbled with her keys, and as she opened the door, the sight inside made her breath catch.

The living room was nothing short of magical. The Christmas tree stood tall, its ornaments glittering in the light of the fairy strings that wrapped around it. Cozy blankets were draped over the couch, and candles flickered gently on the coffee table, filling the room with the comforting scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Yunjin stood in the center of it all, a wide smile spreading across her face as she caught sight of Y/N.

“Welcome home,” Yunjin said, her voice warm and tender. She crossed the room in a few quick strides and pulled Y/N into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around her as though she’d waited all day for this moment.

Y/N melted into the embrace, her nerves and the stress of the day evaporating instantly. “You’ve outdone yourself,” she murmured against Yunjin’s shoulder.

Yunjin pulled back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, her eyes twinkling like the lights around them. “It’s our first Christmas together. I wanted it to be special.”

“It already is,” Y/N whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Yunjin took her hand and led her to the couch. They sat down, their knees brushing as Y/N set her bag beside her. The room felt like their own little world, safe and warm, insulated from the chilly night outside.

“I have something for you,” Y/N said, her voice soft but excited. She reached into her bag and pulled out two carefully wrapped items: the handmade photo frame and the music box.

Yunjin’s eyes widened as she accepted the gifts, her fingers brushing over the wrapping paper. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, but her tone betrayed her eagerness to see what was inside.

“Open them,” Y/N urged, biting her lip nervously.

Yunjin unwrapped the photo frame first. She gasped softly when she saw it, a small but beautifully decorated frame that sparkled with tiny star-shaped beads and gold accents. Inside was a photo of the two of them from a day they’d spent at the park, their laughter frozen in time.

“Y/N,” Yunjin said, her voice trembling slightly. “This is... it’s perfect.”

Y/N smiled, her cheeks glowing pink. “I wanted you to have something personal, something that reminds you of us.”

Yunjin placed the frame carefully on the coffee table before unwrapping the music box. The familiar melody filled the room as she turned the key, and her expression softened even more.

“This song,” Yunjin said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s our song.”

Y/N nodded, her heart swelling with affection. “I heard it and immediately thought of you. I couldn’t resist.”

Yunjin set the music box down and reached for Y/N’s hands, her grip gentle but firm. “You have no idea how much this means to me,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Thank you.”

Y/N was about to respond when Yunjin stood abruptly. “Wait. I have something for you too.”

She disappeared briefly into the bedroom and returned with her guitar slung over her shoulder. Sitting back down, she looked at Y/N, her expression a mix of excitement and vulnerability.

“I wrote you a song,” Yunjin said shyly, her fingers lightly brushing the guitar strings. “It’s not perfect, but it’s... it’s everything I feel for you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as Yunjin began to play. The melody was soft and sweet, wrapping around them like a blanket. Yunjin’s voice was steady but emotional, every note carrying the depth of her feelings.

As the song went on, Y/N felt her eyes sting with tears. The lyrics told their story. The quiet moments they’d shared, the ways they’d lifted each other up, and the undeniable love that had grown between them.

When the final chord faded into the air, Yunjin looked up, her cheeks flushed. “So... what do you think?”

Y/N couldn’t find the words. Instead, she leaned forward and cupped Yunjin’s face in her hands, pulling her into a kiss. It was slow and tender, a silent answer to the question Yunjin had asked.

When they pulled back, Y/N rested her forehead against Yunjin’s. “I think it’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion.

Yunjin grinned, her confidence returning as she wrapped her arms around Y/N. “I’m glad you like it,” she said softly. “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Merry Christmas, Jen” Y/N replied, her heart feeling impossibly full.

The two of them stayed curled up on the couch, their gifts sitting nearby as silent witnesses to the love they shared. The night stretched on, filled with quiet laughter, whispered words, and a sense of peace neither of them had ever known before.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, it was clear that this Christmas Eve would be one they’d remember forever.

The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Snowflakes drifted lazily past the window, creating a serene winter wonderland outside. Y/N stirred awake, snuggled beneath the warm blankets. The scent of fresh coffee and something sweet wafted through the air, pulling her from the haze of sleep.

She turned her head and smiled at the sight of Yunjin sitting at the edge of the bed, holding a steaming mug. Yunjin was still in her pajamas, a cozy set of red flannel and her hair was slightly mussed from sleep.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Yunjin said, her voice soft and teasing. She handed Y/N the mug, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Good morning,” Y/N mumbled, sitting up and wrapping her hands around the warm cup. She took a sip, humming in delight. “Coffee and kisses first thing? I could get used to this.”

Yunjin laughed and pulled Y/N to her feet. “Come on, I made breakfast. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

The two of them made their way to the kitchen, where the table was set with stacks of fluffy pancakes, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a small pitcher of syrup. They sat across from each other, sharing bites and stealing glances, the kind of quiet intimacy that only mornings like this could bring.

After breakfast, they bundled up in coats and scarves, ready to brave the snowy outdoors. The fresh snow crunched beneath their boots as they stepped outside, the cold air biting at their cheeks.

Yunjin bent down to scoop up a handful of snow, forming it into a ball with practiced precision. “You better run,” she warned playfully, her grin wide and mischievous.

Y/N yelped, ducking behind a tree just as the snowball whizzed past her. “Oh, it’s on!” she shouted, grabbing her own handful of snow and launching it toward Yunjin.

The quiet street filled with laughter as they chased each other through the snow, their cheeks pink from the cold and the effort. At one point, Yunjin caught Y/N off-guard, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her into a hug.

“No fair,” Y/N panted, giggling as she tried to catch her breath.

“All’s fair in love and snowball fights,” Yunjin teased, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on Y/N’s frostbitten nose.

They ended their snowy escapade by building a tiny snowman together, decorating it with pebbles for eyes and a twig for a smile. Y/N pulled out her phone, and they snapped a series of selfies, some cute, some silly to commemorate the morning.

Back inside, they warmed up with mugs of hot cocoa, their legs tangled together under a shared blanket on the couch. The Christmas tree lights twinkled softly in the background, casting the room in a golden glow.

Y/N rested her head on Yunjin’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. “This Christmas has been perfect.”

Yunjin kissed the top of her head, her voice quiet but firm. “It’s not the gifts or the snow or the decorations. It’s you. You make it perfect.”

Y/N tilted her head up, meeting Yunjin’s gaze with a tender smile. “And you make me feel like the luckiest person in the world.”

They sat there in comfortable silence, watching the snow fall outside. This Christmas wasn’t about the gifts they’d exchanged or the moments they’d captured in photos, it was about the love they’d shared, the memories they’d created, and the promise of many more holidays to come.

As the day stretched on, they stayed wrapped in each other’s warmth, savoring the simple, beautiful magic of being together.

[rainynvght]

If Emily Prentiss had a daughter

Bedtime Stories: Emily would read her daughter stories every night, but she’d pick books with strong female characters or tales that teach resilience, courage, and kindness.

Bedtime Stories Part 2: When reading bedtime stories, Emily would use all kinds of silly voices for the characters, making her daughter giggle uncontrollably. Sometimes, they’d make up their own stories, with her daughter adding wild plot twists and Emily going along with it, no matter how crazy it gets.

Teaching her different languages: She would start teaching her daughter different languages from a young age. They’d have fun “secret” conversations in French or Italian that only they could understand, making her daughter feel special and worldly.

Movie Nights: Their movie nights wouldn’t just be about watching films; Emily would turn them into themed events. If they were watching a spy movie, they’d dress up in black and play “secret agents” before the movie started. If it’s a baking competition show, they’d make their own treats to eat while watching.

Mother-Daughter Spa Days: They’d have regular “spa days” at home, where they’d paint each other’s nails, do face masks, and relax with herbal tea. It’s a special way for them to unwind and bond, and Emily would use this time to talk about self-care and the importance of taking care of one’s mental and physical health.

Balance of Freedom and Guidance: Emily would be the type of mom who gives her daughter the freedom to make her own choices, but she’d always be there to guide her when needed. She’d trust her daughter to be independent, but would also be ready to step in with advice or support whenever her daughter needed it.

Adventures in the Kitchen: Emily and her daughter would love to cook together, trying out new recipes and experimenting with different cuisines. It's safe to say that, by the time her daughter turns seven years old, she would outdo her mom in terms of cooking.

Protective Mom: Emily, who has experienced the evil of the world due to her work, would be very protective, sometimes even a little to over-protective. She would worry about her girl at all times, making sure to contact her every few hours, even when on a harsh case. Her little girl is her entire world.

Matching outfits: On special days, like birthdays or just because they feel like it, Emily and her daughter would wear matching outfits. Whether it’s matching pajamas for a cozy movie night or similar scarves on a chilly day, they’d have fun being twinning buddies.

Little lunchbox notes: Every morning, Emily would leave a tiny note in her daughter’s lunchbox or backpack with a sweet message like, “You’re going to rock today!” or “Can’t wait to hear about your day!” It’s a little boost of love that her daughter would look forward to every day.

Secret Handshake: Emily and her daughter would have a secret handshake that they’d do whenever they needed a little boost of confidence.

First Snow Tradition: The first snowfall of the year would be a special occasion in the Prentiss household. Emily would bundle her daughter up, and they’d run outside to catch snowflakes on their tongues, make snow angels, and build the first snowman of the season together. Afterward, they’d warm up with hot cocoa and marshmallows.

[cc-cobalt-1043]

Arctic Snow:

Arctic Fox Tails au where he gets his winter coat and his brothers are confused by his new look:

Winter was fast approaching green hills, it's residents had all noticed a bitter chill changing in the air, additionally ice had begun gathering on the pavements and paths meaning that the roads and paths would soon need to be gritted.

Snow had now began to fall and Sonic was especially eager because he could now show his new brothers the joys of playing in the snow. Plus they could all wrap themselves up in scarves hats and gloves Maddie had specially knitted for them.

"Sonic, look at my new winter things." Tails cheered his grey and white tails wagging in delight as he held them out.

Sonic took a look and saw a pair of silver grey and white mittens with light blue accents, his new scarf and hat (made specially to accommodate Tails' ears) were both the same colour.

"Looking good little bro, it goes with with your fur so well." Sonic said before suddenly ruffling Tails's bangs.

"Sonic, cmon stop." Tails giggled trying to swat Sonic's hand away and failing.

Sonic continued to ruffle his hair, the giggling only making him do it more.

When he did stop he was surprised to find a large clump of grey fluff come up in his hand and immediately panicked.

"OhmygodTailsI'msosorryIdidn'tmeanit..." He didn't mean it panicked at the thought of accidentally hurting his little brother.

"Sonic calm down, I'm just molting see." Tails said brushing his stomach and sonic noticed a few smaller bits of fluff fall off of Tails and onto the attic floor.

"Oh yeah, I think mom mentioned it, you're getting your winter coat." Sonic said.

Tails nodded.

"Yeah, though I'm probably gonna be leaving fur in a lot of places so sorry in advance." Tails said.

"Don't worry about it little bro, you can't help it, though we should probably warn mom and dad they're gonna be cleaning up more fur than just Ozzie's." Sonic said.

Over the next couple of days Tails' summer fur shed and his winter coat began to slowly come in.

Tom and Maddie took this in stride and everytime Tails got upset about his fur being in places they reassured him it wasn't his fault and it was just his body getting ready for the cold weather.

Sonic and Knuckles also helped out comforting their brother and in addition they made sure his bed was as cosy as it could be as it was a common fact that real foxes  tended to grow more malcohent and tired when shedding their fur and this fact seemed to apply to Tails too.

After about four days Sonic was in for a surprise.

He woke up that day and stretched rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up.

He climbed out of bed and went over to Tails' blue plane themed bed.

"Tails little bro, time to wake up, it's a brand new..." Sonic cut off when he saw something unusual with Tails.

The little fox was curled up in a ball on his bed, but his fur was different.

Instead of the grey and silver it had been the day before, it was snow a bright snow White, as a matter of fact the kit was now completely white like a giant snowball.

Just then Tails let out a squeaky yawn his sky blue eyes fluttering open and gazing at the cobalt blue hedgehog.

"Hmm, Sonic what is it?" Tails asked yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"Tails, your fur." Sonic said surprised.

"What about it...oh right." Tails said as though suddenly realising something.

"What's going on bud?" Sonic asked confused.

"This, oh this is just my winter coat." Tails said.

"How come it's all white?" Sonic asked.

"To blend in with the snow, you know like earth arctic foxes." Tails said.

Just then Knuckles awoke.

"Good morning brothers, I hope you have rested well." The echnida said getting up and stretching.

"Knux, check this out." Sonic said indicating Tails' snow white fur.

"Fox, you look different." Knuckles said.

"It's my winter fur Knuckles, what do you think?" Tails asked.

"It is very well suited for this snowy weather fox, and a great camoflauge against any enemy that may attack." Knuckles said.

"Thanks Knuckles but I highly doubt that'll happen." Tails said.

"Maybe so but you never know...plus it is very soft." Knuckles said gently stroking the fur behind Tails' ears making the kit purr.

Sonic tried and indeed Tails' new coat was very soft, somehow even softer than earlier.

"He's right Tails, you look and feel like a fluffy cloud." Sonic said.

Tails giggled and blushed but his wagging tails betrayed the embarrassment he felt.

"Cmon let's go see what's for breakfast, I'm starving." Sonic said before racing out the attic.

Tails' felt his own stomach rumble loudly and giggled in embarrassment.

"It seems you are hungry too fox, come, let us dine on Mother's delicious breakfast feast before the hedgehog eats it all." Knuckles said lifting Tails onto his shoulder and carrying him out of the attic, the fox cheering in excitement.

Inspired by @0vergrowngraveyard's arctic fox Tails art

[brokenpieces-72]

Older arctic fox reader, a good friend of Nikolai's, helps the 141 with a mission in Russian territory, and meeting our little wendigo as well.

Do what you want with this.

The reader is male, since I don’t usually do male readers. I’m definitely not imagining this guy looking like the anime KFC guy with fox ears and a bomber jacket…definitely not. Also lets access a different branch of the military with Special Investigations unit.

Fäks

You and Nik go back, and pretty far back. You served together in Russia and when he started working more “freelance” you got him whatever he needed to get whatever he needed. How did you two meet well funny story…he flirted with you. In his defence this was some time ago. Nik wasn't exactly sober either. Your hair was longer then and your body shape was slimmer than most. You’d been called beautiful by more than a few men before they noticed you were male. You started hitting on him back to see if he would pick up on your masculinity, before just asking Nik if he had figured it out yet. Nikolai saying you were very foxy for man is what cemented your relationship.

Nik didn’t tell you everything, but he kept in touch even after you parted ways. When a mission came up, and your commanding officer told you to stand down or to let it go, you reached out to Nik. Off the record wasn't uncommon for you, to the point you'd acquired a few safehouses for your own safety. You contacted Nik to see if you could get some help with your business trip, and he could deliver. When he told you the hybrids he could invite to your vacation home, your tail flicked. A wendigo, a dragon, a werewolf. You had to keep the list a little short but Nik wasn't about to just chauffer.

You stood outside the small base as the chopper landed, a smile on your face, under your scarf. Ice flecks whipped up around you, forcing you to raise your arm to protect your eyes. You didn’t approach until the rotors stopped. The rest shuffled out while Nik wasted no time coming to greet you.

“My brother.” Nik said, clasping your hand and providing a bear hug, which you return with a grin.

“Good to see you again comrade. This must be your friends.” You said, turning your attention to the newcomers.

“Captain.” Nikolai said, inviting Price over. “Meet Fäks. A good friend of mine.”

The dragon hybrid came over and shook your hand. He was bloody big, his horns making it difficult to keep a beanie on his head. You smiled, regardless of being a little intimidated.

“Welcome to Russia captain. It’s a pleasure.” You says.

“Pleasure is mine, Private Fäks.” Price said, nodding. All business this one. You were introduced to each one as friends. If there was a human who could bring hybrids together, it was Nik. Sure any human could arrange a meeting but Nik was special, looking past the hybrid while showing respect to it as well. As the soldiers filed out you noted each one. Gaz came up behind Price, shaking your hand in respect. Another human, Rudy greeted you next before going with Gaz towards the safe house. The final two exited the helicopter. A werewolf with his tail sticking out, saying to call him Soap. Behind him was a smaller soldier, with antlers and rabbit ears, calling herself Spirit. As the wolf and jackelope hurried inside, you took note of how Spirit was tagging along after Soap.

“Recruiting rather young.” You commented. Price nodded, his expression tells you it wasn't exactly his idea.

"Those two are a vision in the field." Price assured you. You looked forward to it.

Once inside and rooms sorted you wandered about, being as good of a host as you could. Nik would be sticking around to assist with extraction for this mission. You hadn’t gotten a chance to see the men with their jackets, scarves and toques off. The next day would be plenty of planning and decision making, figuring out how to break into a facility that was extracting various illegal materials and bi products from hybrids. This was a little personal for you, as you’d nearly had your own tail cut off or someone shave it for some sick mink.

There is a small lounge that could pass as a living room and you see the men have made themselves at home. You smiled reclining in a seat and immediately being asked by the harpy, about how you and Nik met. Nik loudly groaned, and buried his face in his hands, as you leaned forward ready to embarrass the shit out of him. Kyle already had a grin on his face.

“I was minding my own business whe-how old are you?” You said, interrupting yourself when Spirit walked in. She had a book in her hands, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“Uh…haven’t looked.” Spirit said. You looked at Nik.

“Not my idea.” Nik said shrugging.

“Apologies malen'kiy. Not used to such a young soldier.” You said. Didn’t mean to startle her.

