#cannot tell if not being around people makes me worse or not. usually it does but also im in the doesnt interact with people era again

[helluvabossrewrite45]

I never fully agree with argument that “Via is sheltered”. I can see if she didn’t fully understand how bad the marriage, but then I remember that she responds to her Mother’s violent outbursts as if they were a usual occurrence. She casually steps over the broken vases like she’s done it before; she has a tendency control her own outbursts in a more restrained manner as seen in Seeing Stars and now in Sinmas. To me it implies she’s half aware that her mother does is wrong, but then have some fans—not all—claim that she likes Stella more even though everything in her body language says otherwise. The only reason she finds it easier to get mad at her Dad is like you once said about it being the black sheep method.

I feel honestly bad for this kid. At best she thinks that behaviour in this family is normal. At worst she just feels alone in a situation she on some level knows is messed up. Like she believed or knows that her Dad cares about her, but when it feels like it’s needed most he isn’t there to at least ease her into this transition. I was slightly forgiving at Looloo Land because I thought he was going to tell her in the future. Seeing Stars made me frustrated because why are we standing around in a studio? Because Blitz gets trick into thinking people finally find him funny? To then cutting to his backstory on how adopted Loona? What about the main mission? A small portion of fans thinks she doesn’t change when the writing itself keeps running through the same arc until the consequences finally catch up with the characters. No, let’s blame some characters instead of how the writing likes to use the characters and their growth.

Honestly, the more of the list of Octavia and her coping mechnasms works, the more fascinating she is. She uses music to cope, like you said, but now we’ve seen her escape her family members sights twice now which is interesting. Still would like to know how she knows IMPs address unless she went there during Looloo Land? Also where’s the castle security or a they just on call?

Sorry if this doesn’t make much sense. Sinmas got under my skin and a small portion of fans blaming a teenager is irritating.

It's okay, I understand what your saying and yeah, fans blaming on her is irritating especially when she's a teenager and her father, Stolas, has done much worse (coercion to Blitzo, neglect to Octavia), yet they don't give him the same blame or frame him as a good father with the "oh if only Via realises how he cares for her" which misunderstands why Via even cutted out Stolas to begin with. He prioritised Blitzo over her from Loo loo land to Mastermind where he almost sacrificed himself for Blitzo and only considers Via once his powers get stripped temporarily (Stolas' sacrifice also feels quite icky from it being Blitzo's reason to 'love' Stolas as if sacrifice makes it obligatory for affection) Your insight into how the environment around her causes her to normalise it or feel isolated by it is spot on. When rewatching Loo loo land, I liked that Stolas couldn't easily explain Stella's abuse to her because it felt realistic for an abused parent trying to explain to their kid of how their other parent is abusive, especially when circumstances lead it to becoming more complicated like cheating. This kind of realistic depiction of abuse is unfortunately erased overtime as the show prioritises us on hating stella by making her a one note over-the-top villain instead of depicting an abusive complex villain. You get a good scene of Stella comforting Octavia as a false pretense for her satisfaction in her presumed ex-husband's death, presenting her manipulation. Yet in Sinmas, she is shown to openly cut Octavia from contacting her father and openly laugh and mock him with her brother. The show cannot decide on how to portray Stella, so long as she is framed as unlikeable in every scene shes in for us to sympathise and root for Stolas.

In fact, I argue that due to Stella and Octavia not receiving any depth compared to Stolas as characters despite the plot giving this family's conflict at least some significance is that they aren't their own characters but prompts; prompts that are for Stolas' gains through different lights. Stella was a prompt to make us sympathies with Stolas that would make us excuse his wrongdoings such as cheating because well, Stella is an abuser and she is constantly unlikeable in every scene. Why should we feel bad for her? Stella is apparently meant to be inspired by Beatrice but these characters direction were the main difference. Beatrice was given backstory and depth because she was intended to be a complex character who is abusive. Stella on the other hand, is a prompt whose abusiveness was used to benefit Stolas' character within the narrative.

Octavia is different where she was a prompt to make Stolas likeable. Everytime Octavia is on screen with some significance to the plot, it always involved her problem being primarily her father and the narrative always focused that Stolas loves Via very much, even explicitly pointed out to her in Seeing Stars like Loona. It's only in Sinmas where this direction has shifted to be the same as Stella where she's now used to make us feel sympathy towards Stolas in the loss of his daughter. Frankly her blaming stolas for taking anti-depressants seem like a tactic of some sort to establish what the framwork is suppose to be; Via isn't understandably cutting off her dad for his neglect because it would make the sympathetic framework of stolas not be effective, so they had to use his anti-depressants in order to make Via cutting off her dad seem unreasonable on surface level. "See? Via is blaming stolas for his depression so she's not entirely right in her cutting him out of her life and therefore, you should feel bad for stolas." It's what these fans don't understand, they only look at the conflict through surface level and not view the bigger picture as despite the anti depressants, Via was reasonable in that situation. Stolas had neglected Via, like you pointed out with him in the film studio, his focus is always on Blitzo first and Octavia second. And what makes it more awful is that Via's experiences applies to many people in real life so for the fandom to demonise her entirely for this when you know people who were Octavia with their fathers before makes you think of it in a different light. A more tragic perspective of a fandom, regardless of intention, demonises those people who were like and related to Octavia in that situation while coddling/sympathizing with the fathers that neglected their Octavias.

Her lack of depth despite the little details as well as her background being the tools to create an interesting thorough character highlights the main issue of the series in how despite desiring to be complex within their characters and conflicts, they manage to fail with their character bias for and against certain characters that reduces their complexities to either make you like or dislike these particular characters. Octavia, like the rest of the characters, had potential yet the writers never utilized that to their advantage. The whole series in general is wasted potential that wasn't properly utilized to their advantage.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing. 

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin. 

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club. 

 The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about. 

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met. 

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud. 

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me. 

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home. 

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it. 

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again. 

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

  When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.  

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone. 

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste. 

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time. 

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement. 

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants. 

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges. 

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive. 

“I can too!” 

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?” 

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.” 

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?” 

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.” 

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.” 

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

 “I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated. 

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.” 

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.” 

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle. 

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask,  “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?” 

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours. 

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.” 

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.” 

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream. 

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.   

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.  

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.” 

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years. 

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo. 

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him. 

You 

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night. 

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!” 

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.” 

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.” 

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.” 

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs. 

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?” 

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?” 

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?” 

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind. 

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.” 

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!” 

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes. 

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.  

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops. 

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself. 

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile. 

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo. 

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man. 

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning. 

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.  

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” 

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve. 

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it. 

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear. 

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.    

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in. 

Spanking, five. 

Whips and Crops, five. 

Paddles, five. 

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point. 

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five. 

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel. 

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied. 

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours. 

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you. 

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call. 

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears. 

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs. 

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller. 

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel. 

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his. 

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please��kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault  the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips. 

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you. 

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on. 

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently. 

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives. 

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging. 

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table. 

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms. 