“Come in Spirit, you’ll want to hear this story.” Gaz called to her. Spirit’s eyes went from wide to bright as she hurried to sit with Kyle. It’s cute how cozy she looked, with Gaz letting her snuggle up. Reminded you of someone else. You needed to focus on what was before you. Mission first, personal stuff later.

“Where was I…right I had a drink. Was enjoying some water, when Nik comes up and sits down like any old stranger.” You continued.

Originally Nik sent you a few files for the mission, since you would be leading it. Turns out he neglected to tell you what the wendigo was supposed to be. You were expecting a lanky humanoid, and when you were planning the mission that image remained.

“Wall here is pretty weak. I can find a hole nearby I’m sure.” You suggested when going over the plans. You looked up at Soap. “Unless a werewolf can?”

“I could do it.” Spirit suggested. “Wait, how much do I need to break it?”

You stood there for a moment, and looked up at the team. None of them said anything. The little jackalope just gave an expectant look. Were you missing something? You decided to take her at her word, but breaking the wall wasn't exactly what you were going for.

“On the other side is a lab. Not sure what’s in it but based on some of the cargo and shipments I’ve seen going in and out there’s a chance of explosives.” You continued.

“Door access might be easier.” Price suggested. Spirit looked a little disappointed.

“My thoughts as well.” You said.

“So breaking in from the outside is a no go?” Kyle asked. Certainly seemed more risky. So far breaking in with what access points you could reach would be more complicated with others but you couldn’t do this mission alone.

“I hate to suggest it, but could we slip in undetected?” Price asked. You considered that but didn’t like the idea.

“It would involve cages, some good acting, and a prayer.” You said. “Nik could drive a vehicle in with us in the back as cargo but the downside is we would need to either be drugged or knocked out. They won’t take “subjects” that are too active, and don’t want anyone knowing their way around in or out of the facility. Every stake out, all I could hear was breathing, no calls or cries. Overheard some drivers talkings about it with the guards.”

“Can we play dead?” Spirit suggested before looking at Soap. “No offence.”

Kyle snickered at Soap’s rolling eyes. You continued, “No, they test to ensure the hybrids are drugged. Guards will enter the truck for inspection before any of them go through.”

The young soldier seemed to shift from foot to foot. You could hear her heart picking up. When Soap put an arm over her shoulders she seemed to relax. The thought of cages made you a little uneasy as well, but it was easiest way.

“I don’t mean to devalue anyone, I have great respect for your work truly, but is bringing someone so young along a good idea?” You asked aloud.

“I’ll be fine.” Spirit said. You could hear her let out a huff, eyes firmly on the map. A strong malen’kiy.

Day before the mission you found yourself in the living space again, with Spirit sitting and drawing in her sketchbook. You had brought a sort of peace offering in the form of a muffin. She accepted it politely.

“Apologies for any offence I may have given you. It was not my intention.” You said. Spirit looked up a friendly expression on her face.

“I wasn’t offended.” Spirit said. You nodded and sat down, eyeing what she was working on. An arctic fox.

“Nik tells me you are a part of a program?” You asked. She nodded but fidgeted a bit. “Bad memories?”

“A bit.” She said, more focused on the sketch. You smiled.

“Do you need me to pose?” You teased. She looked at you smiling and shaking her head.

“I noticed you looking uneasy. While we were briefing.” You asked. When cages were brought up Spirit seemed to shift from foot to foot. Rudy would be a driver, along with Nikolai. You, Spirit, Price and Soap would be in cages and drugged. Gaz would provide overwatch. “If you don’t feel comfortable, you could always go in a cage with someone else, if it makes you feel safe.”

“You’re sure the drugs will be a lower dose?” She asked. You checked and double checked almost every hour, the doses were specific and precise, so they’d wake when they needed to, and wouldn’t be out any longer. You put a hand over your heart looking the young hybrid in the eyes.

“On my honour."

The truck is chilly but cold doesn’t bother you, nor does it bother Soap. Spirit had opted for staying in the same cage as Price who seemed a little chilly. Before the doses were administered, she curled up closer. Spirit insisted on having her poncho. Soap was also adamant on this.

“You have a little comrade captain.” You commented. Price nodded while Spirit gave a proud and smug look.

“Always.” Price said, his wing covering Spirit. You hear a small laugh, and quiet words from Price. Gaz went to each of you, injecting the dose. It would put you all to sleep. When you woke it was go time. You and Soap would be in one part of the lab, while Spirit and Price would be in another. Horns and antlers were valuable, as were scales. Furs had value but only so much. You notice Spirit getting nervous, can hear her breathing becoming unsteady. Price was there to keep her calm.

“You got this milan’kiy.” You told her. The needle goes in, she winced and then leaned back against Price. Price adjusted her to keep her from falling before Nik injected him. Soap was fidgeting in his own box as Rudy put the needle in him next.

Then it was your turn…and you…fall……asleep.

When you awoke you were close by to Soap who was already assessing the cage. He was focused, and ready. There was an extraction team on the way, but getting the other hybrids to safety was top priority. You started to pick the lock when you heard the horrible screech of bending metal. Soap was half shifted.

“That works.” You said and hurried out leading him to some more cages to assess the situation and get some files. Import records, profiles, transactions, whatever you could do to get to the root. You lift blankets on cages to check and see plenty of younger hybrids. The program was about to have a long week. Soap was getting the security system turned off. You were a “late shipment” which meant you had some time. No one would come to assess you for testing or anything like that which made for a perfect opportunity to get as many out as you could.

“How are those cameras?” You asked.

“What cameras?” Soap responded. You gave him a chuckle as he joined you, peeking under a blanket. Another fox hybrid, shivering, and looking newly shaved. Seeing soap, fhe fox cowered. Soap backed off, as you hushed the young kid.

“Не волнуйся. Мы здесь, чтобы помочь вам. Просто держись крепче.” You said. The kid nodded, eyes a little brighter. The blanket goes back down, and you stand up.

“Aye, Fäks. Found some shipments.” Soap called over. You came up to him, seeing the crates with smaller containers. The labels were going to a few high end companies. Disgusting, all of it. There was a barking sound. The two of them turned and saw the white Cadejo. Rudy had returned, which meant the guards wouldn’t be an issue. Soap got to the door and knocked, getting a response from Rudy immediately and letting him in.

"Find everything?" He asked.

"Downloading now." You informed him seeing the loading bar come up. Of course their tech was old and slow.

"Nikolai is on the other end." Rudy mentioned standing next to you, to see the progress himself.

"How is fairing?" You asked. There was a loud bang which told you something wasn't going right.

"Soap, Rudy, stay here." You instructed immediately. If there was one thing you didn't like it was sitting and waiting, and right now there was a chance a good friend of yours was in danger. You don't wait for their response as you leave the room and see a couple guys in lab coats rushing out. You drew a knife from your boot, shanking them both with quick and simple agility. You can hear odd noises and when you get the chance to look inside, you see Spirit's wendigo form, roaring and growling at whatever guards decided to poke her with a stick. Or cattle prod. Clearly they'd taken her out of the cage, intending to do some last minute assessment or maybe to get her antlers off. Price was taking out any guards that tried to go for him while Spirit tried clawing at them. Nik still had a weapon from his disguise, firing from whatever cover he could find from the tables and empty cages.

You don't hesitate to get more primtive, your blade doing only so much when it comes to armoured gear. You claw and bite, yes you have teeth, and you aren't afraid to dive into smaller space to remove anyone wanting to use the element of surprise. Thankfully, the fighting doesn't last long and you don't have too much blood in your mouth.

"Anyone broken?" Price called, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Good here." You said.

"Fine here captain." Nik called, as you gave him a hand up.

Spirit made a cooing sound, shuffling from foot to foot. You approached her and she looked down at you tilting her head. A jackelope wendigo hybrid. Certainly a new one. Seeing the scraps of her clothes, you understand why she wore the poncho. Spirit shifted back to her more human state, retrieving a weapon from one of the guards. Still seemed a little shaken, but ready and at attention.

"Files should be finishing up. We have plenty of hybrids to extract." You said.

"Let get to it." Price said.

Plenty of reports and paperwork to write and sign for this side mission. The hybrids were either put into a program like Spirit's or were waiting for their family to retrieve them. You checked up on Nikolai, and as always he was still holding strong. After completing your last signature for the day, you got up to go find him. Knowing him, he'd likely have a drink, and you could use one.

"Figured you'd need one." Nik said, offering you a poured glass. As always, he'd thought of everything. You took off your jacket, letting it rest on your shoulders as you sat with him at the table. "Long day."

"Indeed." You said taking a long sip. The two of you nursed your glasses.

"How are you?" Nik asked you.

"That's your best pick-up line?" You asked, recalling the night you two had met. Nik laughed. "I'll be fine."

"You see your little one at all these days?" He asked.

"I avoid it." You admitted. Nik shook his head, pouring you another.

"You should see them. Wait a little, but go see them." Nik said. You could never turn him down. Even when you two first met. He was right though. You should go see your little one. Spirit had reminded you of them, and they deserved to have you around even if you didn't think so.

"I will. They're still reading, and I've started doing it too. Plenty to talk about I'm sure." You said. Nik nodded, and you spent the rest of the evening, catching up, inviting the others to join, and remembering the good times.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

[meiguicha]

Hear My Love

Sunday x Reader - Idol AU

begged so hard he's e1s1 <3

Love's Song

Maybe this little crush of yours is driving you crazy, but there had to be a reason for your madnes and you could not possibly explain this ecstacy that came along seeing dusty blue hair and golden rings.

Even if you can see nothing but his obscured head, just catching a peek of his form is enough for your heart to sing in your chest. This couldn't be normal, oh this really couldn't be normal!

You'd just see him in that far off perch waving a lightstick along and it was like your every vein would be filled with the energy to keep going on and smiling. And whenever you saw him during a fanmeet, you already knew you'd spend the rest of the day giddy, high off the feeling of getting to be so close to him.

Even when you can't see him, you can feel his devotion through the loving stitches of your Darling's clothes, the timely reposts upon the fanpage, the critical yet adoring analysis of your songs. The dedication attributed to every single little thing was just the extra balm to your already soothed heart, and like a fool, you can do nothing but yearn after an anonymous fan.

It was under this infatuation that once more, like a fool, your hand had composed and your voice had sung. Hidden away from the eyes of even the most prying of eyes, a song sits in the depths of your archive crooning your most sincere longing.

But if you were allowed to even be a smidge more honest, you couldn't help but to mentally place Sunday's face onto your faceless fan. It isn't hard to, similar hair colours, both being halovians, both being absolute gentlemen, even the conviction they showed. Besides, it put a face to Restdaysfordarling, and your imaginative brain certainly enjoyed that concept. Maybe you'd be a little embarrassed to admit but, your dreams always seem to meld the two together.

It wasn't as if Sunday could ever be your ultimate fan. That isn't possible.

As your thoughts wander off to a land not even known to you, from far off into the distance, you notice a familiar halo. And as though a part of a coordinated choreography, just enough of the seas of people part enough for you to be granted a full view of the ever empyrean Sunday.

With a subtle saunter, you made your way towards his direction, sweeping a glass flute into your gloved hand as you do so. You will not approach, not now. So you sit, waiting for the perfect moment to slip in and drink in the presence of the man so similar to your love.

In some odd twist of the Aeons' hands, your eyes catch onto something they weren't meant to. Nothing big, not some noticeable red flag that anyone would immediately recognise. Of course, you aren't just anyone.

That little corner of fabric, soft satin of pearly white with delicate trims of lace, peeked out from his chest pocket. Most damning of all yet was the elegantly embroidery on the corners.

This was just a coincidence right? Maybe something Robin gave him as a freebie? But that wouldn't make sense, merch like that are limited edition and well, she's just not that kind of friend. No matter your relationship, you'd not expect her to fork over the thousands of credits nor time needed to even obtain one.

A collaboration you had done a while ago, special handkerchieves, ties and scarves designed by your own hand and brought to life. Only 50 of each were made, and well, you'd spent so long slaving over the sketches it'd be embarassing to not recognise it.

Your heart drums with some odd combination of fear, relief and bliss. This illustrious person who had seemed so unreacheable, had in the midst of his busy life had taken the time to support a nobody like you. And suddenly your dreams that had turned two into one, made all the more sense.

He approaches, and how you long to let the fountain of eternal ardour spill with your effervescent greetings. Yet still, you let not even the slightest hint of your discovery known.

"I'd like your opinion on a matter, if you don't mind?" Tucking your excitement behind a veil of sunny joy, you send Sunday a soft squeeze of your eyes as you chirp, "Robin has told me of your musical inclination and I am in need of a third pair of ears."

"I could trust no one else more with this."

With that last hammer into the coffin, the hesitation that had originally milled behind long lashes and cordial smiles, seem to seep away as something else, an emotion much more volatile than dithering takes its place.

After what seems like an eternity, he obliges, "It would be my honour."

His voice, one hidden by a mask and another honed for public perfection ring simultaneously in your ears. In the abyss of archival emotion, shrouded amongst burning elation and heavy sorrow is something far, far more nonsensical.

Today, you present to the man you thought too perfect, to the man you thought too endearing, your everything.

To Restdaysfordarling, to Sunday, to your dearest and most devoted fan, to someone who dedicates his all to everything he touches, please hear the voice that calls and thanks you.

And please, accept this love you sing.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi!

Firstly, thank you for everything you're doing, and all the resources. They're so interesting and useful. And I really appreciated the favourite Black character showcase, and not just so I could share my favourite characters with everyone lol.

Secondly, I have a question about my own worldbuilding. It's a fantasy, and the royal family of one of the kingdoms is Black. At the moment I have a tentative idea to have it as part of their culture for the king and queen specifically to cover part of their hair, to symbolise that they're ready to go and help the kingdom at a moment's notice, even at night. Even when they're woken up from sleep. My idea is that the king's hair kind of looks like a cross between these two photos (first for his hairstyle, second for his headwrap style):

It's only the ruling monarch/s that do this – their direct heir will at a certain age start wearing translucent partial head coverings on special occasions, but nothing opaque or at all times in public until they're the monarch. None of the other royals do. One of the main characters in my story is the second eldest princess, who's about 18-ish and doesn't cover her hair, and nor do either of her younger sisters (one of whom is in the story quite a lot) (the other main character is the white queen of another kingdom, about the same age, and they don't cover their hair there, if that's any useful context – there's a number of Black characters too who don't cover their hair).

I know there used to be laws forcing the covering of Black people's hair in some places, and with the discrimination surrounding Black hair too, I'm wondering whether it would be racist or anything inappropriate to have something like this? Or if I'm overthinking it?

(I'd also appreciate it if you could just give me a yes/hell no on the hairstyle itself too if you have a chance.)

(also I'm either terrible at searching or preaching to the choir here but it's so hard to find images of black men in headwraps on duckduckgo, seriously. And sorry for the long ask! I appreciate it if you answer this and dw if you don't want to/can't.)

You chose two fine ass men 😭 Oooh I love a man in a turban. Gorgeous. I love both styles. And head coverings and scarves are also a positive part of Black beauty cultures internationally! Nigerian women will wear the finest of head wraps for special events, I love seeing the styles. So ofc it wouldn't be an issue.

It's not that hair is being covered that was what made the Tignon laws (what you're talking about) racist, it was the reason why they were being forced to cover their hair. If that is not what you're depicting (without intent to show discrimination) then you're fine. You seem to be doing it as a sign of royalty and devotion to one's kingdom. That sounds honorable to me.

[be-my-ally]

Big Bunny

Playboy Bunny Reader x Elvis on the Playboy jet request

it might be 3:30am here, i may have work today at 9 and i may have to proof read over this again tomorrow but still, here, have a bunny themed fic - very apt for a slightly (at least for where i am) belated good friday gift (for those who celebrate and a spring themed passover/ramadan/weekend gift for everyone else) !!

I genuinely did not expect to end up doing nearly as much research for this as I did - and therefore there ended up being significantly more back story than I anticipated for what I had planned to be a short smutty one shot lol so… here’s a p ridiculous 9.8k fill xx 

pairing: jet bunny reader x 1973-4 elvis (yes we are going that specific this time) - early big daddy era.

summary: freshly hired shy new playboy bunny reader and elvis get up to some fun away from the other passengers on Hugh Hefner's private plane, the aptly named 'Big Bunny'.

warnings: 18+, 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), oral (v receiving), lil bit of fingering, gratuitous use of the term 'bunny' and all accompanying euphemisms, elvis (as always in my writing) refers to himself as daddy.

wc: 9.8k

You nervously adjust your scarf around your neck; it’s windy, and you’re worried about your hair—that its carefully styled easy look might be ruined by the breeze. You roll from one foot to the other in anticipation; you can already feel the leather of the new, tall boot starting to rub behind your knee, and you’re hopeful for the chance to switch it out for your regular heels on board. The other girls are quiet, and that’s how you can tell that they too are nervous or excited—anticipatory perhaps. Usually, they would be chattering away right now—at least, that’s your experience from the last few flights you’d worked. But for some reason, the knowledge of this special guest had made them all fall silent, worrying their scarves or hair, and checking one another’s lipsticks, even more so than when Hugh was on board. Perhaps it was, like the Bunny bible said, because there was the knowledge that you were all representatives of the brand, and that was even more true for someone who wasn’t the owner of the brand, or perhaps it was simply because it wasn’t just any boring old investor but Elvis Presley flying on board today.