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

[lord-shitbox]

art is my whole life & personality vs the crippling failing of self esteem and ego (cant get mysefl to do anything)

[captain-marble]

silly thought that i’ve been rotating at might write someday (although knowing me…)

anyways!

someone gets mad and pranks the justice league by releasing clips of their embarrassing moments on tower (nothing that could reveal identities but still embarrassing)

it’s stuff like marvel failing at cooking

batman being sleep deprived and trying to parent different league members (namely marvel)

flash running into walls and things (a lot)

superman being afraid of a shoe and litterally leaping into the air to get away from it. (it was green)

anyways everyone find this hillarious and the members are a lil mortified. But fawcett takes it into their own hands to give marvel food (litterally he has too much food to know what to do with) to the point he ends up like going around sharing it with the homeless kids and stuff

not only that but the league decide to take it into their own hands to teach marvel. cut to videos being released of marvel learning to cook with different leaguers

superman: marv can you pass me a rolling pin? so what you’ve got to do is-

marvel looking at a pot of utensils questioning…. before tentatively holding out a masher: ?

superman: (blinks)

supes probably teaches him how to make apple pie and talk about how if you don’t use the sugar you can use the pie crust to make savoury pies too and blah blah life hack. his parents probably mean he’s the worst offender for trying to shove food or recipes onto marvel

hal and barry prolly teach him how to make like single guy with a shitty job type grind shit that’s like carb loaded and you can just bulk make and store ands got everything you need (cuz they always busy as hell and ain’t rich or anything so don’t got the time or stuff to make tons of food) (it kinda looks like struggle food but yk it gets them through)

hal: so yeah you just dump everything in and if it starts to look radioactive then you know it’s cooked-

billy ‘orphan street rat will eat anything’ batson: damn bitch you live like this? /silly

diana teaches him a greek dish from her childhood that she thinks marvel would feel nostalgic for (i mean billy doesn’t but he remembers eating it in past lives and the thought diana put into it really comforts him)

bruce either a) refuses to teach marvel anything as he himself cannot cook and won’t let the work know that (as all of these cooking videos have been being leaked to the internet who are EATING IT UP like it’s not just fawcett anymore everyone loves cap now becuase you can tell he’s just that authentic cuz his ass does not know these are being filmed) b) cannot cook so it ends up just being a hot mess c) they learn to make a new recipe together d) he has alfred teach him how to make something so he doesn’t embarrass himself e) he teaches marvel how to make struggle food that’s worse than hal and barry’s

marvel: aren’t you funded by a billionaire?

batman: hm

marvel: batman….damn bitch you live like this???????????

everyone just dogs on batman online for like banging bruce wayne (no one believes that the butts match :/ ) and yet still being ass at cooking, like bro is at nuclear levels of damn you live like this with his struggle food

anyways cap finds out about the cooking with cap vids and immediately gets all embarrassed that people know he sucks at cooking, fawcett lay off a little on giving him food now they know that the JL are helping him, but he regularly receives copies of old cook books and someone’s nans favourite recipe and stuff and he’s taking home enough food from the JL to actually eat well and is therefore a lot happier and so the JL are like wow marv really likes cooking, and so at least like once a week (usually more) someone (or sometimes just he will) will cook with him and he’ll take home the left overs (if people eat any otherwise he just takes it all himself (despite him frantically offering the food out to people cuz he feels bad for taking so much))

years later when the identity reveal happens they’re like wow??? this makes so much sense???? i’m so glad we’ve been inadvertently feeding the homeless child??? yippee for him not starving and being more healthy that he would’ve been????

but yeah it’s so silly and i think billy would actually love having the chance to eat foods he’s never had before, especially where he spent so long on the streets that he kinda was forced to like ration and buy cheap food, so like he’s being treated by trying new foods and risking not liking it and stuff

but yeah i just think cap cooking and baking is neat teehee

[profundcherrylady]

SINGLE DAD!SAE ITOSHI

A/N: This isn't my usual content, but I was thinking about this scenario and I had huge baby fever so I couldn't NOT write it. I love Sae too much y'all. Also sorry for any spelling mistakes english ain't my first language.

Warnings: Mentions of death and grieving, Sae tries forcing his daughter to either eat her vegetables or go to school hungry (he doesn't go through with it)(this is a very brief scene but it could still be triggering to some people). STILL MOSTLY FLUFF I SWEAR.

Contents: Sae being a girl dad fr, y'all can't change my mind on this one, also Rin being an uncle. That's pretty much it. A little ooc (Rin mostly)

"Papaaaa" Mao complained, her voice echoing across the house and making Sae drop the dishes he was washing and walk across the house into her room to see what was going on... this time. Although he had a pretty good idea given her recent tantrums.

"Can't sleep?" he inquired, but he knew the answer as soon as she saw her curling up in her little bed and pouting, her doe teal eyes looking up to him as if to give him pity. "No, Mao, you cannot come sleep in my room."

"Why not?!"

"You've already been sleeping there all week... come on, you're a big girl, you can sleep on your own room."

"But I wanna be with you..." he sighed. It had seemed she had inherited his stubbornness, because sometimes it felt like there was just no way of making her change her mind when she was set on something. He leaned against the door a little, thinking about what to say that may change her mind.

"I know I was away for a while the last couple of weeks and I understand you missed me, but I can't have this conversation with you every single night."

"Why do you go away in the first place..."

"You know why, I have to for work." he countered, "And do not ask me why I can't bring you along, we've talked about this countless of times before. I don't go away for fun. If I bring you with me, you'll want to go everywhere with me and then you'll get fussy and mad because I'll be working all the time, or worse, you'll get bored to death in the hotel. Believe me, staying here is best for you when I go on business trips."

"But I just wanna be with you!!" his eye almost twitched in annoyance at the sight; he knew that tone of voice all too well. It was another tantrum coming his way, but still, he tried to remain calm for her sake.

"You're with me now."

"So can I sleep in your room?"

"No." then she threatened to start crying. He let out a low, defeated huff, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. She just wasn't giving up, was she? Pushing himself off the doorframe, he looked back at her before speaking. "Fine. Come on."

"This is the last time." he knew damn well that was a fat lie, but he still had to at least pretend to be firm. She would grow up to be a spoiled child otherwise, or at least that's what he was used to tell himself.

The little girl beamed, quickly jumping out of bed and running towards her father. She hopped with her arms up towards him asking to be carried, to which he complied. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and lifted her up, watching as she clung onto him as if he just came back from war or something. Could he really blame her, though? She had lost her mother and he was away all the time; it would be strange if she wasn't feeling lonely.

"Papa, sing me a song." Sae reconsidered his life decisions for a moment there, not gonna lie, but how could he honestly say no to those pleading eyes?

"Fine..." he sighed, his voice soft and low as he began humming whatever song he could think of on the top of his head. Still keeping a secure hold on her, Sae began rocking his daughter to further lure her to sleep. He held her with one arm so that he could close the door of her room, the soft click assuring him that everything was in order, and then started walking a few steps towards his.

By this point, little Mao was sound asleep on his arms, and he almost chuckled at the thought of his daughter refusing to sleep until she was with him. He carefully opened the door a few meters away and walked quitely to the bed, trying his best to not wake up the sleeping child on his arms, and set her down to rest. Once tucked in and comfortable, he let out a sigh of relief. Finally, the brat was asleep and he could be at peace. She could be so clingly and energetic sometimes... not that he cared that much, even though her restlessness was exhausting, it showed that she felt safe and loved enough to be her enthusiastic self around him without any regrets.

It was weird to him, like an unfamiliar sense of pride that surged at the sight of her young daughter bouncing around and playing endlessly. He would often look at her and think about how different her personality was from his, and how much it reminded him of her mother. Sae tried not to though, as he despised comparing his daughter to his late wife over and over again, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. From the way she smiled to the color of her hair... they were just so alike each other. He still kept all the memories from her close to his heart, which in a way made him feel guilty. Sae knew just how much his daughter yearned for a maternal figure; someone to talk to and educate her about girly stuff that he may not understand. He would watch her staring at the other kids with their moms and act like it really wasn't a big deal to avoid making him feel like he wasn't enough, but Sae knew better. It was obvious to him that his daughter absolutely adored him, and he was sure she thought he was enough, but he also knew that she missed having a mom. She missed her mom. He missed her mom too.

Normally he would avoid talking about it. It had been hard enough trying to explain to this small child that her mom wasn't coming home that night, or ever, let alone process his own grief at the loss of the only woman he once loved. If he cried, he had to do it when his daughter wasn't looking, because the last thing he needed to add to his worries was worrying his daughter to the point of avoiding everything that may set off a bad mood on him. It wasn't her fault, he just felt his heart break everytime he took her home and she pointed at a framed picture of her mom exclaiming 'Mama!' Or 'Hey mama', 'I'm back, mama', 'Miss you, mama'. He would hold back his tears and take a deep breath whenever she tried asking if she could visit her mom in the place she was at (as he initially had told her it was a place where she couldn't come back), having to explain carefully that she couldn't. She would get mad and ask why a bunch of times, but he didn't have the heart to tell her 'She's dead' straight up. He really tried to just give her an excuse like that she was sleeping forever or something, as if she was in the sleeping beauty, but then she just began asking if a true love kiss from him would wake her up. She was a child, after all, and she hadn't quite grassped the concept of death yet.

He let himself watch her sleep for a few moments, sinking in the stillness of the night. Taking care of a young child made this moments rare, and he treasured whatever rest he could get. He reached out to the nightstand and picked up the heater remote, pressing a couple of buttons to turn it on a bit; just enough to keep the room warm, as he knew nights at that time of the year could become fairly cold and he didn't want his daughter getting sick. And as expected, she got very evidently more comfortable as the room became warmer, falling into a deeper state of sleep. She had only carried her favorite bunny plushie from her room to hold onto and apparently that was all she needed to fall asleep. He plopped himself onto the bed as well and fell asleep almost instantly from the exhaustion of the day, not even caring about closing the door or the half-washed dishes he left on the sink or even the fact that he hadn't even changed his clothes. He was DONE for the day.

Although, the next day he most definitely regretted it.

He had to wake up early and finish cleaning all the mess his daughter had left throughout the day, plus now he had to make breakfast, wake her up and get her to school. Sae was a rather organized person and he would normally not find himself in this type of situation, but it seemed like ever since he became a father he was running short of time for everything no matter how much he tried to plan in advance.

"Morning." Sae greeted his still somewhat sleepy child as she yawned and climbed the chair infront of her to eat. "Slept well?"

"Mhm..." Mao mumbled, rubbing her eyes with one arm while she still clung to her favorite plushie with the other. He placed a plate on the table for her and then one for him, along with his usual morning coffee and the only damned brand of juice that she liked for some reason and that he had to drive for an hour to buy.

"Come on, eat. You have preschool today."

"Can't I skip? It's snowing so muuuuch." the kid dropped her head onto the table and sighed, clearly displeased about going to school.

"Apparently it's not snowing enough to cancel your classes. Now, please, eat."

He watched intently as his daughter took a close look at the food, pouting and feeling now rather down since she wasn't allowed to skip school. She took a couple of bites of her breakfast and she had a few sips of her juice, then she pushed her plate a little to indicate she was done.

"Thanks for the food." she was about to get off the table when she was interrupted by her father's stern voice.

"Not so fast. There is no way you're full with just that."

"Yeah I am..." such an obvious lie.

"Why aren't you eating? And I want the truth."

She pouted, AGAIN, before reluctantly giving an answer.

"It has green peppers on it..." and there you have it; this was the real challenge of Sae's day.

"I told you, they're good for you."

"But they're gross! Can I eat something else please?" this is Sae's life now. Even winning a soccer match was easier than getting his daughter to eat her vegetables.

"Mao, I spent a lot of time making breakfast for you, can you please finish your food? You still need to get ready to go to school. I don't have any time to make you more breakfeast; I have to go work."

"But... I really don't like them... please?" that was the last straw for him. He didn't mean to sound cruel, but he was tired and didn't know what else to say.

"Mao Itoshi, you're staying on this table until the last bite of food on your plate is GONE. If you don't, you'll go to school hungry and I'm not making you anything else after I pick you up. You are eating this one way or another." he almost instantly regretted the harsh tone of voice he had used, as he saw his kid's eyes begin watering. He passed his hands through his face in exasperation, took a deep breath, and walked around the table to pick her up. He exhaled, trying his best to remain calm before speaking to her again, as he could feel Mao's tears on his clothes and the little shudders she made at the effort to hold back tears. Sae patted and passed his fingers through his daughter's hair in a poor attempt to soothe her, but the damage was already done. She was holding thay bunny plush in her arms like a lifeline. "Sorry, okay? I didn't mean to be so hard on you. I woke up early to make your breakfast and you just took a few bites of it... I got frustrated, but that wasn't a reason to force you to eat something you don't like. I'm just saying, green peppers aren't the end of the world; they can be tasty."

"I guess I can eat them..." he sighed.

"No, you'll just be eating them out of guilt. You shouldn't do things you don't want to just because you're afraid of someone's bad mood." he thought for a moment. Mao eating the green peppers wasn't the ideal result now, she was hurt and vulnerable and that would only teach her that she should fear and comply which wouldn't end well on the long run... still, he did spend his time making her breakfast and didn't want it to go to waste. "Tell you what. I'll eat the green peppers for today, if you promise you'll at least try them next time, and I'll find another recipe to try to make them taste better. Sound good?" she nodded, still hiding her face from him by pressing it against his clothes. "Good. Now, I really don't have more time to make you more breakfast, so let's pick out the stuff you don't like just this once, and only this one time. I seriously need you to try to learn to eat your vegetables."

"...'kay."

"Let's hurry then; you still need to get ready for school."

Sae for sure was missing having some help on the raising of his daughter. He would never admit it though, he would try and pretend parenting was the easiest thing in the world when in reality he was fighting for his life everyday trying to shape this little human into a good person, and refraining from helping her while she failed at tying her shoe countless of times before admiting she didn't know how to do it (this is why he only buys her velcro).

He left the tiny sparkling pink shoes on the ground as he heard the doorbell, then looked at the clock hanging from the wall nearby. 8:14am, who in the world was it this early? Sae indicated his daughter to stay still on the couch before walking towards the door, and right after seeing the face on the other side he furrowed his eyebrows in surprise.

"Rin? What are you doing here?" his little brother then proceeded to push him aside and step inside as if it were his own house.

"Move, I didn't come here for you." his eyes traveled the room and eventually fell on the little girl sitting on the couch, and in a blink of an eye he had lifted the little girl up and hugged her tightly. Despite her surprise, she could obviously recognize her only favorite uncle.

To everyone's surprise, Rin absolutely adored his niece. Sure he had problems with his older brother but he didn't have to take it out on an innocent child that had done nothing to him. Besides, she was so adorable and bubbly and so NOT like Sae. Rin sometimes would stare at her in amazement, wondering how it was possible that this was truly Sae's spawn; yet the teal eyes and lower lashes were unmistakable. She was an Itoshi alright.

"Umclw Rwin!" her voice came out muffled, as she was currently being burried on his chest, but the sentiment was there.

"What are you doing here?" Sae was straight to the point, not caring about his cold tone of voice this time. And he says he doesn't have favorites.

"I just came back from my morning run." the younger Itoshi explained, still not looking at him in the eye. "Thought I'd stop by to say hello."

"To her."

"Yes, I didn't want to talk to your pathetic-"

"Language."

"Shut up."

"Don't hug her when you're still sweaty and gross, she just took a bath." he continued scolding Rin, earning a groan of frustration from him.

"Your dad is so annoying." his niece giggled at the obvious beef between his dad and uncle. She didn't really understand it but it was funny from her point of view. "Such lukewarm rules he has."

"Lukewarm!" she repeated.

"Rin, stop teaching her those words. Mao, say bye to your uncle; we have to get you to school."

"Awwwwww, can he come with?"

"Fine, whatever will get you to actually go to school. Rin, let's go."

"Don't boss me around." he complained, walking with his niece on his arms towards the door and setting her down. "Let's put on our shoes, shall we?" he took the shoes Sae had set down earlier and helped the kid put them on with ease. Of course, he had dealt with this countless of times before. Sae had the bad habit of using him as a free nanny for whenever he had to travel, which was often.

"Uncle Rin, how do you go running with all this snow? It's so cold!"

"When you run, you sweat and then it doesn't feel so cold." he finished tying the kid's shoelaces and took her by the hand, then Sae picked up a scarf wrapped it carefully around her neck.

"Don't take it off." he warned, watching as she began squirming to get away from the scratchy scarf. "It's cold out, I don't want you getting sick."

"Okay, papa." he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before taking her free hand and not so subtly making Rin let go of her as he finally opened the front door. They were quickly hit by the cold winter air, and Mao shuddered a little at the sudden change in temperature.

Stil, Sae made sure his hand was holding hers tight and that she kept herself on his field of vision. There would be someday in the future where she wouldn't need him to hold her hand; he had to treasure these moments and not let her go while he still could.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König of the Icks

I’m sorry y’all, König is an ick magnet. He’s such an awful human being. Not because he’s genuinely vile or awful or morally fucked (okay a bit morally fucked), but simply because he does so many things that give the ick. He’s King of the Icks. He really is. He’s awful. So, with me breaking your bubble, let’s go over a few of the icks that I think are most prevalent. More posts of König icks to come.