You’re all too young to remember much of him in his early prime or his dizzying launch to success, but you know that every girl in this line-up had watched the ’68 special, probably at a similar formative age to you, and had an experience; it had been impossible not to. You had been on the cusp of being 16 and were utterly gobsmacked and captivated by the television set as you watched him gyrate in a full black leather suit. Your mind had gone blank, and you couldn’t have told anyone what your father had said about it—you honestly couldn’t hear him because you were so shocked and excited by what you were seeing. Suddenly, you understood. You’d all discussed the marvel of the possibilities of the use of the satellites for the Aloha show only a few months ago, and you knew you weren’t the only bunny in the group who still found him almost alarmingly attractive. The concept, therefore, of being loaned out to him with the plane made you more than a little nervous. Another fragment of your anxiety for this flight also revolved around your new uniform—you weren’t comfortable in it yet; a teeny leatherette dress that somehow seemed far more revealing than your corset had ever seemed. Perhaps because it felt less like a costume in some way, perhaps because it simply was so unlike anything you would wear in day-to-day life—the over-the-knee boots were uncomfortable still too. 

It’s unclear how you’d become so attached to the little corset costume when you were still so new to the plane and to this life as a whole. You’d been well-trained and ready to use your newfound, extensive bar knowledge while working as a table bunny in the club in LA. Although you had hoped that you might be spotted and bumped up to a more senior position in a little while—that one day you might be able to work your way up to the mansion or maybe even be handpicked to be a playmate—it all seemed so glamorous, and the attention was so exciting. You’d never dreamed you would, after only working a month, be handpicked as a jet bunny. It had been one of the most exciting moments of your life. Since then, you’ve not been flying for very long, although the training had been intense and your first flight had only been two weeks ago. And it had been a pretty slow start, with just Hugh and a couple of colleagues on board. They had their favourites, and while you had been chatted to and flirted with—treated well—you had also been mostly ignored.

Elvis, as far as you could tell, didn’t have favourites; he hadn’t requested anyone in particular from the thirty or so girls on regular rotation for the jet, and it made you relieved to think that you were on a mostly even keel with the other girls. You’d gossiped about it as you packed your bags onto the plane before you’d all ended up where you were now: standing in a row waiting for him to pull up, having been given word that he was mere minutes away. When you looked down at the other girls, you couldn’t help but wonder why, as one man with a small entourage for the flight, he really needed the bunny equivalent of five stewardesses. But, you think to yourself, at least he did because, as the most junior of the bunch, you definitely would have been the first to be bumped from the flight.

It’s only another few minutes until his long, sleek, white Cadillac pulls up in front, another car close behind, and his long legs are immediately sliding out of the car, almost before its even come to a complete stop. He seems eager to be away. He’s arguing with someone and barely acknowledges any of you as he starts to storm up the stairs towards the jet entrance—clearly familiar with the plane already. It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t arguing with someone physically with him but was instead recounting what had been discussed on the phone in the car—you could hear him swearing as he went inside, 

"I fuckin’ asked her to come out here with me, and now she’s being all cold, just then she was sayin’ she don’t wanna see me -" You can’t hear anything more, and you look down the row before Darla in front shrugs her shoulders and starts greeting the other couple of men still coming out of the car, and in the car behind, there were around a dozen guys in total, no women other than you five, which wasn’t unusual on the jet but wasn't entirely expected either.

A moment later, Elvis is hurrying back down the stairs, panting slightly as he comes. He arrives back in front of you, the last in line, with a series of apologies.

"Lord, where are my manners? I’m so sorry, girls. Hello, nice to meet ya; well, aren’t you all pretty little things?" You blush, and he catches your eye, winking at you as he presses a kiss to your cheek. He smiles at the rest of them, and Darla launches into her ‘Welcome to Big Bunny’ spiel as she directs him back up the way he just came. Your mind is racing as you follow them all up the stairs, and you’re more than a little distracted as you close the door and conduct the safety checks. Does that mean something? That he singled you out?

You weren’t meant to be his main assistant; of course, the main focus for today was keeping him happy, but you’d been specifically told that your purpose was to make sure the other passengers felt that they were getting similar attention. You didn’t have the experience, as Darla had told you, to understand how to deal with men like him. Those that think they’re special or that just because you’re wearing a bunny outfit they have some sort of claim on you, that you’re all the same and your centrefold is owed to them. And also, she’d flippantly added, you were still very inexperienced, and first and foremost she had to consider the brand. Now as you watch her take his arm up the stairs, you think you might be understanding her motivations a little more; her hips swaying more than they usually would. But you can’t say you blame her or that her other observations were wrong. You were inexperienced, both in flying and with men. But, as you’re locking the door shut and heading around to fetch towels and drinks before the pilots engage the engine, you can feel his eyes on you, and you think, I know what that means. 

It’s a pretty long flight for a domestic flight—four or five hours, depending on the route the pilot takes—so you have plenty of time to get to know the passengers and ensure they’re all well taken care of. You’ve heard rumours from some of the other girls that this kind of flight can often go one of two ways: either the men are rowdy, raucous, and handsy, or they’re quiet, appreciative, but distant. You had assumed Elvis and his entourage would be the former, but from the way he quickly gets himself situated and settled in the forward compartment, you’re inclined to believe it will be the latter. You can’t help but notice he’s sequestered himself in the back; a couple of the men are with him, but the rest are a series of seats away. It seems like even the inner circle has an inner circle.

Before serving the drinks, you have a chance to look over at him. Trying to be inconspicuous, you’re surprised at how large he is. You’ve never realised how tall he really is, but he’d remained a few inches taller than you even in your heels, and while the plane is more spacious and furnished less compactly than the average, it still serves to make him seem bigger in contrast to the environment. He seems to take up more space than his body needs too, like his presence needs allowance; he looks incapable of staying on one seat, and the way he spreads his legs, his knees falling open, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he might be taking up more than his fair share of space. 

You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there, peering behind a partition wall, pretty much directly at his spread thighs. Until you move your eyes up, tracking up his body past his famously large belt to his open collared shirt, through which you can see tiny wisps of chest hair peeking through. You assess how his shirt is lying on him, clinging but well-tailored, and his trousers too, tight around his thighs and well-fitted on his waist but equally well-tailored, looking comfortable and well-fitted. Your eyes continue to roam over him until they come to rest on his face, and you realise he’s been watching you look at him. He’s smirking at you, clearly used to the attention but perhaps still flattered that he inspires it, and winks through his lavender-coloured glasses. You immediately duck back, taking a moment to gather yourself from the embarrassment of being caught out, before heading back out with the first tray of drinks.

It wasn’t your place to be, but you couldn’t help but be pleased when he showed himself not to be the type to start demanding wildly complicated cocktails—in fact, rolling his eyes when one of the men, Red, perhaps his name was, asked for a mai tai—and at his clear desire to remain sober, simply requesting a Pepsi. You take a breath, plastering your customer service smile on, determined to ignore any embarrassment, and swing around with the tray. Praying you don’t trip or spill anything in front of him.

Thankfully, you make it around without consequence, your thorough club training coming into play and keeping you steady even when there’s a mild bump as the plane engines start to roar. He grins up at you when you hand him the drink, and you can’t help but return it, beaming at him, forgetting your practised coquettish expression. You have to head back, sit down for a moment while the pilots announce your takeoff, and try not to grimace, knowing that your face can be seen from the compartment, at the feeling of taking off. You’re fine in the air, but that whooshing feeling of the plane jetting forward and up, the moment where you can feel the balance of the wings against the air as the engine battles its way up, still sends a wave of anxiety over you. Maggie brushes her hand over yours where it lies on the little armrest between the steward seats, and you thankfully grasp it, taking deep breaths. Once the pilot has announced you are officially flying and will be for approximately four more hours, you’re pleased you can finally stand up again and relax somewhat.

You’re not really needed for much for a little while, so you bounce about, chatting and keeping them company, talking with some of the other girls as you help to serve more drinks and food, and setting up the games tables when asked. Elvis has demanded the theatre be set up, so you arrange that, praying that when you return to the room he’ll have picked one of the latest cinematic releases and not, as you feared, one of the many adult releases available. You’re not sure you could keep a straight face if you had to watch him watch Deep Throat; it would just be too much to bear.

So you’ve avoided the lounge by staying in the forward compartment and helping the men there. Before you were sent on a mission to see if there was any peanut butter on board, a special request had apparently been made, but whether it had been complied with was yet to be seen. When Michelle, one of the more senior girls, suddenly appeared beside you, grabbing your arm and speaking in a hurried, hushed tone, she told you that you really ought to change. You panic for a second that something was wrong with your dress, but she’s quick to assure you that it was nothing like that. But Elvis had taken her aside and mentioned that although he "love[s] your yittle skirts, like yer spies or somethin’," he was "missin’ them little bunny outfits" and had left that with her. He hadn’t specifically requested anyone should change, but she’d successfully read between the lines of the very obvious hint and was, therefore, suggesting that you, Daisy, and Maggie change into your bunny corsets. You’d all planned for this possibility, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you were still slightly surprised. You’d not been given the impression that Elvis had been that bothered by the theme of the plane, of you, but rather was utilising the plane for the luxury and convenience of the travelling experience. But if he was requesting your bunny outfits, clearly he was more into it than you thought.

It’s not long after that you do as requested and emerge from the powder room in your little patented corset teddy, the black silk highlighting your complexion and the little collar and bow emphasising your neckline. You were slightly annoyed that despite your careful packing, your little cottontail puff had been flattened, and so you’d had to spend way too long fluffing it to bring it back to life. This also meant that you were the last to emerge, and there was no way you could deny noticing that Elvis himself was sitting back in the forward compartment, turned so that he was practically facing the powder room door, watching you exit with a satisfied smirk on his face. You try to ignore him, listening to the conversations happening around you and trying to anticipate everyone’s needs. In your absence, more substantial snacks have been served, and you can see the remnants of some sort of peanut butter sandwich situation dotted around the room, so clearly that had been found too. There’s now a discussion happening about whether you should turn on the lights in the disco room or wait a little while to eat first. Eventually, it’s decided a proper meal is imperative at some point in the flight, but that right now? They wanted music.

So you all move down the plane. You end up walking directly behind Elvis, and when the plane bumps up and down briefly in the tiniest spot of turbulence, you trip into his back. You right yourself with help from one of his arms, apologising, but you’re flustered. It’s only worse when he turns to you.

"No need to be sorry, doll; you can fall into my arms whenever you like." It was one thing to imagine how he felt, but to be able to remember the feel of him, even from behind, even from just a brief moment of contact, was a heady feeling. Especially when he felt just as you’d imagined he would—soft but firm and broad. So broad. Walking behind him like this also made you nervous for another reason: it made you feel as if your movement down towards the intimate bedroom quarters at the end might be signalling something. The cosiness of the rooms between -- the disco and the lounge, perhaps reflective of the internal struggle you’re facing; the disco the butterflies in your belly.

You know you won’t be able to prevent meeting his eye again. The thought worries you; you’ve been around attractive men before, of course, but never one that, just by looking at him once, has made you feel like you would risk giving up everything for a few hours of fun. Lose everything you have simply for the pleasure of touching him. Maybe this was what Darla was concerned about; you can see her glance over to you every now and again, checking in, and you can tell she’s a little bothered by something.

Once you’re in the disco, the girls and you are well-practised at setting it all up, making sure there are enough tracks ready to be played and that there was easy access to free-flowing drinks and bar snacks. You’re also all very used to essentially having to start the dancing yourselves, having to encourage the others to join in despite their enthusiasm in suggesting the disco. You hang back slightly, holding a tray, when Elvis lightly grasps your elbow. You jump, having not seen him come to your side, and look questioningly at him.

"Dance for me, baby?" You’re not a stripper or a go-go dancer or anything like that, but it’s not a request that’s unheard of in the clubs. And you enjoy it; you wouldn’t be in the job if you didn’t get a slight thrill from being looked at, watched, wanted. So it’s easy to agree, especially when you’ve always found it hard to ignore a man when he adds a pet name, and besides, you want to. So you do. Elvis sits himself down, and a few of the men join in, and you and Maggie and Daisy all dance around them. You prance and shimmy, and soon most of the passengers onboard are dancing around to the music that plays from the surround system.

The group cheered and laughed when Burning Love was played on the 8-track, and Elvis sang along, laughing and joking when he missed one of the high notes ("God almighty, that’s high"). You notice that after a while Elvis has disappeared back into the living area and looks like he might be close to nodding off; sat there with his head back. You suppose he must be tired—you don’t know what he was doing prior to the flight this afternoon, but you do know he was coming off of the back of a week straight of shows and heading towards another one. You again know it’s not your place, and yet you still can’t help feeling like you ought to check on him.

You head over, leaning over, and crouching in the way you’re told to, almost in a bunny dip. He blinks up at you when you touch his shoulder.

"Lord, you’re a vision." You’re taken aback and can’t do much more than crouch there, stuck in place. "Talk with me, honey?" He pats your arm, and you nod, standing upright again and looking for a place to perch. There’s nowhere for you to sit down, or perch, few seats as there were in this living area, attached to the disco, and with the other men and girls also collapsing around you, you awkwardly look around for a moment before Elvis’ hand comes out and wraps around your thigh, pulling you down onto his lap.

"Oh!"  You gasp, "Oh, I—I, uh, don’t think you’re meant to touch me, sir."

"Bunny, for the next three hours, I own you." He chuckles but removes his hands from your legs, although he makes no attempt to shift you from his lap, instead sitting further back, causing you to fall more securely onto his lap. You avoid what is sure to be judging looks from the other girls as they hand him drinks and chat with the other boys on board. You’re wrong about them watching you and judging you; of course, all the other girls are distracted, and even when they do glance over, it’s mostly to check that you, as the new girl, are still doing okay. Despite any jealousy they may be feeling about the attention he’s giving you, they still know how shocking and abrupt all of this can suddenly feel when you’re being confronted with men like him.

He’s surprised when you look shy, and you know the rumours abound—about how you’re all able to make extra cash—the private parties for the number one keyholders. But it’s not something you’re forced into just by virtue of being a bunny, and it’s not something you’ve been interested in finding out more about. Still, being perched on his firm lap, the seams of his suit rubbing against your silk tights, you can’t help but wish that you had asked more about it; found out if there were expectations. You wouldn’t want to let him down. You awkwardly sit there a moment before opening your mouth, 

“So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” He smiles, 

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself honey.” So you do, giving him the basic information of your life, while he hmms and uh-huhs in all the right moments to show he’s listening to you. You’re starting to run out of steam and you’re about to ask him to tell you something when you’re distracted by him reaching to the side of you, jostling you a little. 

He lights a cigar, and you can feel the heat of the tip. You shift the tiniest bit; you don’t know why it’s getting you so hot. You’re suddenly grateful for the subtle but multiple layers you’re wearing. Thankful for the fact that you’ve never listened to the few girls who swear it makes more sense not to bother with panties; you’d never been convinced that it wasn’t asking for trouble—something was sure to slip or become exposed. But you also always wore a double layer of pantyhose. He grunts the tiniest bit as you bump back into his stomach, and when you pause for a moment, you can feel a dampness growing between your legs. Through all the layers, he can’t feel it, thank God, but he does murmur to you: "Lord, are you a hot little Bunny." He strokes the small of your back, and you somehow know he doesn’t just mean it in the attractive sense, but that he can feel your heat.

You wriggle back against him, thinking, - don’t waste your chance, girl; don’t do it; you may as well go for it. All of your sense of propriety is lost, and you’re suddenly completely ignorant of the happenings around you. You can feel where the rubber around the edge of the leg bands of the teddy is starting to roll, being unable to stay put on the slippery tights and causing it to fall further away from your thighs riding up. You know he can feel it too, as close as you are. And while you’re still theoretically clothed, you can feel his trouser leg better on your thigh after it rolled up; he said you were hot, but he’s burning, it feels like. You push back onto him, feeling his tummy nudge against you, and under your tail, what felt like a growing erection. You don’t know what’s come over you, where this sexual confidence, this determination, this lack of self-consciousness, has come from. You wonder if it could just be the adrenaline of being so close, but you still go with it, and you nudge your ass back to him, grinding a little.

"Don’t baby," he pushes you forward a little, with his one free hand, blowing smoke past the side of your face, and you giggle, putting on a faux deep voice.

"Don’t procrastinate; don’t articulate…" You can’t even get the words out of your mouth you’re giggling so hard, wiggling in his lap, and it sets him off too, shaking his head and murmuring against your ear.

"Lord save me, girlie, you’re trouble, ain’t ya?" He holds you still. You try, but you’re practically incoherent because you’re laughing so hard.

"If you're lookin' for..." But your laughter cuts off when he hooks a finger in the corset and strokes it down your inner thigh—somewhere that you would have slapped anyone else and whispers, 

"You came to the right place." You gasp, head going back, and his own tucking into your shoulder - he holds out the cigar, and, despite having barely lit it, rests it in the tray to the side of you so that he can use both hands to grip your waist. It’s ridiculously cheesy, and you don’t want to think about how many times and with how many girls he might have used similar lines, or how easy it must be for him.

"You want me, Bunny?" You still don’t know if you should be playing hard to get or if you should just give in to the inevitability of it all. "Can feel your little tail pressin’ into me - little puffy thing. Twitching ‘gainst me;" You wrinkle your nose cutely at his words, and he smiles into your neck: "Even a little twitchin’ bunny nose!" he presses a finger to it, and the strokes down to your lips. He rests it there for a second, "Do you wanna do this, bun?" You decide you may as well give in and nod—there's no point trying to play it cool when you’re sitting on his lap. You open your mouth, trying to catch his finger in your teeth as he fools around with you. He pulls you around, so one of your bent knees is now pressed against him and your other is resting on the seat, facing him. You shiver, loving how his sturdy hands manhandle you. You lean forward, as if to kiss him, when he stills you, 

"Baby, we’re surrounded." You glance up, confused expression on your face, and a question in your eyes: Why would it matter? They all know the score. He shakes his head. "It’s your job isn’t it? You can’t - we shouldn’t?" You shrug your shoulders, he’s technically right and mere minutes ago you’d been worried about it yourself, but... It’s also not completely true to say that you would be discouraged from doing this with him.