König wears socks and sandals. Or socks and crocs. He’s awful. He only does it when he’s wading in the water, meaning he’ll walk around in wet socks for about an hour afterwards until they dry out. It’s so disgusting I cannot stress how awful it is. He tries to tell people that it’s safer and more comfortable, but he looks awful. It’s a fashion nightmare. No human should be wearing socks and sandals while wading in the water. In all fairness, he’s right, it does keep his feet safe, but does he really need the socks???

He wears clothes in the wrong size almost all the time. You tried to get him clothes in the right size, but he rarely wears them. He wears clothes too large because he says it’s ‘comfy’ but he looks like a slob. He’s so disgusting it hurts. He doesn’t even treat his clothes well because they collect spills and stains as he wears them for multiple days in a row. He’s had someone ask if he needs money for a bus ticket before. It was the one time in his life he realized how other people saw him. He’s since started to try to wear nicer clothing when going out. Around the house though? He looks terrible.

This wouldn’t be so much of an issue if he weren’t such a messy eater. He may look like a slob, but normally he’s very clean and neat in his habits. He cleans dishes immediately after using them, he sweeps and mops regularly, he has good personal hygiene and takes care of himself. He’s a generally clean person. That is until he sits down to eat. It’s awful because he takes bites that are too big and then it’ll fall out of his mouth and onto his shirt. He’ll then suck the stain to ‘get it out’ but it just makes things worse. He also uses his shirt as a napkin or towel, depending on the situation. He’ll also make pretty loud sounds when he eats, especially when he’s eating noodles or slurping a smoothie. If you think you’re lucky and these will be rare instances, he has a protein shake every morning and will have a bowl of buttered noodles at least once every other day (usually more).

Along this line, König got in deep shit for not having a white shirt when he was a new recruit. They asked him why he wasn’t wearing a white shirt, and he told them that it was, in fact, the standard issue white shirt. The sergeant pointed at all the other recruits in bleach white shirts, and then back at König’s grey shirt. They got into a huge argument, only for the drill sergeant to pale when he spun König around and read the tag because this grey piece of shit was a white t-shirt all along

König is an excellent cook. Why is this an ick? Because he doesn’t cook. He could, if he tried, but he’s too lazy so he just throws a day-old grilled cheese in the microwave and calls it done. He then has the nerve to complain that he’s hungry when all he’s eaten are old chips and candy bars. The only time he’ll consider cooking is if you ask him to cook or if he’s having company. Otherwise he will eat trash and you cannot stop him. He will, however, once a week or so lay out a full meal. It's beautiful and delicious, but you know he'll be eating leftovers for days, and then go back to a day of only junk food, then he'll finally force himself to cook again.

On the topic of food, König refuses to accept that food can expire. Just straight up. He doesn’t believe in expiry dates. ‘It’s a best by date, not an expiry date’ is his motto and he pays for it. At this point, he has a designated sick bucket because he gives himself food poisoning so often. All the others soldiers can’t believe that he’s fine with the MREs, but you know that when he comes home, he’ll be chowing down on stale bread he found in his fridge with moldy cheese. It’s disgusting and you have to regularly clean his fridge, lest he get sick eating things. He will also fish things out of the trash, so you have to be tactical in how you remove things. It’s a dangerous game.

This is just the tip of the iceberg of my König ick list. I’m telling you all that this man is a gremlin, and we love him for it. Part of the joy of dating König is dealing with his icks and suffering.

[lcriedlastnight]

Hello Beautiful!! I wanted to make a request for a fluffy lando one-shot with this audio:

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSYHshk8e/

I saw it on TikTok and I just thought like what if the reader nickname/middle name is ‘aurora’ like after the princess and lando likes to call her that and people pick up on it and ask him about it,(I don’t know what I was think about at that moment but I just had to make a request😭)

thank uu

anon love you are the best ever wtf. aurora was my favourite disney princess growing up this is so healing!

tw: fem!reader, swears maybe, me loving this idea but knot know what exactly to write (yes that is a warning)

w/c: 977

the first time lando had met your family he was utterly confused. you were all having a dinner for your family to meet lando and as soon as you walked in with lando, hand in hand, your grandma greeted you with a shout of "oh hello aurora! how are you sweetie?" she is walking over with open arms.

lando stands back to let you greet your grandma, now desperate to ask you about the name. your grandma loved lando just like the rest of your family. it seemed like your entire family called you by the name of the familiar disney princess. once he got over his confusion he did find it cute.

on the drive home lando had waited until you were out of your parents' street before he was asking you about it. his smile wide and eager to know what the backstory was behind the nickname. lando does keep his eyes on the road but he glances in your direction to revel in your flushed cheeks.

"i was completely obsessed with sleeping beauty when i was little. my gran started calling me and it just caught on. it's so embarrassing i actually forgot all about it until she said it, i'm so used to it." you confess, all shy.

lando cannot keep his smile hidden. "awe, baby. that's so fucking cute. can i call you aurora too?" he asks, desperate to be in on this too, especially after finding out how much you loved the character when you were younger. finding things like this out made him fall in love with you more and more every single time.

"lando!" you whine in annoyance think he was just taking the piss and just wanted to tease you about your childhood nickname. you were already so embarrassed and here he was trying to make it ten times worse.

"what? i'm being serious. i know you don't like it when i call you princess so this is kind of like my way around it, isn't it? because we both you know you're my passenger princess!" lando cannot help himself and throws in a little joke.

although it was lighthearted you could tell he was being serious and you thought your heart was going to melt. you agree to his idea because even if you did hate the idea (which you did not, not even for a millisecond) you could literally never say no to your boyfriend. he sure as fuck knew how to work those pretty little puppy dog eyes when he wanted to.

it did take a little of getting used to for lando. he had always been big on pet names and things like that so in that respect it was easy. he just found it difficult to switch from his usuals to 'aurora' but he loved the idea way too much to give up on it. the boy had even changed your contact name on his phone to ‘my aurora' which did make you swoon. you would never tell him that though, the boy's ego way far too big as it was.

eventually the both of you (lando more than you) fell into the swing of things. it had even gotten to the point where lando had started you calling the nickname to others around him, too.

both him and oscar were sat in the middle of an interview and one of the questions had been something along the lines of "top five best date ideas" and lando had immediately thought about where he had taken you and what you had seemed to like the most. he sat hard in thought, really trying hard with his answers. oscar goes first and describes his favourite date ideas to the interviewer.

"lando? what about you?" the man asks lando as he finally zones back in after his name is called out.

"uh i'm just trying to think where aurora likes to go. i like to go where she likes to go on dates." lando explains although it seems to confuse both boys further.

"aurora?" oscar asks. he then asks about you and how he had not informed him that you two had broken up, oscar seemingly forgetting that he was currently getting filmed at that exact moment. lando had not forgotten though. he stutters his way through his answer as oscar looks at him confused and the interviewer even more so.

"no i- we have." he sighs " we're still together. i just call her that. it's an inside thing." he does not feel like telling everyone why he calls you that. he wants to keep some things private if he can help it.

that night as lando recalls the moment to you while he lays with you in the hotel bed. he has you basically sitting on top of him, arms winding around you to keep you pressed against him. his chin rested on your head and you could feel his jaw moving as he spoke, refusing to move it from its resting place. you laugh in his arms at the incident.

"did you mean to?"

"no! i just slipped out. guess i've just got used to calling you that." lando laughs. it lights up your heart in a way you never know to be possible until you had met lando. he had made you feel things you had never felt before. the butterflies were tenfold with him. like when his mouth comes down to press a series of kisses into your hair as you hum.

"i thought i'd hate it but i actually love it." you inform him.

"you always give in to me eventually." lando smirks as he teases you.

you roll your eyes even though he cannot see you because you are hidden in his chest. you press a single kiss against his clothes chest before you mutter a 'goodnight' to your boyfriend.

[yallemagne]

why does sleepwalking women and gothic horror go hand in hand

You asking me?

The answer is voyeurism.

Here's the thing about gendered horror: the goddamn eroticism. You can't escape it, people want to get their rocks off even when they're terrified-- especially when they're terrified! It's such popular imagery because of the intimacy of a woman with all her hair let down in only a white nightgown highlighted by the pale moonlight. A nightgown is very innocent in its intimacy, there's nothing inherently sexual about it, but that just gets people even more horny! No structured garments underneath-- she's wearing breeches obviously but shhh no she's totally naked save for some sheer billowing fabric.

EDIT: oh my god blah blah blah "breeches! actually she wouldn't be wearing those!! oh my god, they got it wrong, just shoot them in the streets, your honour!" FINE SHE'S NOT WEARING ANY PANTIES UNDER THERE, GOOD FOR YOU YOU GOT ME.

Gasp! Unprotected purity! I sure hope no dastardly villain tarnishes this woman! (they do. they do hope for that actually)

This isn't a very fun answer, is it? But it's worth saying. Horror explicitly involving women tends to be very visual with plenty of (arguably) sexual imagery. Men get the mindboggling horrors inconceivable to the human psyche while women are limited to being eye candy who faint before their minds can even be boggled (no that isn't a euphemism). Even when the women in question previously had a larger role in the story than "sexy lamp", pop culture will be quick to reframe it in the way that has the most sex appeal.

But like... let's take the woman's perspective: you're in a state of undress and completely unaware of your surroundings. It's dark and anyone lurking around at this time might very well have bad intentions, and they might turn those bad intentions on you. And you'll be blamed for being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong dress. Terrifying. And people don't really appreciate the terror of it because... it's pretty, isn't it?

But then Lucy is weeping in her sleep, and Mina is covering her feet in mud for propriety. Because who knows what a man will do to them if he sees her naked feet? They're both cowering in fear hoping a drunken man doesn't take notice of them. Because who knows what he'll do to them if he sees two young ladies out at night? They're sweating from not just exertion but stress, and their messy hair clings to their frightened faces. They cannot tell anyone. Because who knows what toll this night might take on their good reputations?

It's not pretty. There's no see-through dresses (seriously their nightgowns are made of fucking linen, not organza), no flowing locks, no full faces of makeup, just pure society-ingrained horror.

But cis men don't typically understand that horror because they aren't usually victim to it. It honestly makes me sad and angry that the imagery is so prominent (and in such a watered-down and bland "sexy" way) because it reduces the actual horror these two protagonists face to nothing more than an audience's voyeuristic fantasy in which the women are only objects to be gawked at. The danger is reframed as tantalizing and enticing "ooo good girls (unknowingly) being bad in their sleep!" rather than... they could have fucking died. Or worse.

... But I still want to draw my girls (Jonathan, Mina, and Lucy) in cute nightgowns, so I'll bite my tongue.

[acewoo]

Jjk men Bf head-cannons

Note: pure fluff, Sfw Characters included: Gojo, Geto, and sukuna

Satoru Gojo

Gojo will send you tonssss of voice messages talking about literally anything. He’ll be on his couch laying down and he’ll send you a voice message about how the show he’s watching is so boring. “The female lead doesn’t even have any personality and is just there to make the male lead look good!” You’ll complain to him sometimes that he send too many of these voice messages but, he responds that it couldn’t be true because, you love the sound of his voice. (And to be fair you do listen to every one he sends.)

Gojo cannot cook for the life of him. Anytime you try to teach him something wrong will always happen. For example you tired showing him how to make spaghetti and meatballs which is simple enough, right? Wrong. Because Gojo, not only ended up burning the pasta (somehow which still boggles your mind to this day) but, the meatballs weren’t exactly balls… They were certainly meat, and they tasted like meatballs but… they were only shaped to say the least.

Gojo definitely spoils you. And anytime you try to tell him he's doing too much he’ll come up with an excuse for why buying you a 180.00 skirt was necessary. “Well I had to get it, it was the last one and it’d work perfectly for that Christmas party we're attending!” To clarify he was talking about, the Christmas party that was three months away. Of course in all fairness you wouldn't complain too much… It would look pretty nice on you.

Suguru Geto

Even the smallest gestures he does for you are full of thought. Whenever you're having a long day at work you'll usually text Geto about your frustrations. He's trying to be supportive as you rant and help you calm down. When you get home you’ll be welcome to a newly cleaned apartment and Geto in the kitchen finishing up making your favorite meal for dinner. When he sees your home he’ll immediately start talking to you “I’ll finish up here soon, how are you feeling?” The rest of night would end up being him taking care of you fully making you forget about work entirely.

This mf definitely remembers the small things within your relationship and he’ll remember things about you no one else will. For instance you disliked when people surprised you from behind. It wasn’t anything that majorly bugged you but, it made you feel uncomfortable. (Especially since you weren’t a huge fan of being touched) When Geto found this out when we you guys were out in public or hanging with a group of friends he’d always stay slightly behind you. When you questioned why he did this, he said it was so he could make sure no one will surprise you like that. Even though you insisted he didn’t have to he still did which you couldn’t help but love him even more for.

Sukuna

He’s possessive, like really possessive. (He swears he’s not though). Anytime your in public around people or not he’ll make it clear your his. Whether that’s an arm around your waist or being very intimate with you even if it’s not the most appropriate… Whenever it’s at places such as a club it’ll be even worse, not only will be touchy but his whole mind and body will be focused on you. (Even if he doesn’t realize it..) And that’s the thing he doesn’t realize he’s like that infact anytime you bring it up to him he swears you’re just overthinking things. Because, him, Sukuna being possessive over another person? Fucking ridicules. Totally not in denial.

One thing you wouldn’t expect from Sukuna would be him to be rather supportive of you and your decisions. Of course it wasn’t exactly the most traditional way people are supportive. But hey, it’s Sukuna nothing about him is ‘normal’. Sukuna is supportive in the way where you’ll feel insecure about wearing and he’ll give you a confused look. “Why the hell would yah not wear it?” Flushed you respond. “It makes me look bad like-“ “I don’t know what you’re on about I like how it looks on you so you’re wearing it.” And of course you weren’t going to argue with your bf so, you wear it. Throughout the day He’ll make comments about how good you look which make you blush. Of course it isn’t exactly the lovely dovey kind of comments but still.

[void-occupation]

Some Lee!Alastor Headcanons to Fuel My Brain

The lee!alastor tag has been painfully empty for the last few days, so I've decided to contribute a few headcanons of mine for you all to see and consider as you wish. Feel free to add on to this post with headcanons/rants/fics/whatever of your own if you want, I was just personally experiencing withdrawal symptoms and needed to fuel my addiction lol

(These are tickle headcanons for those unfamiliar with the terminology. If that isn't your thing, just scroll right on by)

First thing's first. Something I think everyone is sleeping on? Scalp massagers. Specifically the wire ones. I personally think those things are ticklish as fuck, and I'm far from the only one. The majority of us have come to the agreement that Alastor's ears are also ticklish as fuck. Just take a moment with me and imagine the potential:

Someone (probably Angel, or Lucifer) gets a scalp massager and is going around trying it on other hotel residents when they aren't paying attention. It's just for fun, and they're getting the typical reactions (jumping away, super startled, or just completely Unphased). Then, they manage to catch Alastor by surprise and do it to him, but instead of the typical reaction, Alastor startles before bursting out into staticky giggles. Alastor has no clue WHY it tickles so much, but it does, and he's practically paralyzed in a weird half-curled position as whoever has the massager just keeps running it over is head over and over. He can't try to escape, he can only giggle and babble out nonsense words, especially when the ends rub up against his ears which only makes it MORE ticklish, which he didn't think was possible. After the other demon shows mercy (and somehow isn't immediately slaughtered) Alastor develops a healthy fear of the massager, and grows incredibly anxious with anticipation and adorably flustered any time someone brings one out