"Say doll, how’d’ya - how’d’ya feel about joinin’ me?" Your heart flips, you glance around, but it appears the other girls are either preoccupied or purposefully avoiding looking at you. Plausible deniability. You’re frozen, and he stands up, pushing off of his lap, and leaves without looking back at you, only stopping at the door to the bedroom to call back,

"You coming or what?" So sure that you’ll follow him in. You glance around, and only Darla catches your eye. You’re wide-eyed and panicked at being caught, but she looks at you for a moment before nodding slightly and winking as she turns away. Somehow, it untangles the ball of anxiety that you didn’t realise was holding you so tense. Seconds later, you stand up, clearing the empty glasses from the tables around you, when Michelle swoops in, taking them out of your hands and nudging you with her hip towards the bedroom. Right then. You follow where Elvis had gone only a minute or so ago, and you cross past the little faux wood door into the bedroom. You look around but find that he’s already in the bathroom—perhaps so certain that you would follow that he didn’t even need to check that you had come in.

You sit anxiously on the big, round, fur-covered bed as you wait for him to reappear. You cross your legs before immediately uncrossing them and standing up—wondering if it was too presumptuous to be sitting there waiting for him. A moment later, leaning against the wall, you change your mind, deciding to sit on the edge again. It really did make the most sense. And while you didn’t want to make it seem like you were assuming something, you doubted he’d invited you back here to play checkers. He comes out and watches you for a brief second before coming over to stand in front of you, mere inches apart, so you’re forced to crane your neck up to look at him.

You’re a little skittish, and he can tell by the way you tremble when his hand comes up to touch your shoulder; he leans forward as if to kiss you, and you pull back. He pauses. 

"What’s the matter, little Bunny? Why are’ya so twitchy now?" He doesn’t want to force himself, but he also can tell you want him, even before you willingly followed him here. He also knows that you must know the score—you can’t be that innocent in your role—and you must understand what he’s asking of you.

"I’m, I’m just -- it’s just a little surreal, you’re Elvis Presley. I don’t know how to, I've never been with anyone famous." He smiles, thankful that he hadn’t misread the situation — god forbid what the newspapers would have said about that if it had leaked: Elvis forces himself onto Playboy Bunny, BANNED from Hefner’s jet. It doesn’t bear thinking about. So he does the one thing he knows he can do well — can do so well that most women forget their worries and tilts your chin up to kiss you. He brackets your body with his thighs and cups your face in both hands. He’s masterful at it, knowing all the right moves,  just the right amount of tongue forced into you, mapping your mouth. His lips are so soft, and his little nibbling bites on your lower lip hurt just the right amount for you to be totally consumed by his actions. He nudges you to move further up when you break apart, and you shimmy up a little, your legs coming up so that only your ankles are not on the bed. He presses one knee between your legs, balancing so he can move forward enough to kiss your cheek, his own high cheekbones rubbing against your face, and whisper, 

"I’m just a man, hon, just like any other — don’t, don’t worry ‘bout it." He leans over and you’re forced onto your back, his hand catching you and lowering you down gently onto the fur coverlet. You lean up to kiss the exposed part of his neck, your nose nudging against his high collar. 

"I, uh, god, I haven’t been around that many men in general — not like this, so that doesn’t actually make me feel a whole lot better. " You respond quietly. He pauses where his hand had been starting to fiddle with the zipper on the back of your corset. Pulling himself up to look you in the eyes. 

"You, have - you have been with a man though? Right Doll?" You nod, frantically, you might be nervous but god don’t let him stop now. 

"Yes - yes, just, just only the one." He moans on top of you, clearly liking the answer. You feel the zipper come down, and your chest is finally allowed to expand properly again, free from the restrictive boning. You suddenly panic, holding the garment close to your chest as you force him back a little. He rolls sideways, onto his elbow, to watch you; 

"What’sthe matter baby?" He looks concerned as you force yourself up into a sitting position, 

"Uh, could you - could you just close your eyes or something while I take this off?" He frowns, 

"Well, sure, but… I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout modesty right now." You smile nervously back, trying for a blasé air — 

"No, no, I know it’s just — it would just make me feel better." He looks at you, clutching the corset teddy to your chest. He nods, starting to close his eyes and you let out a sigh of relief, immediately standing up and wriggling out of it. You’re bent over, folding the fabric over itself when he starts to talk, 

"I ain’t got a problem making you comfortable, babe, but if it’s about them little cottontails stuffed down your top I already know." You pause. Whirling around to see him peeking through his lashes at you. You forget to be shy, stood there topless, braless in nothing but your pantyhose and heels and you put your hands on your hips. 

"How on earth —“ He laughs at you, opening his eyes properly, 

"I’m not new to this game sweetheart." You can tell he’s teasing, but now he’s made you slightly worried that it's always been obvious thatyou weren’t quite as endowed as you were claiming, 

"How’d you tell though?" 

"You’re not the first girl meeting me with something stuffed down their shirt, darling, you just, sometimes you can just tell— I don’t know what you’d be stressin’ over though," He takes a moment to very obviously look you over, "they’re some pretty little tits." You’re pleased, but annoyed that he’s still decided to use the term little. 

"Well - isn’t that why! Little!" He laughs at your indignation, reaching a hand out to pull you back to him, but he can barely speak through his giggles.

"No, no, no I didn’t mean it like that." You frown, but his amusement is infectious and you find yourself also giggling - "See, see, there’s a good girl - no reason to be sore about it, much more than what you’ve got’sa waste anyway mama, you’ll see." 

He puts you back where he wanted you to start with - on your back, as leans over you. The feeling of him still being fully clothed against your chest, your near nakedness, makes you tremble - the soft silk of his shirt rubbing against your nipples. You can smell him, the slight musk of the day masked by cologne - perhaps reapplied in the bathroom a moment ago. His hair is looser than you expected it to be and it’s already starting to flop forward, it unnerves you slightly because it allows you to somehow forget who it is lying over you - the loss of that trademark making you forget that he’s practically a patented figure at this point. Until you catch sight of his blue eyes or his little curled lip and you’re reminded all over again. He strokes up from your waist to your neck and then back down, gentle fingertips dancing over your skin. He leans down to kiss you and your arm winds around his neck, pulling him closer. You’ve never felt a hunger like this. Desire like this before. You’re suddenly desperate to be closer, forgetting to play it cool you’re tugging at his shirt, 

"C’mon get this off!" He laughs at you again, but stands up, ignoring your request. You lie there on your back looking up at him as he assesses you. You can’t help but puff your chest out a little and curve your back. Then he bends to grasp your left ankle, slipping your heel off. You yelp at the unexpectedly quick motion but the relief is almost immediate. He grabs your other ankle to take the other heel off, flinging it against the wall of the plane. Then his hands are immediately going to your black tights, he tries to pull them from the ankle but quickly realises that’s getting him nowhere, unable to get a proper purchase on the slippy material. So he works his way up to the waistband, grasping it and tugging it down. His finger catches by your knee, the rough bitten edge of his nail snagging and you hear the tell-tale ripping sound of them laddering, He laughs as you groan, 

"Oh, no! Those were my last good pair; they cost me nearly seven dollars!" It only makes him laugh harder as he tears them off of you. 

"Tell you what, honey, I’ll make sure you have ten new pairs by the time we land." He throws them somewhere near the rest of your clothes and turns his attention back to your stomach, only to be surprised when he’s met with another pair of pantyhose — this time in a sheer nude. 

"Lordy! How many layers’is there?" You laugh at him, as he begins the process of rolling them down too — lifting your hips to allow them to come down easier than last time; it’s not that you don’t believe he would replace them, but just in case you’d prefer not to rip these too. 

"Not meant to be being touched am I, Mr Presley?" It’s like, as he exposes more of your skin, he can’t help himself from pausing — the tights stay rolled around your knees to allow him to kiss your thighs, or the patch of skin between your belly button and your panties. You lift your leg, allowing him to roll down the last of the hosiery. He rubs over the arch of your foot and you moan at the relief — you may be getting used to the heels now but it didn’t mean that your feet didn’t still ache as soon as they came off. He gives the same attention to the other foot, rubbing firmly, before physically pushing you up the bed. 

"Oh darling, call me Elvis." He strokes up your calves, before he stops again at your feet, "God, has anyone ever told you you’ve got real pretty sooties, Lordy these little toes are gorgeous." You wiggle them at him, you’ve never given much thought to your feet other than deciding what colour to paint your nails. He pulls your foot towards him, lifting your leg up. He kisses along the ball of it, before taking your big toe into his mouth. 

You had never, ever, been turned on by the thought of someone playing, or sucking your feet, but suddenly it’s like electricity zapping up your legs to your tummy and core — you can feel yourself growing damp just from his gentle tongue lapping around your toes and you can’t help little moans falling from your mouth. You’re normally ticklish but this time the sensation forms little jolts through your tummy, making it flip slightly, and butterflies form. He lets go with a little pop, his lips forming the perfect round little ‘O’ of suction and the warm wet heat is suddenly released, causing the air to feel colder and your feet more sensitive than ever before. When you look at him standing there, holding your ankle, caressing your calve you have a sudden flash of what it must be like to be a man — and suddenly you think you can understand why men love being sucked so much. The sight of him, his lips red, your toes wet, is overwhelmingly erotic. 

He keeps going - right up your foot, before he holds your leg up, kissing up it before he put his knees on the bed again, lowering your limb to allow him to kneel over you. He places little kisses up your thighs, and you can feel his chin rubbing against your stomach as he kisses his way up there, he uses one elbow to lean on, keeping himself somewhat horizontal, but his other hand is following his lips. 

"Time to prove it to you, little bun-bun." He whispers against your sternum, before turning his head, licking a line across your breast and capturing your nipple in his mouth. His hand reaches to squeeze your other, pinching the nipple until it hardens into a little nub. He pulls off of where he’s been sucking and blows onto you. The cool air over your wet nipple sends a jolt straight to your pussy — it’s clearly an education for you tonight since you’d also never before known how sensitive your chest really was. He laps at the other side, giving it a similar treatment, palming the breast around it. While you gasp and wiggle underneath him you can feel his length straining in his trousers, and the slight feel of his lowly buttoned shirt, allowing you to feel a slither of the hairs on his chest and tummy is enough to send your arousal into overdrive. You start tugging at his top and trying to feel around his waist to undo one of the belts that had become synonymous with his image, far more insistently than before. Demanding he takes it off, even as the words fail to make it out of your mouth alongside the moans and gasps caused by his ministrations. He pulls back, planting one last kiss on the side of your chest and laughs at you when you beg. 

"Please, gotta see you, wanna see all of you - please Elvis, dreamed about this, gotta see it." But still, he complies with your request, sitting himself up to strip off his shirt; unbuttoning the last few buttons and then standing to kick off his trousers, pulling off his belt. You stare at him. Incapable of doing anything else. He’s carrying more weight than before, especially around his middle, although he’s still clearly a man of generally slim build, padded tummy over muscle. But regardless of his weight, or maybe because of it, he’s still beautiful. You reach for him when he lies back down, stroking the hair on his head - the hair that ensures you recognise that this is no longer the slicked-back hair of his Hollywood days and that he’s no longer a boy in anyway but a man and you need only look at his chest to remind you of that. The few sparse hairs that used to be there have been joined by a collection covering his chest and stomach in a soft carpet. 

His hands move back down the sides of your body and he whispers to you, "Lift up baby," as you would while trying to undress a child to pull your panties down and off of you — throwing them god-knows-where also. You wriggle, nervous and self-conscious as he stares at you. He’s flushed pink down his face and chest, and he looks you over, assessing. He nods, clearly satisfied and smiles when you breathe a sigh of relief. You bring a hand down, and he follows with his own, going to stroke you. 

"God Bunny, you’re dripping." And it’s true, your inner thighs were already sticky with your own slick and you’re genuinely not sure you’ve ever felt this wet without having even touched yourself. He brushes over you lightly, circling your clit, before going to press a single finger into you. Your own hand rests on top of his, ostensibly as if you were guiding him, but really being dragged by him. You let out a moan as he pulls your hand down to join his, directing and tugging your finger to join his, pulling them both out and pushing them back in together as if your two hands made one. It feels wild, it’s so out there, your soft hand intertwined with his rougher fingers pressed against one another as they delve into your most intimate place. 

You’re not unused to the sensation in general but his singular finger alone was similar to two of your own and so you can feel a slight burn at your entrance, a barely-there sting that cuts through the pleasure. Like a pinch of salt atop a cookie, it only enhances the flavour — the feel andyourhips circle around as his thumb finds its way up to rub at your clit.

"Gotta make sure you’re nice and loose for me huh baby, just like a new set’a wheels gotta grease you up." You moan at his words, the objectification for some reason really doing something for you. He uses his other fingers to stroke gently at you and the tickling sensation is almost enough to tip you over the edge. He seems to hold you there for a miraculously long time, and you realise you probably ought to be trying to return the favour so you reach down to tug at his hard cock. It’s a different feel than what you were used to, you’d never been around an uncut penis before, and you didn’t really know what to do with it other than pretend that it was exactly the same as the two others you’d touched. He winces slightly when you roll your palm over before his foreskin has retracted back causing you to roll the skin around, pinching him as you try. He bats your hand out of the way, pumping himself. You take note and recreate his actions as best you can, and you know you’ve hit the sweet spot when his own hips jerk and his hand tightens around your wrist. He pulls his fingers out from you, dragging your hand back with him and flings your arm away, before going back down with three fingers, he prods them at your entrance, testing the boundary before slowly sinking them in. You whine at him, panting, 

"Please, god, Elvis, you gotta, I’m ready for you, I swear I’m ready for you," he pulls his fingers out, and pushes your hand away from his cock, rolling you firmly onto your back and kneeling himself up again. 

"Ok, Ok, Bunny, ok, I hear ya, I can feel you’re ready for me, just, just didn’t wanna hurt you, just wanna make you feel good little Bunny." He pulls your hips towards him and lines himself up. 

He thrusts into you, pulling you onto him and you whine as you feel his sticky head stretching you open. Despite your claims of being ready for him it has been a while. His stomach is resting on yours, his tummy pressing down on you. It’s almost like he’s smothering you, he’s entirely enveloping you. His hands are holding your waist, bracketing you to him. If it were anyone else you think you might find it claustrophobic, so close together that your breath is mingling, you can see his pores, feel his belly button. But for some reason it just makes you want even more of him, getting as close as humanely possible, desperate for however much you can get. His taste, his smell, his everything. 

"Oh god," as he pushes in further, devastatingly slowly, "Tight as a fucking virgin aren’t ya… you sure you haven’t still got your cherry? Sure I’m not about to - ah - pop it ‘gain?" You moan, trying to relax your breathing from its quickened state as you adjust to him inside you. He moves one of his hands to touch you, feeling where you’re spread open and up to press your clit, and you buck up involuntarily at the contact, forcing a few more inches of him in. He groans at the unexpected tight pressure and heat. You clutch at his shoulders as he responds with his thumb speeding up on you. He drives into you, and you clench down as you start to feel his fingers doing their job, along with his cock jabbing against your internal walls. You don’t recognise the noises coming out of your mouth, they’re not the practised noises that you might expect from a woman of your occupation, but the very real moans and groans from a woman surprised at how this could feel.

He’s breathing heavily, and you can see the sweat starting to form, but he keeps the pace — clearly, his near-constant performances have maintained his stamina. A bead of it starts to form on his brow and you watch it drip, slowly, down his cheek towards the little patch of sideburns. You suddenly yearn to taste it, it’s sure to be salty, and maybe a little sweet, but his musky smell is already filling your nostrils and you can’t help but want to lick it. You try to distract yourself, don’t want to embarrass yourself like that, how unbecoming that would be. You try to look at a point beyond his shoulders, but you fail when you feel his hot, large, heavy, hand on you - cupping your cheek and drawing your eyes back to his face. 

"Where ya going little Bunny?" He huffs, "Stay with me." He’s pleading with you and it immediately catches your attention. You nod, frantically, as his hips rock back and forth into you. He grips your waist and hips tight and leans closer, pausing in his rutting to press into you, deep, and catching your mouth with his. When he pulls off of you, he goes to kiss the side of your face, curving over himself to kiss your neck and you can see another drip of swear forming. It’s too much to take and you reach with your hands, both of them cupping his head, pulling him back up to your eye level from your shoulder. He looks up slightly confused at why you’ve stopped him but his eyes quickly roll closed as you lean forward, 

"Wanna taste you, let me taste you daddy." He nods, and you hold his head in place, kissing the side of his mouth, before licking his cheek, little kitten licks before a broader stripe up to his temples, where the sweat is forming. You were right; it’s sweet and salty, manly. His hips stutter a little and you can feel him twitch inside you, your own walls fluttering and clenching a little in response to his feel and taste. He pulls back a few inches, about to thrust back into you but you put a hand on his chest. He frowns down at you, disappointed that you were blocking his movements. 

"Let me, let me — can I, wanna ride you." His eyes roll back and his bitten, pouty, lips fall open in pleasure as he doesn’t say anything but starts to remove himself from you. When his cock pops out, bobbing between you he rubs it against your folds, cockhead bumping your clit. You grind against him, before moaning at the loss as he sits himself at the head of the bed, sliding down to be in a semi-reclining position. 

"C’mon then doll, have at it." He gestures with both hands at his crotch. "Hippity hop little Bun." You grin, you don’t normally love the bunny jokes and comments — you’re not ashamed of your job and in fact, you’re normally quite proud of your career, but you do like to keep it separate from your private life; it’s still your work, and you’re more than just a playboy bunny. But coming from him? If Elvis wants to call you Bunny, he can call you a bunny — hell you’d hop about the room, eating a carrot, until he was satisfied if he asked. 