Speaking of massagers brings me to my second headcanon. This man CANNOT get a massage or he will absolutely die. People who are tense can be more ticklish as a result, and since Alastor is already incredibly ticklish, having tense muscles makes this 100x worse. I have really tense shoulders, and any massage there immediately makes me hysterical, and I imagine Alastor would be the same. If he was comfortable enough to do so, he would be the kind of person to absolutely die if he were to get a full-body massage because it would tickle so damn much - even through the pain that comes with massages. Rosie likes to pretend to massage his shoulders and neck just so she can tell him to stop squirming and giggling so much because she's trying to help him

Another quick headcanon. I like to imagine that he's mostly covered in fur, and while it isn't terribly long in most places, it can still get tangled after a shower, or after being smothered by his clothes all day, so he has to brush it regularly. This is an absolute nightmare for him. Even when he's brushing his own fur, he has to stop every few seconds because he starts laughing too much in certain areas, like over his sides or belly for example. No matter how often he does it, he never gets used to the feeling, and it only gets worse if someone else (usually Rosie) does it for him. At least if he does it himself, he can stop once he starts laughing. It makes it take a long time, but it's less flustering. If Rosie (or Satan forbid someone else for whatever reason) brushes his fur, she usually tries to get a much done at once as she can, so she usually keeps going until he's begging for a break. Also, she thinks it's absolutely adorable, so she'll keep brushing areas that make him squeal long after all the tangles have been removed

Last one for now is that he can feel the static from people's phones. If he's close to someone when their phone rings, he can usually feel the static of it crawling teasingly over his skin. It usually isn't a big deal, but if someone is being bombarded by calls that they keep ignoring (let's say Valentino obsessively calling Angel Dust), the static quickly becomes overwhelming and he'll beg the person to answer their phone or turn it off, if straight up bashing it against the nearest wall isn't an option. It doesn't tickle a particular area, more of an all-encompassing tickle over his entire body. If he gets to the point of begging them to answer, it's usually because he can't hold his laughter and squirming anymore and is trying not to make a fool of himself. He feigns annoyance so people don't find out the real reason he wants the calls to stop. The secret comes out when Angel absolutely refused to answer Valentino one day, but didn't want to turn off his phone because he was in the middle of doing something on it, and Alastor finally broke and curled up where he sat, giggling hysterically and begging Angel to turn his phone off

That's all I have for now, I hope you enjoyed these headcanons. If you decide you like them enough to incorporate them into anything you write/draw, tag me!!! I'd move to see it. Also, as mentioned earlier, feel free to add onto this as you wish, I'd love to see how you all make these headcanons your own

[babybatscreationsv2]

Little symbrock treat for the monster smut fans

...

...

...

Romnoncon warning**

Eddie desperate to find work after after the Life Foundation fiasco goes to a couple of interviews to plead his case, but his new friend is just too excited about being inside a warm body after so long in the icy depths of space

He's trying everything from brute force to pleading to get the woman on the other side of the desk to give him a job. He'd even clean the toilets until he can prove himself as a journalist once again, but her lines are pressed thin and he knows she that she can't say how throughly her hands are tied, but just maybe he can find the right button to press

When he feels something wriggling inside him. Venom feels like fluid moving through veins he doesn't have. He's bored and he's searching for something interesting to do when he finds Eddie's dick

He jumps out of his chair, startling the woman across from him, but he recovers by dropping to his knees, hands out in front of him

"Please, I'm begging, here. I can't get any more desperate," he pleads. She sighs.

Venom's rumbling inside him, a noise he makes when he finds something curious. Usually, it's trash TV or a new brand of chocolate. Now it's the way Eddie's blood rushes south and his cock thickens and Eddie's mouth salivates. Venom rumbles so hard that can feel him vibrating like a cat

He stands and swallows and rubs his face. "Right, sorry," he says. "I get it."

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Brock. You're an excellent journalist..." she says. The way she looks at him is humiliating

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish I wasn't." He grimaces and turns away. "Thank you for your time," he says but he wants to tell her that she's a coward and a disappointment. That she or her bosses or whoever chose money over human lives. But he forgets about all of that as Venom learns how to create friction in his cock from the inside out.

Eddie almost trips, one hand catching him on the wall. Thank fuck no one's there. "Venom," he hissed.

"It feels good, Eddie," Venom purrs. "What is that?"

"It's uh..." he blushes. "It's nothing. Stop doing that!"

"But why? It feels good. You like it, Eddie."

"No. I do not." He moves away from the wall and starts walking. His legs wobble and he knows he looks drunk or worse, but he's determined to ignore him and it's not like he was going to get a call back anyway.

He can't spend money on the bus when his savings is running dry, so he walks home. And regrets ever having been born when Venom keeps it up.

"I said stop that," he hisses outloud. People turn their heads but he ignores them. He's hardly the only lunatic in San Francisco.

"But you didn't say why."

"Because... Because it's inappropriate."

Venom scoffs. "Why?"

"Because jacking off in public is creepy and gross."

"But why?"

Eddie sighs. Venom finds his balls and takes up playing with those, too. Eddie's vision goes funny for a second. "You're going to send me to the hospital."

"No. I can heal almost anything. You cannot be harmed as long as you're with me."

Eddie groans. "Just wait until we get home, alright?"

He's quiet for a moment. Then, "Fine."

Venom stops and Eddie sighs with relief. Only he's still hard and he really does need to take the edge off. After a moment, Venom starts moving around again. He barely notices until he feels something stimulating his nipples.

"What the hell- stop that!" He hisses again. His hands cover his chest, but it doesn't do him again.

"We are not masturbating," Venom argues.

"That definitely counts as masturbating," Eddie counters. He grimaces at a man passing him by.

"But it's not your genitals. And it feels good here, too, Eddie."

"I know it does. Just wait. No more feeling good." Eddie gasps. He's stunned to realize just how close he is. Venom keeps playing with him and with Eddie's guard down, moves back to touching his cock. Only now he's doing both. Eddie moans. Then he runs.

He turns down an alley and leans against the wall. "V- Venom-" he gasps.

Venom purrs. "That feels good, Eddie. So good. It keeps getting better."

"Yeah..." Eddie pants. He closes his eyes. He can't help himself. Then Venom in all his exploring finds his ass. When Eddie whimpers in response he knows he's found a fun knew spot to play with. There's friction inside him. All the way inside. So much deeper than cock or object could ever reach.

Eddie's drooling on himself. His fist is clenched against the wall. He needs to cum or he might die. He yanks open his pants and grabs his cock. In two strokes he cums, head tipping back and moaning, cumming splatting the wall, the ground, his shoes.

Venom keeps going. Just for a moment until then pain of overstimulation creeps in, then he withdrawls.

"What was that?!" he demands.

"That," Eddie pants. "Is called an orgasm."

"I want more of those. That's almost as good as chocolate."

"No more in public, okay? That's something we do at home, got it? I'm not trying to get arrested."

"Fine. But we do it again when we get home."

Eddie sighed, but he couldn't argue.

[unformula1]

please. (LS2 x OP81)

logan finally has to confront his deepest want. part 3 of "changed" part 2 w/c: 968 day 33/34 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium!!!(series masterlist) masterlist tw: swearing

You are a disappointment.

People don’t like you.

You’re an outcast.

Failure.

Logan suppresses everything he’s feeling right now: anger, rage, regret, sadness, guilt. Everything bottled up in his heart.

Pathetic.

His eyes shut tightly, but everything is clearer than crystal. All of it. Every lasting second of it feels like another shot in the heart. Every striking minute feels like salt poured into the wound. Every memory feels like a twisting dagger.

Logan starts sobbing more violently, bringing his knees up and burying his head in them. His sobs echo around the room, bouncing off the walls and back into his ears.

Worthless.

Logan whispers repeatedly, doing everything to get his thoughts away. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

His door opens.

Shit.

“Yo, Logs, I’m heading-” Alex’s voice is heard.

Logan keeps his head buried, he’s not going to let Alex see him like this.

As if this couldn’t get any worse, he hears Lando in the background. Some muffled voices but he’s with Alex.

“Mate, are you alright?” Alex’s voice softens.

Then he hears footsteps. Alex is walking closer to him, he keeps his head buried tightly, his knees press hard against his head. 