You sink down onto him, your slick and his precum have lubricated your entrance enough by now to make it far easier than his first push into you, although your mouth still falls open at the feel of the stretch. You moan at the feel of the different angles, hitting different parts of your walls as you bottom out before rising back up, only to rock yourself back down again. You try to pay attention to his face, work out what feels the best for him but honestly you’re too distracted trying to get the angle right for yourself. He seems content, though, to let you do the work, offering you a near-constant stream of praise; 

"Uh-huh that’s it, good girl, good fucking girl.” You circle your hips in response, grinding down and he’s moaning at you, telling you that you’re "treating’ me so nice, oh god, oh yes." You bounce on him until your thighs are shaking and you’re so close, but you just need a little more something. You’re about to say so, and you’re reaching down one of your hands that had been on his shoulders to touch yourself when he says, 

"It alright bunny if Daddy takes over again now?" You feel yourself clench, his slightly condescending tone for some reason heightening your arousal even further, and you nod rapidly. He lifts you off of him, his forearms flexing, and manhandles you into turning around - pushing you down onto all fours. Your arms are a little shaky and you lean down onto your elbows to compensate.  

"Arch your back baby, that’s it." You comply with his request, feeling a little like a whore and how strange it was to feel, as fucked open as you were, the air running past your pussy. He grips your hips and lines up again, one hand staying around your hipbone while the other strayed around to hold you close to him, palm splayed across your lower stomach as he pushes into you again. 

He slides in, the stretch lessening each time — you can still feel him, of course, but it’s less of a burning sensation and more of a gentle pull now. He’s constantly talking — praising you, telling you you’re "so goddamn fucking pretty" that "you were born to take this," and that you were "such a good girl." You’re not used to the noises he pulls from you, and you probably should be more concerned about how thin the walls are - he reminds you a few times that you "gotta be quieter baby, gotta quiet down, be a quiet little Bunny for me", but when his balls are slapping against you, his tummy knocking into you, and his cock is stretching your hole you lose the ability to stay quiet. 

A stream of swears and words of approval coming from your own mouth, "C’mon, please Daddy, please, that’s it, that’s it, give it to me Daddy." 

He reaches around, stroking you and rolling his fingers over the little silky soft patch between his cock and your clit, feeling around where you’re joined. It’s filthy - and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and when he reaches down with a hand - rubbing his fingers over you just so you’re reminded that you’re not the second person he’s ever fucked. He seems to know all the right moves to get you where he wants you, your head turned against the bed, gasping. You’re knocked momentarily silent when he pulls out, rubbing his cock up and down your folds, jabbing it against your clit before he presses a hand agaisnt your back, forcing your ass up higher and presses back inside you. This time he’s aiming, going deeper than his shallower thrusts before, and he knows he’s aimed true when you wail as he hits the bumpy little spot inside you. He breathes a laugh like your reaction is amusing to him — perhaps because of the sheer shock in your tone and he continues at the same pace. Hitting that same spot and focusing his fingers once again on your clit. 

He circles his middle finger and thumb around, moving closer and closer before eventually, finally, brushing directly over it. It’s enough to make you cry out, thrashing around a little, legs jerking, as you come — your hole clenching around him causing him to groan in time with you. Your body goes slack against him, as he continues to pummel into you, although he does slow down, letting you ride the waves of your orgasm back down. He shifts slightly, pulling you up, and holding you by his grip on your waist and pussy as he kisses the sweat on your collarbone. Before abruptly shoving you back down onto the bed. Your face rubs against the fur as your arms give way, and you grab fistfuls to hold onto as he grips your hips, so tight you’re bound to bruise,  and starts to pound away at you. You’re oversensitive and his rapid pace is a little uncomfortable, but as he starts to swear, and you can feel him drawing near he reaches down with his left hand, and nudges your folds open again. He rubs your clit at a pace that would normally have made you shove the guy off of you, so little attention given elsewhere, but that matches his own hips perfectly and is apparently just the right amount of abrasion to send you careening to the edge again. You convulse on his cock at almost the exact same moment you can feel him rapidly pulling out, to shoot his own cum across your ass and back. 

"Now you got your own little white tail Bunny." He doesn’t let you rest. As soon as he’s stopped spurting he’s pushing you over, rolling you onto your back and diving between your legs. He tongues your sloppy, open, hole and he licks his way up and down your folds, before tongue-fucking into you. His fingers coming up to replace his tongue, scissoring into you, so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on that little nub and sending your oversensitive self straight through to a third orgasm. You scream, unable to remain quiet any longer, clutching at his hair and holding him tight to you as you writhe against his mouth. He licks you out like a man possessed, like he’s been told it’s essential for the good of humanity, and you’ve never had someone do this to you before; you had no idea this was how this felt, but to have someone so dedicated to the task was a feeling almost as heady as the orgasm itself.

He flops back, resting his head back onto your inner thigh, and you pat gently at his head, still breathless and unable to speak as you blink away black spots in your vision. He’s breathing heavily and you can feel his sweaty forehead on your fingertips. You can’t believe it’s his soft, sweaty hair in your hands. God, you wished this plane would never land. He sits up, and looks down at you, patting at your pussy lightly, as you would a pet, affectionately. You look over at your clothes, wondering if you’ll even be able to contain your puffy folds in the tiny gusset of the corset teddy when he distracts you by leaning down and pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"If it’s alright with you, darling, I think I might request you on my crew every time I fly."

[li-an-nie]

The birth of a Star (2)

[Stories of a childhood that never was] [Part 1] [AO3]

TW: Canonical Child Abuse

~~~ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ~~~

Even in hard times, there is comfort in things. Even when winter arrives and the cold barges in, and the flat becomes freezing and blank white grey, there is comfort in things. The streets outside, with their flashing bright lights, draped like a jeweled net over the barren trees, the graining sound of Christmas music booming over hidden speakers into every little corner, the bustling crowds of people, with their heavy winter coats and ridiculously big hats and scarves, staggering under the weight of overflowing bags full of gifts and luxuries whose names you could only guess, and meanwhile there was Micha, walking through the streets with the same things he’d been wearing in spring, summer, autumn.

Except, he was wearing a scarf right now – a reward, or ‘gift’ from the old geezer. “Boy! You can’t walk around like this, it’s damn freezing outside!” he'd said, “Here, take my scarf and the hat and these gloves–“ “I don’t want them!” “You have to!!” and they’d gotten into a fight; Micha didn’t want anything, he’d already gotten enough from the old man. But that geezer had been so maddeningly persistent, holding him captive in the shop and almost making him late for his errands!– And in the end, he had no choice but to accept the scarf at least.

Now, he was trudging through the cold, down the dreary shopping street again. The neighborhood they lived in was teeming with shadows: the critters, the bad people, the homeless, alcoholics, and drug addicts. They rarely showed themselves in the daylight, but if you paid attention, you’d catch glimpses of them—lurking at the edges of alleys, huddled beneath bridges, waiting for the night to claim them like wolves emerging from their dens.

However, in a festive seasons like this, where shiny and vibrant frills dangled left and right, the upbeat tunes of music twirled through the air and people bustled around in a jolly mood, all that darkness and muck of the city would fade away—overlit by the dazzle of Christmas.

Yet again, this was something Micha didn’t know if he liked or not. He couldn’t care less about all of these festivities, nor could he care any less about his birthday, which was just around the corner. They didn’t mean anything to him–and they never had all this time before.

But, this year… this year might be different for once.

As with any festive holiday, people were enticed to spend and indulge. Shops lining the street flaunting their big display windows, with the latest fashion collections draped over slender mannequins, flashy gadgets promising cutting-edge technology at a so-called “special price”, and shelves brimming with colorful, quirky toys of every kind–from small miniatures to large kitchen replicas, from soft fabric animals to hard building blocks. Even the jeweler next to the bookshop had joined in on the fun, dressing their windows with tinsel and twinkling lights, though their exorbitant prices remained eye-watering even after all the supposed discounts.

Micha could only scoff at the sight that was offered to him left and right – this was a completely different world to his own. He had no place here, and he didn’t want one. 

Where he belonged was the cold, shuttering flat that he grew up in. The dirty, cramped back alleys, where the overlooked and forgotten roamed. And also this old, cluttered bookshop – with only a string of modest fairy lights framing the windows, and a handmade Christmas wreath from one of the regulars, hanging crookedly on the door. There was simply no space for anything else, once the carts with all the books were put up outside in front of the windows.

Although Micha had been coming here almost every other day for nearly three months now, they’d barely cleaned up anything. Most of the time initially had been spent teaching him how to read, and after that, whenever the old gramps had suggested kicking off his grand clean-up plan, the effort would resolve and the gramps would reclude himself into a corner as soon as he'd gotten his hands on a book that caught his interest – which was usually the very first one he picked up.

Learning from his example, Micha often did the same, and he’d found a plethora of books that he had wanted to start but never found enough time to read.

He would only ever read when he was here, one to two hours a day inside the shop, because this was the place where all the books belonged to.

Sometimes, the geezer would say, “Just take them with you! No one’s gonna buy these obscure books you like anyway-!!” But Micha had refused every time. First of all – the books he was interested weren’t obscure at all, they talked about scientific discoveries and human history, about perception of space and the hidden body language of domesticated wild cats.

Second of all – just like with the scarf, he disliked taking so many things from the geezer. He’d taught him reading and that was enough, he didn't want any more, he wanted this whole thing to stay purely transactional.

Third… he didn’t know how he could have explained bringing all these new books home to his father. Although he could of course say that they had been stolen – but it would’ve felt wrong somehow, for him to say that something this valuable was stolen.

“Fine by me then,” that old geezer had said, “it just means that you’ll come here more often to read, eh? More company for me!”

And today, it was already the Second Advent, they were sitting in the back of the shop clea–... reading again. And just like any other day, the geezer had asked him to take a book home and Micha had refused.

As they sat in silence, the old man seemed lost in something. Finally, he spoke up, asking what had likely been on his mind for weeks.

“Say, kid… isn’t it boring hanging around old me all the time?” The old geezer shook his head. “Truly, I’ve never seen a boy read as much as you!”

“…”

“Don’t you wanna go outside, hang out with the other kids sometimes? My grandchildren, they're about yer age, and they always want to go out. Always ask me to play tag or frisbee or soccer with 'em.” He snorted. “But look at me – I’m an old man already! My knee would give out before I could even make the first kick!!”

“…”

“Don’t turn out like me, boy!! Move your body and stay fit while you still can!!”

And as the old man rambled, Micha just kept his nose behind the pages. He didn’t want to talk about the topic, but he still listened to what the gramps had to say. He didn't want to play with the other kids, he never had. He wasn't a kid like them, he didn't want to be – instead, he wanted to grow up, fast. He wanted to grow up so that he could leave this place, become an independent adult, buy his own clean flat and make real transactions with other people. But, he also thought, he didn’t wanna grow up too fast, otherwise he’d end up like this old geezer right here.

“By the way,” the old man continued, “I never asked yer age. How old are you?”

“...eight.”

“Aha! That's when I had my first crush!”

“...”

“And when’s your birthday?”

“…25th of December.”

“Ah?!? That's just around the corner!!” the old man shouted out in surprise. “But also Mighty God, what an unlucky date for you!!”

“…What... Why?” Micha asked confused.

“Well don’tcha only get half the presents every year then? Knew a guy once, his big day was on the 24th. And he always complained about it – how his parents cut corners, and all of his friends were away with their families, y’know! But I said to him, you’re lucky to even get gifts at all!! ‘Twas a hard time back then, I still clearly remember. Christmas, it was completely different… couldn’t imagine the streets looking even half as good as today. We weren't even really allowed to call it Christmas, hear..!”

And he rambled on again, about traditions and the break of those traditions and the past, and Micha saw that it made him really passionate, but he really couldn’t care less about any of that. The old geezer was talking about a time from half a century ago, and Micha lived here, in the present, he didn’t need to know about any of that.

“…Anyway,” the old geezer said eventually, “unfortunately, just like that guy’s friends, I won’t be around during holidays. Gotta see my daughter and her kids in the countryside, eat that awful goose she always makes. She's always complainin' that I shouldn't live by myself, but look at her, she can't even cook without me there to help! I have to go all the way to her just for the goose!” He sighed dramatically. “And how come a gramps like me's still living in the city, while the whole rest of the family’s now stuck outside? The world’s gone crazy, I tell ya,” he grunted.

Micha chuckled a bit, despite himself.

“So I won’t be here on your birthday,” the old man said, rubbing his chin, “but I’ll still think of something for ya.”

After that, Micha had hung around the shop for another hour or so, not doing any of the cleaning he was supposed to. When it was time to head out for his work, the old geezer had stopped him at the entrance.

“Boy,” he’d said, “make sure to come back next week.” He'd smiled. “There’s gonna be a surprise for ya!”

And those words had lingered in Micha’s mind when he’d returned home. They had lingered when he’d sunk into his bed, fallen asleep with the book next to him. And they lingered over the next few days, over Sunday and Monday when the shop was closed, and they lingered when he was out in the day doing his errands and his work and his misdeeds again.

Up until now, that's all there had been – just simply trying to get by, his days preoccupied solely with the efforts of living. But now, somehow, this new thing that would always stay at the back of his mind and distract him had appeared. When he'd passed the sweets shelf on his errand that day, he'd unwittingly let the eggs slip out his bag – by the time the staff noticed he had long disappeared, but he was thinking to himself, a distraction, a distraction, it must be a bad thing after all.

Yet, whenever night fell, and he was left all alone with only his thoughts, instead of blaming those thoughts, he let them linger inside his mind.

The night, it had grown bitterly cold, and his thin, run-down blanket just wasn’t cutting it anymore, but each time the memory of those words resounded inside him, they would warm him up in his chest just a little bit.

And slowly... he was realizing. He didn’t want to admit but he couldn't help it – he was realizing, he was actually looking forward to something, he was looking forward to what the geezer had said. He was looking, towards the future, just ever so slightly, not because he wanted the present gone, but because for once, he wanted the future to come. He wanted to know what the geezer would give him.

And he was going to accept it. He didn't know what it was but he wanted to accept it too, even if that meant he wouldn't give anything in return, even if it meant he would make this something more than transactional. But he also thought to himself that maybe, it already was. Maybe it already had been, since long ago.

On the morning, after three days had passed, he'd woken up in his bed. And for the first time in forever, he’d woken up and thought at the same time; maybe it wasn’t so bad to wake up in the cold after all. Even in times like these, there is still comfort in things. 

So he was walking down the now so familiar side street again, where even during Christmas time, only a few souls could ever be seen. This stretch of road was quieter than most after all, the usual hum of the season muffled in this tucked-away corner. He turned round the crossing and passed the jewelers again, stopping at the entrance of the second-hand bookshop. When he reached for the door, he tried to push it open, but it didn’t budge.

It didn't budge. It was locked.

He peered through the glass. The shop… it was dark inside.

The old geezer hadn’t opened yet? But it was afternoon already. The carts that were usually put up front weren’t out yet either – that was strange.

Micha stopped again and looked around. The people on the streets were just passing by... they didn’t look at the shop, didn’t notice him or the closed door, they just strolled past as if this was normal, as if there was nothing off about this.

He shook his head to himself, of course they wouldn’t know... the few customers that came here were all regulars, why would strangers find any of this odd?

He looked around again. He decided to ask in the jewelry shop next to it. He knew he didn’t look the part to step inside, with his age and that ragged get-up of his, but he had to try.

The small bell above the door jingled as he entered.

“...A child?” The cashier said in surprise. “Where are your parents, kid..?” His voice drifted off a bit when he saw the scruffy clothes on the kid.

Micha ignored his question. “Where’s the old geezer from the bookshop next here?”

The cashier blinked. “Oh, him? I was wondering about that as well. He’s usually already open by the time I get here.” Then he shrugged, only smiled with uncertainty. “Maybe he just had an appointment today or something..?”

No, that couldn’t be right. The geezer did have an appointment, but it had been an appointment with him.

Micha clenched his fist. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the shop again, leaving the cashier looking after him puzzled.

Micha returned to the entrance door and decided to just wait in front of it. He had no way to contact the geezer, so all he could do was wait and hope. He still had a few errands to run later, but he came here earlier than usual today, he could wait two or three hours depending on the weather.

After a while, some forty minutes or so must’ve passed, Micha was still just sitting and staring next to the entrance, when a middle-aged woman in a long coat appeared round the corner. And when her gaze landed on him, she stopped in her tracks and narrowed her eyes.

“You…!” she said suddenly, striding toward him.

Micha, startled, scrambled to his feet. Instinctively he turned to run, but the woman was quick and blocked his path.

“Hey, don’t leave!” she said with a flustered face. “You’re the boy who’s been hanging around Hr. Heinrich, aren’t you?”

Micha stopped. “Herr… Heinrich?” he repeated confused.

The woman, stunned, only blinked for a moment. “The shop owner!” she then clarified in surprise. “You… you didn’t know his name?”

“...He never told me.” I never told him mine either.

The woman, still a bit perplexed, just said, “Anyway, boy, it’s probably better if you go home now...” She gave him a rueful smile. “Mr. Heinrich won’t be back. Not for a while, at least.”

Micha froze.

…What? Why?

There was something in the way she said those words, like an irrefutable fact of truth, that made his chest tighten.

“What..?” he croaked again.

The woman looked at him, her tone somber. “Mr. Heinrich, he... as you might know, he's always had a bad knee. And yesterday night…” She looked to her feet as she paused in those words. She sighed.

“...he had an accident. Slipped on the ice, landed very badly. He’s in the hospital right now, it’s not life-threatening, but… the doctors, they don’t know if he’ll be able to walk properly again in the future.”

Micha’s heart dropped to the ground.

“N-no…” he tried to stammer something else, but his throat was so tight, all he could do was shake his head in denial.

The woman raised her hands. “Don’t worry! His daughter’s with him, she’s taking care of everything right now. I helped with Mr. Heinrich’s accounting sometimes, so she called me this morning to explain.”

Micha swallowed. “Wh-What about the shop?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said, “Mr. Heinrich... he’s always been more of a collector than a shopkeeper, really. He loved– loves gathering all sorts of things. Things most people would have just thrown away.”

She shook her head, her face filled with a quiet sadness. “But with his injury… I don’t know if he’ll be able to keep running this shop. He’s getting older, you know. He opened this place mainly to pass the time, make a few bucks here and there, maybe get rid of some of the stuff he’s collected over the years.”

Her eyes drifted to the cluttered display visible through the glass door, and Micha’s gaze followed. The shop, usually alive with books and odd trinkets, felt empty, almost mournful in its stillness.

“And I'm not sure his family– his daughter will want to deal with all this,” she added with uncertainty. “It’s a lot to sort through. If he can’t manage it himself…” She trailed off, glancing down at the ground.

Micha’s throat tightened. He couldn't say anything, couldn't really think clearly right now. And he couldn’t believe the words that woman was saying. She was a regular, he remembered now, he'd seen her before, but he still couldn’t just simply believe her. It couldn't be–that old geezer was supposed to be here today. He was supposed to be here, today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day from Tuesday to Saturday until the Fourth Advent, and then, he said he’d go to his family and be back after New Years, he’d be here again, every day from Tuesday to Saturday. He was not supposed to just… disappear like that. This place, the one place that felt like he belonged to, couldn't just simply disappear like that.

There was a clot in his throat, so heavy and thick, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He wanted to get rid of it, cough it up, swallow it down, but it felt impossible.

“Hey, you alright, boy?” the woman asked worriedly. She saw how tightly Micha was gripping his scarf, his hand almost white. She’d seen him before, and she’d always found it strange, his unkempt hair and the worn-out clothes he was wearing. She found it strange why Mr. Heinrich had never said a word about it to him or anyone else before, why he’d just always laughed, always treated him like any other boy. And then, she realized, maybe that’s why that boy had always come here in the first place, maybe that's exactly what he had wanted, more than anything else.

She tightened her fist. “...I don't want to give you false hope, Mr. Heinrich wouldn't want that. But he's a tough old man, and nothing's ever set in stone. If he still manages to pull through, and I really want to believe in him, then he'll return... It would be a while before that would happen, but... you should check in here again. Just in case, after New Years or so.” And she bent slightly down.

“Let's keep our fingers crossed for him, okay?” She made a cheerful gesture with her hand, trying to lighten the mood. And although Micha barely looked at it, he nodded, with the clot still in his throat. The woman smiled bittersweet, she really did hope for the best, she said goodbye to the boy and left, and when she boarded the bus and sat down, she thought, Oh, I could’ve given him Mr. Heinrich’s contact info – not that that old man ever uses his phone anyway.

But what she didn’t know was that that boy never had a real link to the outside world. He couldn't use the landline, and he would never hold a phone until he’d steal his first one at the age of 12. And what she also didn’t know was that the boy had never allowed many things into his life – he never had much to begin with, and he didn’t want to lose his footing in reality by having too many things. Things he would never be able to keep anyway, things that would only slip away through his fingers like sand again, just like this, just like what had happened today, he knew it, he’d always known, he knew it would have happened eventually.

As he was running back through the cold empty streets, he couldn’t get rid of this damn clot in his throat, and he thought, that’s right, I should’ve never allowed this into my life, if I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t have had all these stupid hopes, all these stupid wishes and dreams and cravings… I wouldn’t have this clot in my throat right now.

He was holding onto the scarf, grabbing it tight while the cold wind from the West blew into his bare face, and he regretted, he regretted so much ever stepping foot into that rusty old shop – but at the same time, there was a tiny speck in him that wished, it wished he would have accepted all those things from the old geezer, it wished he would’ve brought those books home with him and the candy and that ugly thick hat and the oversized gloves, he wished he would’ve accepted and taken them, he regretted that too.

When he came home and opened the door, his father stood before him.

“What’s this?” his father asked as he held a tattered, blocky picture book in his hand.

The boy froze.

“What’s this?” that rancid father of his asked. And then again, “What’s this, what’s this, what’s this-” and then he tossed the book across the room onto the wall, and it plopped down with a thud as his father turned towards him, “you had this? You had this, the whole damn time? In your room, hidden from me? You think you could hide her from me, huh?!” “No–“

“How’d get your hands on that? How’d you get your hands on that thing, huh? You sneaky little bastard, why do you keep this shit when I am fucking trying to clean this goddamn place of all the trash—”

And as he raised his fist and was about to grab the boy, he noticed something around his neck–a scarf. He pulled it off, while the boy could only stare frozen, and he looked at it with big, wide eyes, almost as if he’d found the next shiny treasure, forgotten about his previous reason of rage already. He grunted, “What’s this? You stole this from somewhere? You steal a scarf for yourself, but not for your damn father?” And he threw the scarf onto the wall with a sharp, violent motion, “Fucking thief.”

No–no, the boy could only shake his head, that scarf wasn’t stolen–it was given to him, he had received it from someone, it was a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift,  not something he’d stolen–

“Where’s the food? Your bag’s fucking empty,” his father grabbed the backpack, looked inside and clicked his tongue in disgust. And with a sudden, vicious movement, he flung the bag against the wall too, watching as it plopped to the ground with all the other trash. “What’s wrong with you these days, you little runt? Running around all day, going places, doing everything but your fucking errands–you plan on leaving your father, huh? Plan on leaving me all alone here?!”

He grabbed the boy, threw him onto the ground, and he leaned over him as he slowly clutched his fatty, rugged hands around his neck—

“Well I won’t let you– you have nowhere to go anyway!! You’ll always be something she and I created, always be a piece of trash!!” and as his clutch tightened and tightened like shackles, the boy gasped for air but he couldn’t, he couldn't, the eyes above him in that dark silhouette, they started to glow like a monster, and from the towering body above him escaped a sickening howl, “Doomed by fate, I tell you!! You and I are doomed by fate, and there’s only one person to blame!!!” His voice was a mockery of joy, an insanity borne from years of bitterness and rage, and he kept laughing like a maniac, a lunatic, as he clamped tighter and tighter around his neck, and the boy’s vision was a blur he saw stars and dots and black and white, but from the corner of his eyes he could spot something else... a musty green blanket lying on the coach. and he realized. he realized, and then laughed in his head, Ah, I really hate winter after all. God has played a joke on me yet again. And as his vision faded and his mind slowly fell into unconsciousness, there he felt the clot in his throat dissappear as well, and he thought at last, I guess this is where I'm supposed to be, this is me, this is my life, this is where I belong after all.

It was Christmas. The 25th of December.

The blocky book was long gone, tossed into the communal trash outside, whisked away to somewhere far away by the garbage men. Even if the boy had sneaked out at night and tried to retrieve it before dawn, he could have done nothing about the torn pages and the smell of alcohol on them anyway, and he also had lost the need in him to hold onto that book at all.

The scarf had been snatched by his father, he’d worn that thing that was meant for the boy and he’d worn it ragged in just a matter of weeks, he’d complained about the itchy feeling, then thrown it out in the garbage as well. When the boy had gone to retrieve it, it’d been taken away already, by someone who probably needed it more than him.

A few days after his father had strangled him unconscious; there was an incident down the road at the jewelers. It’d been robbed, it appeared, or there was an attempt at robbery – in any case, that shop deserved it anyway, with those exorbitantly high prices. But when the robbers had made a run for it and gotten cornered by the police, the three teens, clumsy and panicked looking for somewhere to hide, had smashed the window of the bookshop next to it – but they had such difficulty navigating inside, knocked over nearly everything in their path, that they'd gotten caught by the police immediately. It was over before it had even begun.

As the boy was walking past the crime scene, arriving at the area cordoned off with yellow police tape that couldn’t prevent anyone from entering, he glanced from behind the barrier inside the shop. It was too dark, and too cramped, to make out any clear details, but he didn’t need to see much anyway–he knew what it looked like inside well enough, he’d been in there so many times already and his memory was sharp and strong enough to recall every cluttered corner.

He remembered his past transaction with the owner of that shop. He was supposed to help clean it up in exchange for something. But they hadn’t gotten very far with it, and now, it seemed like their inaction had unwittingly helped the police in this case.

The shop, however, now looked more disorderly than ever – no one had bothered to clean it up after the crime. Who would even? The owner was here no longer, and these were all things people considered trash anyway, useless things no one wanted or needed.

There was no one in this world who would ever want to rob this place.

…

The boy glanced around cautiously. Making sure no one was watching, he slipped under the tape and climbed through the gap in the broken window.

The rusty, woody old smell was gone. It was silent, there was no sound coming from anywhere, just the faint whoosh from the wind drifting in through the broken glass. His mouth felt dry, and bitter, and his body shivered a bit, his hands freezing from the cold, and this place, this whole place also just felt cold now.

He wandered around, stepped over the piles of scattered books, magazines, and records. The clutter seemed even more chaotic than before, like a graveyard of forgotten things. He walked towards the back where he spotted an old chair, still piled high with scarves and hats like some kind of makeshift clothes rack.

He looked around the back of the shop again, and he saw something stashed in the shelf next to the desk.

As he approached it, he saw a red cushion, with words he could read now written on it.

...

Everything in this place was trash.

Just like in his home, there was nothing of value to people in here, and the only ones who would ever care about trash like this were the humans who had already lived their lives.

There was really nothing worth stealing in here.

But it was his birthday, and it was Christmas. So might as well take this one thing that no one needed.

He was walking down one of the bigger avenues. The shops were all closed by now, but there were still many people around, and there was also still Christmas music blasting through the speakers, and also still fairy lights hung up on barren trees and lanterns, illuminating the cold night streets.

Light snow had started flurrying from the sky.

Although it was already past Christmas Eve, the boy decided to play Santa for once. As he strolled along the sidewalk, turning into a larger plaza, his attention was caught by two kids playing tag around one of the wide plaza trees. They looked like siblings – they had to be, otherwise they wouldn’t be wearing the same scarfs and same hats with the same identical hatch pattern. Two adults that appeared to be their parents were watching them from a bench on the side, and as one of the kids, a little girl, tripped and slipped on the snow, the woman shot up and rushed to her in panic.

As she lifted her up, the girl started to cry, but not because she had slipped–no, apparently she had lost the game, as her brother had tagged her before her fall and he was now triumphantly strutting round the tree.

The woman was unable to comfort the little girl, while her brother, full of smug pride, decided to take a break. He plopped down next to his father on the bench.

And then–

Pfofffffpffpfpht!!

The loud sound of an uncomely accident erupted, blasting over the Christmas jingles and echoing throughout the plaza.

A few onlookers turned and chuckled.

“Wha-how-” the boy spun around in shock, “wha–, who put that there?! ” He gasped and turned to the man next to him, “Papa?!”

“Hey–don’t look at me!” the father snot back, raising his hands in self-defense.

The little girl, now completely distracted, laughed out loud at the scene and teased, “Haha! You stink, Willi, you stink!” And she was trying to contain herself, but she bubbled the whole time when she continued, “A kid! There was a kid! Didn’t you see?”

And the father could only shake his head and admit to his lack of spatial awareness, while the boy and the girl had already forgotten about their game of tag, occupied with the new toy that had appeared as if out of nowhere. The girl, her cheeks rosy from laughter, glanced up and around the plaza once more, trying to spot the mysterious kid she thought she'd seen. But what she didn’t know was at that point, he'd already been long gone by then.

The boy, the dirty and ragged one, dashed by a corner, ran through another snow-dusted road, and he felt like he was supposed to smile or laugh or rejoice at what happened–a good deed, if he could even call it that, for the first time in a long while, he’d given something away again without needing anything in return.

But instead of all that, he slowly came to a halt, and he felt his chest and throat tighten and his vision blur, there was something glossy, a stinging wetness at the corner of his eyes. He brushed it away quickly, as if the cold wind were to blame.

As he walked, his steps quieter now, past the rows of closed and towering shops and their large, dimly lit windows, his mind kept wandering to things he didn’t want to think about. It kept wandering, to something that once used to be, to things that once could have been.

His treasure was gone, and so was the place he could have belonged to.

He should have known from the beginning. He should’ve never wanted, never accepted these things in the first place. He should’ve never let them, let wishes and let hope into his life – because then it hurt all the more when they were taken away from him.

The snow stopped falling, and he looked up. He looked at the sea of stars in the sky, and he stretched out his hand.

The stars, they represented the freedom he'd never have.

And they were looking down on him – mocking, taunting his measly existence.

No—they probably didn't even know of it.

If the stars up above, in their oh so high-and-mighty place, couldn’t be bothered to fall down and acknowledge even the average man’s life, then what made him think they would ever be able to see him, ever be capable of acknowledging his?

There was no one in this world that could acknowledge his existence. Neither among the stars up above, nor here on this cold, unforgiving Earth. 

Nothing would ever belong to him, and he would never belong to anything.

Nothing belonged to him, and he belonged to nothing.

He'd turned nine on that Christmas.

One or two months after that December, blue-collared appeared round the bookshop and started taking everything out, and ironically, the clean-up he once thought would take more than a lifetime had been finished in just a matter of days.

The posters he’d sometimes see of the stranger whose womb he came from, her face, her poise, and that smile of hers – they started to move him less and less, there was nothing connecting him to her anymore. There was only the rose, which wasn’t even really his, an object whose meaning he couldn’t comprehend yet. And as he watched himself grow taller, his features sharpening and molding more and more into hers, he slowly started to get sick of her face – because it was now his as well.

Nothing belonged to him, and he belonged to nothing.

He would tell that to himself, again and again, the man, his father, those words would echo in his mind and repeat like a mantra.

But deep down, he felt, he knew something was wrong.

His life had been nothing but a collection of trash–yet even inside that heap of garbage, there’d been moments he had treasured like gifts.

The experiences that shaped him, the few things that had given him hope, they never completely left his mind. And although they faded from his memory eventually, the thing that stayed was the ember in his heart, a tiny speck of the hope he resented so much.

Nothing belonged to him, and he belonged to nothing.

But to him, he wouldn't treat it like hope – he didn't want hope to be the thing that would drive him.

Instead, he treated it for what it truly was. A fire, a desire, a search for purpose.

Nothing belonged to him, and he belonged to nothing.

His existence was nothing, it was meaningless.

But that also meant he could give it any meaning he wanted to.

If the stars up above were looking down on him, if heaven couldn't be bothered with existences like his, if he was truly still born from a star, and carried the blessings of God alongside him — then he'd throw all of that out the window. He'd rise, and he'd climb his way up, he'd climb the stairs and reach for the sky, reaching for the heavens and then putting them in their place. And when he did, he wouldn't just stop there. He'd go even higher, reach the very top – he would become the highest star among them all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Three years after that fateful Christmas day, he was walking down the same street again.

Hands buried in the pockets of an oversized black hoodie, and the tattered jeans he’d already worn in spring, summer, autumn. It was cold, but he was used to it by now, had been for as long as he could remember.

He hadn’t touched a book in years – there was simply no place for that in his life. He’d started going for bigger loot now, stealing jewelry, watches and pick pocketing off the street. The naive daydreams of real transactions he’d once had as a kid were long gone, he was a thief, a criminal now, and he’d come to embrace it, there was simply no place for doubt in his life anymore.

With the loot, he was able to save up money. As he walked, the sound of it would come out his pockets – a few large bills and coins were stashed inside. He’d been saving for more than one, maybe two years already... and today was Christmas. Today was his birthday.

He was walking, and he passed by a big display window. He barely glanced at the festive decorations – Christmas wreaths, gifts and twinkling lights adorned the inside, just like at all the other shops. But instead of displaying fashion, gadgets, or toys, it showed two mannequins, dressed in sports jerseys – soccer jerseys. The store, purely dedicated to soccer, displayed the usual array of merchandise: cleats, shirts, scarves. And then his gaze drifted lower to the ball at the foot of one of the mannequins.

…A soccer ball.

...

He didn’t care what it was. He just wanted something that wouldn’t be a waste of money. Something solid, something that would last, even if it was just a stupid ball.

Something that could make him feel again. Feel alive, just a little bit more.

Something that could maybe even give him meaning, a purpose, however small it was.

Something that he could accept, without needing anything in return. And that would accept him, without anything in return.

Something that could belong to him, and that he could also belong to.

A soccer ball.

On that day, he chose something to live for.

~~~ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ~~~

Afterword:

Hi, thank you so much for reading! It's really crazy what an obsession with a certain character can do to you. Seriously, I've never had someone fictional occupy my mind as long and so extremely like Kaiser - saying it out loud is so weird haha, but I've started seeing things differently because of him (call me crazy). I appreciate my home city a lot more now, and whenever I was strolling through Christmas markets the past weeks, my mind just kept going back to Kaiser and I got sad, but also so empowered through his story. Save to say, I *had* to do something for his birthday, and in the end this jumble of words came out!

I wrote most of this freeform, that's why there might be some weird pacing and tonal shifts in the story lmao (I also didn’t expect this to get so long and have a side character become so important.) I wanted to touch on different themes for the story, but also nothing majorly coherent, I think some of the stuff is clearly spelled out and some is up to your interpretation.

if you wanna read some more background info on the story and how it came to be, check the rest of my Author's note on AO3! (sorry it's pretty long): The birth of a star

I hope I was able to explore the themes of this character a bit better, give him some of the warmth and love that is usually associated with Christmas, but also stay true to that harsh coldness and reality of his past. In the end, his story is one of strength and empowerment though, a middle finger to destiny that shows that nothing is impossible, and that every one of us has the power to change our own fate.