Alex’s hand touches Logan’s back, which makes him flinch. He shuts his eyes tightly and breathes.

“You said this would take a few seco-” Lando’s voice can be heard, “Oh.”

Logan continues to keep his head down as Alex sits down next to him. 

“Logan?”

Oscar? It’s Oscar’s voice. 

Logan can feel more tears brimming, but he continues to silence his sobs. 

More footsteps can be heard entering his room, the door closing afterward. Logan doesn’t react. 

“You good?” Lando kneels down in front of Logan.

Logan remains stoned in his position. How’s he going to respond, what will he even say? A tear escapes his eye and drops onto the bench cushion, Logan feels a sting in his throat.

He doesn’t know where exactly Oscar is in the room right now, but he just hopes Oscar leaves soon. He cannot let Oscar see him like this, let alone let Oscar know that Logan has been crying about him.

He shuts his eyes and hopes they all leave soon.

“Logan.” Oscar says and Logan almost feels like breaking down into tears. 

A few seconds of silence follows and he feels a weight lift off the cushion. Then footsteps, then the door opening, then the door closing.

“Logan.” Oscar’s repeats, “It’s just me now.”

That does not make Logan feel any better. Logan hates this. He wants to see Oscar but not like this. 

Oscar clears his throat and slides Logan’s phone under his knees so he sees it. His fatal mistake.

“You’re crying about me.” Oscar deapans. 

Straightforward as usual.

Now what? You’re pathetic Logan. You suck Logan.

More thoughts fog up his head. Possible outcomes, all of them are bad. 

Oscar laughs at Logan and leaves.

Oscar makes fun of Logan and calls him a sad pathetic loser.

Oscar’s hand stroking Logan’s back almost makes him flinch violently but he resists doing so. 

Oscar’s hand continues stroking up and down.

Maybe Oscar would tell everyone and embarrass him.

Oscar calls him pathetic.

“I won’t talk about it if you don’t want me to.” Oscar’s voice is soft, like when Oscar used to talk to Logan.

Is he mocking Logan?

This has got to be a joke, some sick joke. He’s probably being filmed right now.

Logan finally shakes his head. He hates his thoughts right now, they all press down on the back of his head, stopping him from lifting it up and just looking at Oscar.

“Logan, will you please… look at me.” Oscar pleads, his voice growing with concern, “I just want to see that you’re okay.”

No. NO. NO.

The voices resound louder in Logan’s head.

“Logan please.” Oscar’s voice pleads even more.

“Just for a while.” Oscar continues.

NO.

He wants to lift his head up, look at Oscar. Everything else doesn’t want him to. His mind fills up with every single bad outcome possible, all the dreaded thoughts pull him deeper into the abyss.

Logan shakes his head again.

“Just leave me alone.” Logan says, holding back his sobs.

Oscar’s hand leaves Logan’s back and it feels empty now.

Logan feels like slamming his head against a wall. What the hell is wrong with him?

“Logan, I just want to-” 

And then, just as if some external force takes over his body, he shouts, “PLEASE. JUST LEAVE.”

A small gasp escapes Oscar’s mouth and he gets up, leaving the room.

FUCK FUCK FUCK

Logan breaks down. He doesn’t hide the sobs anymore, he cries. The tears flow down his cheeks. 

What was he thinking?

Pathetic.

Failure.

Worthless.

Of course he fucked up, what was new? Logan Sargeant, the man of all mistakes, the mistake of all mistakes. 

He punches the cushion again. 

Logan just wishes he was better in everything he did. Then maybe he wouldn’t be such a disappointment. People would stop worrying so much about if he made it out alive. Everything would be so much easier.

You deserve every failure you have.

You were the problem.

You failed.

-------

A few minutes, maybe hours, pass and Logan can feel the dried up marks of tears on his face, staining his cheeks. His eyes are puffy red and his throat stings from sobbing.

He just imagines how Oscar is having fun with Lando and Alex right now, enjoying life and forgetting about Logan.

Nothing new. Mr Unmemorable. Mr Forgettable.

He wipes whatever tears can be wiped off and gets up, slotting his phone into his pocket. He straightens out his clothes and takes a deep breath, walking toward his door.

It’s late already, everyone’s probably left.

He opens the door and walks out.

“Logan-”

[aeligsido]

Hellooo! Because I cannot resist it. How is Daisy-raised-by-the-dursleys? I feel like having a sibling at least, does it make it better? Oh. And it just occured to me. Daisy would be left alone for two years, wouldn't she, when Harry goes to hogwarts?

AAAAAH I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED!!!

Daisy, at her core, is brave, smart, curious, and kind, no matter how (or by who) she's raised (she's also pretty stubborn). But it does translate differently in her words & actions depending on which!

For example — she likes to know things. When her parents raise her, it's because they fostered and nurtured her natural curiosity, and made her want to know things. When she's raised by the Dursleys? She needs to know to better protect herself and Harry. It's less about curiosity and more about the safety of knowledge.

So, with that being said—

Daisy raised by the Dursleys is quiet, observing, because she learned it was the best way to deal with them and anticipate their moods. She's pretty skittish, and like Harry, has a hard time trusting people, adults in particular (even more so after he tells her everything that happened in his two first years at Hogwarts!!). She's kind of always on the defense, waiting for the other shoe to drop, especially with settings & people she's unfamiliar with. By the time HBP comes around, for example, she's pretty at ease around the Weasleys and Hermione, at Hogwarts, or with the people in her dormitory.

And like Harry, her bravery tends to go toward self-sacrifice a lot of time. She's very protective of the people she loves, and kind of internalized that she's less important than,,, anyone, hence the self-sacrificing thing.

She also holds grudges like no one else, especially when it's a matter of betraying her or her brother. Always worse when it's her brother, even! OotP was hell for her, she was angry at everyone, probably argued with so many students, ended up in detentions so many times, etc. Harry was angry because he was grieving and traumatized, she was angry because they were all hurting her brother (and she couldn't help). Also she loathes Rita so much.

And aaaaaah Harry & Daisy's relationship in those circumstances is something I love bc. A lot of angst!!! They were always aware they only had each other in life, so they're very protective of each other. Harry assumes that as the older one he has to be the one protecting her (and she always feels safe with him, no matter what — she always finds comfort with him) but she does protect him too, as much as she can. Mostly because she hates seeing him hurt. They're each other's most important person (she's the one in the lake in GoF, not Ron!), and it shows. They usually don't really hide anything from each other, either. They may not say things right away, but they will end up doing it still! Honesty is important for them and between them.

And yeah, as you say, it's a bit easier to have a sibling by their side when raised by the Dursleys! They can support each other and help each other out — they have less chores, or at least they can do it together and create games out of it! But it's also harder, because they have to see each other being hurt, and the Dursleys absolutely use one to hurt/control the other. If Harry tries to escape Dudley and his gang, Dudley tells him they'll go after Daisy. If Daisy burns the food, Harry will have to eat it (even if it's carbonized). And in general, if one is punished, so is the other!

So, it's a bit of both.

Also, yes! She does spend two years alone with the Dursleys while Harry is at Hogwarts, which is. Not great. I do have a lot of ideas about all of this — mainly, Lily's second pregnancy was very secret, with only a handful of people knowing about it (partly because they were in hiding, partly because either the people they would have told were dead, partly because Lily wasn't sure who they could trust anymore). So, of course, Sirius knew, as well as Remus, Peter, and Mary (Macdonald). Add to this Dorcas (who was Lily's healer), and Dumbledore, who last saw Lily when she was very obviously pregnant. Generally, I also add Alice & Frank (Longbottom) bc i HC them as close friends (with James & Alice knowing each other since they were toddlers).

(Peter was going to be her godfather, btw :D)

And out of all of them... Well outside of Sirius, who was here in the aftermath of the attack, and Dumbledore, who dropped them off at the Dursleys (and you can add Hagrid & McGonagall here), no one knows she's alive. There was nothing about her in the newspapers, just about Harry surviving the Killing Curse and James and Lily dying, and since her birth was not announced, they assumed she died with Lily. (So at the beginning of PoA Remus has an instant where he thinks he's hallucinating lmao.)