Thank you for reading and happy birthday, Michael Kaiser <3

[fandomnerd9602]

Makeshift Prom

Wanda Maximoff x Nerd!Reader

Avengers High Series

Wanda didn’t want this to happen but it did. One little trip while on top of the cheerleaders pyramid and she shattered her ankles.

You were by her side on the whole ambulance ride to the hospital.

“Detka im fine,” she tried to say through gritted teeth. But you knew how much pain she was in. Pietro and the rest of the Maximoff clan quickly ran in, joining you by her bedside.

The doctors cleared her by the next day but told her that she’d be confined to crutches for the next six weeks.

“Six weeks?” Wanda exclaimed, “but prom’s in three!”

Wanda was feeling down, not only was she confined to crutches but she wasn’t able to dance the night away with her detka. She and Natasha had picked out a simple scarlet red dress for her and Pietro had loaned you his tux and everything.

For the first week or so, Wanda found herself being pushed around in a wheelchair by her favorite nerd. You were always whispering words of love and reassurance in her ear as you guided her chair to her next class.

By week two, Wanda was able to use her crutches more efficiently. Even then, she didn’t feel like she could show her face around campus. She couldn’t stand to hear Natasha talk about her prom plans with Bruce or Tony talking about what he bought for Pepper for the event. It felt like torture to her that she wouldn’t be able to attend this event.

You were taking notice of all this, but what Wanda didn’t know was the plan that you, Pietro, Natasha, Bruce, Tony, and the Maximoff parents were all brewing together in secret.

It’s prom night now, Wanda found herself laying on her bed in her bedroom. She hadn’t seen you all day. If anything, she didn’t want a reminder of the prom she couldn’t attend.

“Wanda” her father Django’s thick Sokovian accent called from downstairs. “will you come down here for a second?”

“Coming Papa” she called back, grabbing her crutches and making her way slowly down the stairs.

Wanda stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The sight awaiting her, made her gasp.

Her entire living room was decorated like the Great Hall of Hogwarts. You, Pietro, his girlfriend, and her parents Django and Maria were all dressed up for a little makeshift prom.

“Hello Slytherin” you say with a little smile.

“Hello detka” Wanda found herself crying. “You brought the prom to me?”

“Yeah. Tony helped me with getting the party decorations but yeah”

Django gives you a soft slug on the shoulder, he knew you were perfect for his little girl.

Maria, ever the gentle mother, walks up to her daughter with the scarlet red prom dress in hand. “Better get ready, my little witch” the Sokovian mom whispers, leading Wanda off to the bathroom for a quick change.

Wanda couldn’t believe it, her whole family was willing to put in such an effort to make her smile.

“You have a very special detka” Maria smiles at her daughter as she puts the finishing touches on her daughter’s look.

“I do” Wanda answers back, “thank you Momma”

Maria gives her daughter a kiss on the forehead and helps her back out into the living room. You stand there with a Hufflepuff scarf wrapped around your neck and a Slytherin one on your arm, ready just for her.

“couldn’t afford a corsage” you shrug.

“i was never one for corsages” Wanda shrugs back, letting you wrap the green and black scarf around her neck.

Pietro gives his sister a hug, “you look beautiful sestra.”

Suddenly the door opens as Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Yelena, Vis, Vivian and Bruce all come in, all of them dressed in Hogwarts robes and house scarves that match their respective houses.

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh.

“What happened to prom?” Wanda asks everyone.

“It’s not prom without you” Natasha answers.

“That and Hogwarts is a much better theme than circus” Tony jokes before Pepper playfully slugs him in the arm. “what can i say? we like you, Maximoff.”

You wrap an arm around your girlfriend, “and I love you”

Wanda couldn’t help but blush. She had everything she could ever need. Good friends, loving family, and the love of her life: a nerd who would do anything to make her smile.

Tags @natashaswife4125 @aloneodi @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @holiday-house-of-m @iamnicodemus @family-house-of-m @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @cole-el @russianredassassin

[beyondtheticklecloset]

Cozy Corner (SRMTHFG!)

Summary: Gibson decides to create a special space for Nova to warm up from the cold.

A/N: This is my SRMTHFG! Secret Santa fic for @rararazaquato! I really hope you enjoy it! I was told you like Gibson and Nova, so I wanted to focus on them for you!

This is my first time ever writing for this fandom. I loved it growing up and recently revisited it and I was surprised and thrilled to see others on this site who post about it even today. I found out about this exchange just in time and have been so excited to participate! Thank you @sweetcircuits for hosting! It's been so fun!

Word Count: 1229

~~~

It was no secret that Nova hated the cold. Previous issue with Mandarin notwithstanding, she hated the way it made her shiver and shake like a wimp (her words), hated having to defrost her cruiser every time she needed it in a hurry, hated how it screwed up her focus to the point that it often became all she could think about in the moment.

Monkeys were not meant to live in the cold. She knew that was why it affected her so much, but what made it all the worse was seeing how the others could tolerate it much better than she could. It made her feel less than, and she hated it.

Gibson was the most observant member of the team, second only to Antauri – this also was no secret. But the more he watched Nova during this mission, the more he had to wonder just how dense the others must be not to realize how deep her suffering went.

Thankfully Shuggazoom itself very rarely got cold or saw snow, but out here in the universe when they had to jump from planet to planet to keep up with the Dark One Worm, their chances were just as good as any. They’d only encountered a handful of completely iced-out planets thus far, but every time, Nova shrank in on herself until the mission was over and they were safely on their way into the emptiness of space.

This mission was taking longer than expected, and it was affecting the yellow monkey more and more by the day. Gibson could take it for only so long before deciding something needed to be done, and he was just the monkey to do it.

It had become an unspoken rule on these snow planet missions that should the need arise for one of them to stay with the robot for any reason, Nova would be the one to do it. That way she could keep warm and still feel useful. But on this particular day, Gibson spoke to Chiro privately and asked to swap just this once. His reasons were good, he promised, and his leader believed him.

He was nervous when Chiro broke the news to Nova, but though she grumbled a bit, she dutifully took her place in the lineup and followed the others out into the cold, leaving Gibson with a minimal amount of time to get his plan underway – while also keeping attentive to the team’s needs.

He could handle it.

Most of what he needed was already on hand, thanks to the blizzard that had come through Shuggazoom before. They’d gone out and stocked up on all manner of coats and scarves and blankets before the worst of it really hit, which was all the better, since they didn’t have much time to go shopping out here in the cosmos.

Entering Nova’s room without her permission or even being in the robot felt rather ungentlemanly, Gibson had to acknowledge, but he just had to hope she’d forgive him later when she saw why he’d done it.

~

After a while, the rest of the team returned to the robot. They were all shivering, but Nova looked about ready to collapse.

“S-S-So…c-cold…” she gasped, her words warbled from how hard her teeth were chattering. Then she caught sight of Gibson and leveled him with a glare. “N-Never again…Gibson. Never a-again.”

Gibson felt terrible, but he went to her and gently took her freezing cold metal hand in his. “I’m truly sorry to have subjected you to these terrible conditions today, Nova. But I promise I had a good reason for it. Here.” He tugged her hand gently, urging her further into the robot. “Let me show you.”

The other monkeys and Chiro exchanged curious glances with each other before following after the two of them as Gibson led them to the hall where their rooms were, stopping outside of Nova’s with a sheepish smile.

“I do hope you’ll forgive me for having done this without consulting you first, but…well, just look.”

The door slid open with a woosh, and Nova glanced inside. At first it didn’t look any different than usual, and she was confused. Did Gibson come in here without her consent? It didn’t look like he had. But then her eyes caught on something in the back corner, and she felt her heart begin to race in anticipation. He had been in here. What…?

There was a warm orange glow encompassing this corner of the room. It came from a small space heater that had been turned on ahead of her return so it was already warm for her. The ground was cushioned with the cozy lining of winter coats and pillows, and a makeshift tent-like contraption had been set up out of blankets. It was even built in such a way that Nova could pull a blanket over like a door and fully trap the heat within the tiny space.

She stared at in astonishment.

Gibson gave it a few moments, then nervously cleared his throat. “It, erm…won’t be practically useful for when you’re to stay behind on missions in the future, since you can’t exactly manage the robot’s central computer from here, but—oomph!” He was cut off when Nova nearly tackled him to the floor in a giant hug.

“You’re the best, Gibson,” she said into his shoulder, squeezing him tight.

The blue monkey was obviously flustered, but he tried to brush it off. “Nonsense. Any one of us could see that the cold truly bothers you in ways it does not for us, so I simply did what I felt was logical…” He trailed off when she pulled back to give him a pointed look. He coughed. “And, erm…I wanted you to feel comfortable, and have a place to go when the cold gets too much for you. So…yes. I wanted to make you happy, too.”

Nova beamed at him. “You did, Gibson. Thank you so much. I love it!” She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the small, warm space. “Come on, you should get to enjoy it too, since you worked so hard on it.”

“B-But this space was meant for you—”

“And now I’m inviting you in. Come on!”

It was a tight fit, but Gibson managed to squeeze into the compact space next to her. He had to admit, actually sitting in the comfy area after going to such lengths to set it up for her was satisfying.

“Hey,” Sparx protested playfully. “What about the rest of us?”

Nova shot him a smirk. “Go find your own!” Then she whipped one of the blankets over as if slamming a door, and everyone laughed.

Later, Chiro and Antauri would compliment him on doing such a great thing for their teammate, Sparx would rib him about trying to score brownie points, and Otto would make notes on his craftsmanship, pointing out things he could have done differently. Gibson took all of it in stride. It simply made him happy to know he’d done something to make Nova happy.

The next time the team had to go out into the cold, Nova grabbed Gibson’s arm before he walked outside and said, “If you need a place to warm up when you come back, I happen to know one.”

Their shared smiles were more than enough for him.

[starlightsuffered]

Christmas Retreat (chapter 4)

Info - shy reader, introverted reader, British reader, mention of smoking

The next couple days passed quickly. I slept a lot, catching up on what stress and work had stolen. I didn’t come out of my room much, except for food. Thankfully, us guests weren’t required to do every activity on the itinerary.

I’d opted out of skiing. I didn’t know how and the ski lift frightened me a bit. I had also decided to not engage in the sledding race. I had went on the pinecone hunt. I didn’t know if I’d be making them into “little banquets for birdies!” As Margret called them. Peanut butter and seeds felt like a messy hassle.

As I went about these activities I did keep my eyes on Timothée. In one way it was to appreciate the view, but I was also curious about him. He was so…. Amiable. He was nice to practically everyone. I wasn’t someone who usually stuck out in a good way. I didn’t have a charm to draw people in, so I could help by wonder why he approached me again and again. Through my investigation I decided he was just a really nice guy who was friendly. I was nothing special. A small part of me did like to make a big deal out of the fact that he seemed to single me out. He always smiled when he saw me and jogged over to say hello.

There was something odd though. One of the other guests, Reginald, seemed to be doing the same thing I was. His eyes were almost constantly on Timothée. If Timothée noticed he didn’t say anything, but I found it a bit strange.

Reginald wasn’t a big talker. The man was tall and boney, and his hair was greying. He wasn’t that old, not old enough to be Timothée’s father or anything. However, he seemed to hang around like the smell of cigarette smoke.

It seemed I just had to accept that my crush was the crush of multiple people here. I would have to deal with that. It wasn’t like I had a chance anyway.

I made sure to write a postcard to my mum at the end of the first week. It was a long trek to a place I could actually send it, but I enjoyed the walk. I could see my breath.

I posted the note letting her know I was good and hoping she was as well. I did mention I’d met someone who was kind to me but I didn’t say Timothée’s name. I told her I’d won the tree decorating contest. I knew she wouldn’t be surprised. She said I had a knack for this sort of thing. I always attributed it to my anxiety.

When I got back my cheeks were rosy and I felt a little more peppy. I was expecting to go back to my room and take a nice bath to warm up. However, I was met with the residents stuffing their hands in gloves and wrapping scarves around their necks.

I quickly grabbed my phone. In my favourite I had a snap shot of the itinerary and a list of the ones I was required to attend.

“Shit, apple picking,” I muttered.

“Yes! Apple picking,” Margret said in a sing song voice. I only just kept myself back from rolling my eyes. She had to make everything sound like a G rated musical.

“Uh huh,” I nodded almost dismally.

“Y/n you are such a Debby Downer, it’s almost like you don’t enjoy the company of others,” she cackled.

“Yeah, imagine that,” I grumbled, shoving my freezing hands into my pockets.

“You’re coming right?” asked a voice behind me. I turned to see Timothée.

I felt the butterflies in my stomach awaken and begin to flutter around. He looked so soft and comfy. He wore at least three layers of grandpa esque sweaters. His coat was long and buttoned in a way that showed off the way his wide shoulder descended into a narrower waist. His hair was a mess of curls with a beanie plopped on top. His thin lips seemed to have a gloss or something on them because I couldn’t stop staring.

“Uh, yeah,” I nodded.

“Good! You’ve barely come on anything,” he beamed.

It was as if the Grim Reaper had swept into the room. Reginald showed up, practically on Timothée’s shoulder. I felt that jealous monster rise again. I truly wasn’t used to this feeling. Lust, desire, and loneliness, I didn’t usually experience these kind of territorial emotions.

“May I join your group?” Asked the older man. He rolled every r in an obnoxious way. To my surprise, Timothée looked annoyed as well. I didn’t think I’d seen him much less than positively jovial in all my time here.

I’d longingly watched from my window as he’d made snow men for a contest with some of the couples. I’d smelled the pie he’d baked with a couple others. He’d shared it at dinner two nights ago. He’d even been swimming in the indoor pool. He had always had a smile. He was always laughing. Right now he seemed anxious and wary.

“S-sure,” I said. Timothée’s comment had bothered me. Did everyone here think I was basically a hermit?

I cursed internally. Again, this feeling was supposed to dissipate or at least hide during this trip. Now, I find out I cannot be my introverted self at all. I could not relax away from contact. I’d over estimated my undesirability, and now my absence was being noted. My anxiety was high again.

We all shuffled out to the impressive orchard. I definitely didn’t want to be the one to climb the ladder. I decided that I’d hold a basket.

“Come on, that tree is bursting with ripe ones,” Timothee said enthusiastically. He grabbed my arm and pulled me over the largest tree.

I felt myself squirm slightly as I watched the muscles in his arms as he scaled the ladder. My eyes drifted down slightly to his ass. Even in the layers he wore to protect him from the cold, his figure was recognisable.

I felt my warm tongue cross my lips. I was so distracted as I watch his hand close around an apple that I didn’t notice Reginald beside me.

I jumped when an apple fell from Timothée’s hand and plopped in Reginald’s basket. Soon, Timothée’s gleeful voice was calling out whenever he dropped a fruit. He was giggling to himself as he made up more ridiculous warnings each time.

“You won’t Adam and Eve it, Apple on the way.”

“Don’t crapple, here comes an Apple.”

“Land ho!”

“You may be the apple of my eye but don’t let this apple hit your eye!”

They were so lame and ridiculous I found myself laughing. I got the reward of Timothée looking down with a fond smile every time I did so.

“Alright my freezing friends!” Margret said, clapping her red hands together. I couldn’t believe she was maintaining that huge grin though her teeth were chattering.

“Come along to our winery,” she ushered us along. As we walked she talked about how the resort would be using the fruit we’d pick to make wine for all of us. I was happy to hear we’d be getting a free bottle for our efforts.

“Did Reginald say much to you?” Timothee asked as we walked next to one another. It was difficult not to look back at the older gentleman.

“No, not really,” I said, slightly confused by the question.

“Oh good,” Timothée said quietly. We walked in silence for a bit. I didn’t know why Timothee had asked me. Perhaps Timothée was interested in older men?

“Why, have you got a crush on him or something,” I asked after a bit.

“Oh come off it you idiot!” Timothee guffawed and knocked his shoulder into mine. He underestimated his own landlines and my smallness. I lost my balance on the ice and soon I was in the middle of toppling over. Timothée let out a sound of fear and grabbed at me, after dropping his basket.

The slush and snow created more ways to slip and fall. Soon we were both tumbling. One over another, apples everywhere, freezing cold seeping into my bones. Finally, it all stopped.

I was under his soft body. I was peering up into sparkling green eyes. I wondered if we looked like a scene from a fairytale, because it felt like I were in one. He was so close. I could feel every place his body was pressed against mine.

My breathing became ragged. He breathed out and the heat of it showed in the frigid air. I wanted to suck in the cloud he’d just made. I wanted all of him. I wanted to be consumed and enveloped. I wanted us even closer than we were now.

“Really sorry about that, I didn’t know you were near a patch of ice,” Timothée said sheepishly.

“No problem chum,” I said shakily.

“Stop reenacting a rom com and get up!” Said the usually drawling voice of Reginald. Now his voice was sharp and scratchy. This reaction only made me wonder more at what the relationship between Timothée and Reginald was in truth.

Timothée rolled off me and got up easily. I missed his weight already. He thrust out his hand and I took it. Even through woollen gloves my skin tingled when our hands met.

He pulled me up easily. We went about picking up our dropped fruit. I was glad the snow cushioned some of the apples. Finally, our perishables had been collected.

“I’m sorry about that again,” Timothée said solemnly.

“It really isn’t an issue,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat.

“Well I hope you aren’t hurt,” he said meekly.

“Not at all, don’t worry about it,” I said, and hesitantly nudged his shoulder. It was a shadow of his boisterous movement earlier. He smiled at me warmly.

However, Reginald somehow nudged his way between us. I had to make an effort not to snap at the man.

We made it to the winery. The apples were deposited in the correct area. Margret then led us through a shortcut back to the resort’s main building.

“Alright, you all are free to go back to your rooms. Don’t forget the pajama Christmas movie tonight!” Margret said, still rubbing her chilly skin. She hurried off, likely to take a hot bath.

I went back to my room and changed into some joggers and a plain maroon sweater. I made a cup of tea and relaxed until it was time for the movie. I wasn’t even sure what the film would be.

I knew I’d probably get annoyed doing this activity. I imagined many people would be talking and that bothered me to no end. However, if I did this I could skip sledding tomorrow. I would rather be a little irritated than make a fool of myself and hurt myself sledding.

I tiredly made my way to the tv room. I’d only been in there once when one of the guests was playing Its a Wonderful Life. I had let go of my social anxiety to watch one of my favourite films.

“Hey y/n,” Timothée said the moment I’d turned into the tv room. My mouth fell open a bit. I looked around the room. No one but he and I were in the room.

“Where is everyone?” I asked anxiously.

“I think it’s just you and me,” Timothée said with a smile. My heart was hammering.

“Come on!”

“Y-you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah, and also you can call me Timmy if you like,” he said sweetly.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker

[green-planets]

Starlight Express but it's a Farmer's and Craft Market au! I've been rotating the idea around in my head for a few days now (and shared it in some servers!) There are a lot of (mostly) friendly rivalries going on between the vendors. They also barter and trade goods amongst each other!

Here's a map of the general layout of the stalls:

The two stalls on the top row directly to the right of Momma and Rusty were empty for a long time until Pearl started vending in the neighboring stall. About a week later, Electra set up shop.

I've also listed the stall types for each character under the cut (if you can't read my chicken scratch lol)!

Rusty and Momma- Your standard homegrown produce, Momma specializes in chicken and duck eggs

Greaseball- Cured meats, jerky, and BBQ sauce. His younger sister steps in to run his stall sometimes >:)

Electra- Spice blends and dried herbs

Pearl- Handcrafted jewelry

Dinah- Baked goods and jams

Buffy and Ashley- Honey, beeswax, and syrup

Carrie- Handmade bags (totes, handbags, coin purses, etc)

Brandi- Homebrewed beer and mead

Tassita- Succulents, stationary, and greeting cards. He also does custom calligraphy

Memphis Belle and Bonnie (Belle Jr.)- Quilts and crocheted crafts. Bonnie specializes in making plushies

Dustin- Polished and painted rocks

Flat Top- Sometimes he makes miniature sculptures out of welded nuts and bolts to sell at Dustin's stall. He's mostly there just to hang out with Dustin and get free jerky samples

Rockies- Pottery and custom mugs

CB- Foraged mushrooms (are they edible? Who knows...)

BV- He runs a shell game where he can rip people off

Slick- Gourmet olive oil

Porter and Lumber- Woodburn art. Lumber also does whittling on the side

Hydra- He's not a vendor, but he really wants to form a partnership with Rusty and show him Hydroponic Gardening

Wrench- Upcycled furniture

Volta and Joule- Soap, bath bombs, and candles

Purse and Krupp- Flowers

Killerwatt- He doesn't have a stall, he assists Electra

Zero- Smoothie stand (in a food truck set-up)

Espresso and Bobo- Wine and cheese (they used to have separate stalls until their rivalry turned into romance)

Coco- Handcrafted jewelry (uh oh, Pearl's got a rival)

Turnov- Knit goods (scarves, mittens, hats, etc.)

Ruhrgold- Artisan bread

Hashamoto- Assorted produce and (edible) mushrooms

Brexit- Fancy tea blends

[cherr-22]

TNGDH 24

I held up my hand to my forehead and looked up at the sky. The sun shined brightly with not a single cloud in sight.

“The weather is good.”

A wide smile spread across my face as I admired the beautiful, warm Blake estate today.

Pure white bricks laid neatly in rows and stalls lined up on both sides. Behind them were simple shops run by the people.

That’s right. Shops.

I admired the coin purse hanging by my side. It’s heavy. According to Kyle, I would have plenty of money even after saying ‘give me everything from here to there’ right now. 

While I didn’t plan on spending that much, isn’t good to have a lot? Even as Bae Soohyun I couldn’t enjoy such a luxury.

……To be more accurate, I died just before I got the chance to do so.

“Let’s go, porter.”

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and turned to Kyle. He was dressed lighter than usual and was looking down at me with his eyebrow raised at me.

There’s no point in giving me that look. Of course I’d call you a porter. It’s not like you would call this a date. In the first place, you’re the one who wanted to tag along.

I turned around ignoring his stunned reaction and lifted up the heavy coin purse.

No matter what, I’m going to use this all. I won’t die before these are all spent.

This is something I realized after dying once, but money should be spent while it’s in your pocket. I’ll show you what it means to earn like a Northern prince and spend like a hamster. 

“Slowly.”

He grabbed the back of my neck before I could run off.

I frowned and scrutinized him. In my mouth held a piece of jerky I received at the stall selling dried meat.

“…….”

“Whad. Whad ah yoo looing ah.”

What. What are you looking at.

“……Nothing. Keep eating.”

Wow. This is absolutely crazy. How on earth did they make this sauce? Can a taste like this even exist?

Must buy it now.

I bought two packs of jerky. As I took out a shiny gold coin, Kyle held onto my bags.

Nibbling on the jerky, I headed for the next shop. Here they sold a ‘bracelet that can make you healthy just by wearing it!’. That was what was written on a thick piece of paper next to it.

<Shocking news! Beneficial mana energy is flowing out!>

……What is this, a germanium bracelet or something? The color seems similar too…… this is obviously a scam.

On the other hand, Kyle who was standing next to me held the bracelet up with interest.

“Are there any sizes suitable for a hamster?”

As if there would be any.

In the first place, don’t think about buying one. That energy or whatever. Mana stone or whatever. Oh dear, this is giving me a headache.

‘Maybe I should’ve pretended that there are special demonic beasts with rare constitution that don’t develop mana stones.’

I sighed as I dragged him to the next shop. He would’ve put an order down for the hamster bracelet if we stayed there for even a minute longer.

“Let’s see. Where can I buy clothes.”

“The cape is very warm! Thick and light!”

“Scarves, buy scarves here!”

“Delicious demonic beast meat skewers!”

“Buy one get one free bag of peanut crackers!”

The lively atmosphere of the market brightened my mood.

I bought everything that looked good. The shopping bags drooping off of the Grand Duke’s arms- ah, no don’t do that. Hang the bags on your left arm, not your precious right arm.

“Shoes made from the tough leather of a Northern elephant!”

“Have a look at these pants! Even the Blake knights wear these as training uniforms!”

Obviously I can’t hold back on these.

“Here are sweet and sour tangerine candy. Come see handmade candy made by a craftsman with 30 years of experience!”

This, can’t hold back on this either.

“These are crepes. We’re selling for only one more day to commemorate for the festival!”

Definitely can’t hold back.

“This sure is great.”

The money was spent rapidly, and the once heavy coin purse felt lighter and lighter over time. Both of Kyle’s arms were fully occupied with my shopping bags.

“What’s wrong?”

I asked while holding crepes in both hands. Kyle replied calmly.

“You are more easy to satisfy than I thought.”

I’m about to sell out all the shops and yet you call me frugal.

As expected of the Grand Duke of the North, this kind of spending must be nothing compared to what he spends on a single hamster. Would I have to buy the entire shop to surprise you?

“Today, I will treat you. Would you like some of this crepe? There’s raspberry inside.”

I bought one for myself because it looked delicious but suddenly felt bad seeing the porter work hard all day long. Ah, such a kind heart I have.

He stretched out his neck forward slightly.

“I have no open hands to hold it myself.”

“……Ah. You’re right.”

Both hands were filled with bags. My bags. I did bring him as a porter but……

Still, isn’t he the owner of this land and the ruler of the North? He has been following me behind silently, but the eyes of the shop owners would pop out whenever they recognized him.

“There’s no other choice.”

After contemplating a bit, I raised one of my arm to hold the crepe in front of Kyle’s mouth.

He remained still, as if this kind of situation was new to him. What else do you expect me to do. Should I go buy another arm for you somewhere instead?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because it’s unexpected.”

Kyle lowered his head and took a bite out of the crepe. An entire corner disappeared in an instant. ……Was it that tiring to hold the bags?

“It’s my first time to be directly fed like this.”

[First time~ It’s his first time! 〜(￣▽￣〜)(〜￣▽￣)〜]

Stop celebrating.

“It’s not like you’re a demonic beast. Why couldn’t you be fed like this.”

“They find me difficult usually.”

“You wouldn’t be difficult if they interact with you everyday.”

I said as if it were nothing special.

He may be a solemn duke in front of others, but to me, he was just a hamster otaku who kissed me everywhere with no reservation. It would be even weirder if I still found him difficult to be with.

“Have we been seeing each other everyday?”

Oops.

“……Recently we have. We saw each other yesterday and the day before yesterday.”

I kept my arm held up for him to eat the crepe and then turned to my share of the crepe in my other hand. Let’s see. Cranberry whipped cream made from goat milk……

“Too sour!”

Kyle flinched upon hearing my cry.

“……Is this your first time having whipped cream?”

“No, I’ve had them plenty of times. Whipped cream should be fluffy and savory, and yet why does this taste like this? And to add sour cranberries on top of that. It makes it twice as sour!”

Kyle tilted his head in confusion and took another bite out of the crepe.

“Whipped cream usually taste like this.”

Seeing him, I bit into mine again.

Sour as expected.

“No. Crepes are usually supposed to be so sweet that it makes your mouth ticklish to be delicious.”

This guy knows nothing. The cloud-like fluffiness is the charm of whipped cream, and yet he doesn’t believe me.

At 9:30PM, I used to have a piece of fresh cream cake delivered from the cafe near my office. It was always the last order since the shop closed at 10:00PM. Roughly once a month, I would have it on a hard day to melt away my fatigue.

Those were hard times, but thinking about it now felt like old memories.

“Is that so…….”

Kyle held a serious expression.

“If you don’t like it, you should throw it away and eat something else.”

“What are you talking about? How wasteful. Besides, just because it’s sour doesn’t mean I can’t eat it.”

“Alright. Eat a lot.”

He finished the crepe and lightly squeezed my wrist to examine it.

“Small and skinny.”

What bullshit is he saying. I’m slightly bigger than the average Korean. I’ve never been told I was small. Especially with one insole in my shoe, my height reached 180 centimeters tall. A thin insole of course, not the thick one.

“Are you sure it’s not just you being too big?”

He let out a low chuckle.

“Eat lots of meat. Even with me protecting you, your body must be in good condition to go out on the reconnaissance. In the Blake territory, even the support units receive martial arts training, not just the knights and soldiers.

Kyle asked as I finished off my crepe.

“Do you have any weapons you can use?”

“No.”

“Any specialties?”

“……Ummm…… language?”

C language is also a language after all.

### programming language

“Besides that.”

“Eating a lot?”

In the case that I failed to develop the game, the lady who worked at the restaurant I frequented said I should try doing a mukbang.

### Mukbang is a live-stream where viewers watch the host eat

“Haaa…….”

He sighed deeply.

What’s wrong. Do I seem like luggage burden now that you think about it?

But consider yourself lucky. As long as I have the system with me, your future will be bright. It may sound odd, but just believe in me.

“Is there something wrong?”

I asked in a provocative tone.

“Are you already worried that you won’t be able to protect me?”

The nickname ‘Loser of the North’ would probably spread throughout the land if that were the case. It’s not like he gained fame as the ‘Bloody Grand Duke’ by killing innocent people. If he can’t protect even a single civilian, he would have to step down from his position as the lord.

His eyebrows furrowed upon hearing my provocation and laughed as if he were intrigued.

“You sure know how to provoke someone.”

“Thank you for the complement.”

Office workers usually fight well. Fighting with clients, fighting with their boss, fighting with overtime… I won’t lose to anyone anywhere.

“Where should I move this to?”

After busily walking around eating this and that, we ended up at the front of the Blake castle. He glanced at me as if to say that I would have to climb the stairs myself this time. I know, I know. It’s not like I don’t have legs.

I trudged up the stairs as slow as a turtle.

“I’ll be shoving them into an unused storage room.”

“Not the servant’s dorm room?”

“Yes. There are no space left for me. I was only able to go there in the past because Sen was with me.”

“…….”

How would I put all these bags into the break room of the servant’s dorm without putting up with the others’ stares?

I’ve been meeting with Kyle in the break room until now since I didn’t want to meet him in his study. Now that Sen has left, no matter how thick-faced I may be, staying there would be too much.

“I’ll get you a room.”

Kyle said it as if it were nothing. You can give away a room just by saying you’ll give me a room?

“……Huh? Really?”

“You must’ve forgotten, but you are also one of the castle’s people.”

Oh right.

“I request a room with a big window.”

If I’m going to receive one, I should get a good one while I have the chance.

With that, the items I bought from the stores today piled up high in my newly assigned room.

As expected, the world revolves around money.

--------------------------------------------------------

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

T/N: I will not be able to post a chapter for next week so this is an early chapter, plus a bonus chapter 25 as an apology!

[littlebluentebook]

Alastor x Sewing!Reader pt.4

Chapter 5

You tried to stay open 7-7 on weekdays so that way customers could come in both before and after work. This is why you were not surprised to hear the door jingle at half past five.

"Just a moment please!" you said cheerfully, attempting to finish threading your needle in full focus. "How can I help you today?" only then noticing Alastor in front of you. He was sporting his new coat and a bouquet of flowers.

"I just wanted to come visit you and say thank you for fixing my coat darling," he reached out to give you the flowers, "you will have to teach me how to make your treats as well. They were quite delicious." Alastor ate a bunch between his broadcasts spoiling his lunch but saving a few for his mother.

You smiled at that, " I am quite glad you enjoyed them! I will however be keeping that recipe to myself- its for special occasions only."

"Well then, I feel mighty special to be gifted them" Alastor quipped back at you. "How much do I owe you for the coat?"

"Not a pretty penny of yours doll! It was a favor for walking me home and letting me borrow your coat" you explained to him.

"Only if you're sure Y/N. I have got to be getting back home now, can't keep my mother waiting." he turned to the door.

"Of course! Don't worry her. Feel free to come back if you need anything else Alastor!"

"I may take you up on that my dear." With that, he walked out the door. Nothing but the flowers to signify he was ever there.

The flowers Alasor gave you were absolutely stunning. There were dark orange flowers that looked like an attempt to match the replacement lining and thread in his coat. To compliment there were soft pink and white flowers sporadically place in the bouquet. You went upstairs to your kitchen and brought down a vase for the flowers. Wanting to show off their beauty, you placed them on the center table of your shop. Here, you regularly cycled items such as tops, socks, mittens, scarves and other small items. You went around the shop and into your storage to find other colors that matched the flowers. On the table the flowers stood tall above the garments, all table colors matching.

The week went by quickly, Alastor's voice and memories both accompanying you while you sewed. You created lots of lace for the dresses Mimzy ordered. Next week you were supposed to stop by and take all of her performers measurements to actually start putting pieces together. Countless hours were also spent pre-beading and cutting fabric so all that had to be done was cutting and sewing to match sizes.

By the time Friday rolled around you were excited to leave the shop and go to Mimzy's. The nervous feeling was no longer there. You had Anne, Mimzy, and now Alastor to keep you company while enjoying the night.

"Y/N dear! Alastor and I were just talking about you!" Mimzy said with enthusiasm.

"Good things I can only hope?"

"Of course! He was just showing me how you fixed his tacky coat. I have been telling for ages he just needs a new one. He has appearances to up keep! It looks better now than when he first bought it."

You didn't know what to do with all the praise but it warmed your hear to know that people recognized your talents and were impressed with them.

"I just did what I saw fit, I do appreciate it!"

"Good evening mon cheri" Alastor said kissing your hand.

You two changed pleasantries about your week as Mimzy went to mingle with more customers. As you finished your conversation about to ask where Mimzy went, Anne stepped on stage about to start singing.

"Would you grace me with a dance?" Alastor asked reaching his hand out towards you.

"Absolutely doll" you said gently placing your hand in his outstretched one. He helped you up and out of your seat where you were previously conversing. As Alastor led you to the dance floor a man bumped into you tearing your grasp from him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry sir, please ex-"

"I know what you did." He cut you off. "You will suffer just as he did."

You turned as white as a ghost. No no no you migrated to New Orleans to get away from your old life. How did anyone find you?

"My dear! Are you alright?" Alastor asked finding you and reaching for your hand.

"Of course, just had a little scare and lost my footing is all."

Alastor gave you an eyebrow raise but didn't pry anymore.

All things considered the dance was wonderful. You both moved in sync, eyes focused on one another. He loved to spin you around and away from him only to pull you back in close. As the song ended you found yourself in a dip, a mere breath away from Alastor.

Mimzy cleared her throat "Lovely performance from the both of you, incredibly charming."

Alastor used his hand on your lower back to pick you up and steady you on the floor. He noticed you were still shaky and looking around the room from your encounter with the strange man earlier.

"Thank you Mimzy" he answered for the both of you. "We should get heading out soon shouldn't we darling?"

The night was still young but what the man had said to you made you want to leave as soon as possible. Plus, remembering last weeks sleep hangover you agreed. Finishing goodbyes again and talking with Mimzy setting up a time for instead her performers to visit you at your shop, you and Alastor were arm in arm walking out of the door. You turned around and took one last look and there you saw the man drag his thumb across his throat. What you didn't notice was that Alastor saw the man doing the exact same thing.