People are going to be very surprised when it'll come to her Sorting! (She's a Gryffindor all the way.)

So! Harry's first year, she goes to Diagon Alley with him & Hagrid. Her and Harry had a convoluted plan about getting her to Hogwarts secretly so she would be away from the Dursleys but it just never happened because the Dursleys locked her up before dropping Harry at King's Cross. The year is pretty hard on her but she does her best to make it better! She exchanges letters with Harry (Hedwig knows to only come at night and be very quiet), she manages to sneak into Diagon Alley a few times and sit down in a corner of the bookshop to read about this new world, and when she has moments alone she tentatively tries to make her magic work without a wand. (She's pretty successful too!) Harry still stays at Hogwarts for the holidays (she convinces him to), and he sends her a gift bought with his (!!!!) own money. She doesn't know how to access her vault (she thinks she'll get turned down if she doesn't have the key), so she sends him a homemade gift as usual. Harry mentioned her to Ron and Hermione (not a lot because he's still protective and he feels like he has to hide her to keep her safe), so when Ron tells his mom about Harry, he tells her about Daisy too (he tries to keep it vague as to not betray Harry though). So she gets a Weasley gift too!! She's overjoyed and specifically makes a gift for both Molly and Ron, as a thank you. And that's about it!! She spends the rest of the year trying to stay away from the Dursleys (Vernon is even more awful than usual, Petunia is hot and cold bc she misses her son and wants to coddle someone but also ugh magic u know), and doing what she has been doing. Harry and Daisy hug a lot when he comes back (they've never been apart so long before).

The beginning of CoS is basically the same — Dobby comes by, messes things up, and they get terribly punished for it, Ron and the twins come to save Harry. Harry refuses to leave without Daisy, so they sneak her in. She's amazed by the Burrow but also very very quiet and constantly hiding behind Harry. He's not phased, but Ron is very confused (mostly that it doesn't annoy Harry, because if Ginny did that with him he would hate it).

(Bonus points for imagining Scabbers' reaction to seeing Daisy lmao. He probably didn't catch Harry mentioning her before, and here she's in, in the flesh, the girl who would have been his goddaughter. Feel the regret, Peter.)

The Weasleys have to send her back when the summer is over, though :C Molly did want to keep her with them (she wasn't happy about the empty and hey!!! new daughter!!), but it just couldn't happen. The Dursleys are not happy, and she does get punished for what happened, but otherwise things go the same way as the year before. Harry doesn't tell her everything about the petrifications & all right away (he only does it when he's back for the summer), and they both get a bit confused because Daisy is a Parselmouth, too (which doesn't quite work with Dumbledore's theory about why Harry is one).

For PoA — well, Marge is her delightful self once again, she gets blown up like a balloon but neither Harry nor Daisy is sure which one of them did that, and they run away together. They end up at the Leaky Cauldron, meet Fudge (who has a moment of utter confusion when seeing Daisy because he has no idea who she is), get a room for two, and have a blast for the two (three?) weeks they live here. She also has to do her first year shopping, which she's excited about, and they do it together! Which is great! The whole Sirius Black thing is a bit worrying, even more so when Harry learns he's apparently the target, but oh well. Daisy decides to be optimistic. Then they meet the Dementor on the train — Harry has the same reaction as in canon, of course (what he hears changes slightly). Daisy reacts very badly too! She completely freezes up, and basically dissociates. Remus thought for a moment here (when he comes back and she's still not doing well) that she got Kissed with how vacant she looks. (After the Quidditch match, she ends up in the infirmary for the whole weekend.) So that's not a very great start for her first year.

The rest is better, but still bittersweet — she's amazed and curious about everything, but scared by all the new things and people and easily overwhelmed. Also, Snape is creepy and looks at her weird (she looks like her mother). Good point is, ofc, Professor Lupin™, and Daisy joins Harry in his Dementors lessons! She doesn't manage to get anything but a small silver cloud, but she's just a first year, so that's still pretty amazing lmao. (She keeps on training the following years, just in case.) She's very fond of Hagrid too, so she follows Buckbeak's case closely (her best friend is a Ravenclaw by the name of Astoria Greengrass, and she helps her out). Which means she's here when the night™ happens. (The Golden Trio caught her sneaking out and took her with them.) Things really much go the same way, with Sirius promising both Harry and Daisy to take them in, the Full Moon, Peter escaping, the Dementors. She's totally knocked out after so she misses the time travel, though :C (she's knocked out for days to the point they're worried they'll have to get her transferred to St Mungo, which also means she misses Remus leaving, and she's not happy about it.)

GoF goes the same — Quidditch World Cup, attack, Triwizard Tournament, etc. She obviously never believes Harry would put his name in, and yells at the other Gryffindors who plans a party that Halloween's night. She's Harry's most important person, as said previously, and she manages to get herself invited because she wants to go to the Yule Ball too!! She's staying at Hogwarts anyway!! I'm hesitating a bit if she rushes to Harry right away after he and Cedric appear again, and follows him and fake-Moody, or not. Probably yes. In any case, they end up cuddling in his infirmary bed bc she needs the reassurance he's still here (Padfoot's here too!) (Harry probably snuck her out of Hogwarts once or twice so she could visit Sirius in his cave lmao.)

OotP... Idk if she would be here when the Dementors attack or not. I'm not sure yet. She goes to Grimmauld Place, of course, and also she asks Remus to be her godfather because Harry has one and she wants one too (Sirius is laughing his ass off). Remus is flaggerbasted but accepts. She absolutely hates Umbridge, joins the DA, and she comes to the Ministry at the end. I think it would be the year where she really starts wondering about the connection between Harry and Voldemort, and tries to look into it. Ginny says it's not possession and she trusts her, so it must be something else, and she's determined to find out what.

Again, the main events of HBP don't change. She knows about the prophecy (re: Harry and Daisy not hiding anything important from each other), meets Slughorn with Harry, and while she's not in the office with Dumbledore and Harry Harry still tells her about what happened there. Not the details, but the basis, at least, so she ends up knowing about the Horcruxes (she doesn't link it up to Harry right away, though). She's not here in the cave, but she participates in the battle.

For DH, she's probably smuggled out of Privet Drive before Harry, maybe at the same time as the Dursleys. She's not going with them, though, lmao. She ends up at the Burrow too, helps out with the wedding, and is very happy about it. Idk if Dumbledore would leave her something. When the DE attacks the wedding, Remus is the one to take her with him out of danger, so she stays with him for a bit. Either they get found out or she tries to go back to Hogwarts, but in any way the DE tries to get her to use her against Harry, fails, and she ends up living at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur during the whole year. She sees Ron when he ends up here and they talk a bit, and then months later she gets reunited with her brother!! Harry updates her on the Horcruxes and everything she helps them out with their plans. She can't come though. She does come to Hogwarts with Luna and Dean for the Battle :D Harry is not Happy™ but she doesn't care, it's her fight too, and she's not leaving him alone in it. She kind of does her own things during the first half of the battle (mostly surviving, trying to find her friends, etc), and then waits for Harry when he's watching Snape's memories. She kind of guessed the Horcrux thing by now, but hoped to be wrong. She makes him swear to come back and then let him go alone in the Forest. She's devastated when Voldemort says he's dead, but then well, the rest happens and she knows he's alive :)

And that's. About it. For Daisy raised by the Dursleys. Jsjdndjndjdbfb I realize that I. Wrote a lot. Probably a lot more than what you expected. Sorry!!!! I couldn't stop. But also while I do have fics planned with her none is a fic following her during her school years in a canon-universe-but-she-exists so... Yeah kdjdjf.

Congrats if you read all of that, and thank you so much! ❤️✨🥰

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

87 for 🪞:

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Not long after that, she starts puking. 

“She must have caught Carla’s stomach bug,” he tells Eddie over the phone. “I’m really sorry to have exposed you to it.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Eddie says. “I have years of built up parent immunity from Chris. You, on the other hand? Are fucked.” 

“Parent immunity? Is that a thing?” Buck challenges. 

“When I came back from Afghanistan I got sick all the time. Every little bug going around Christopher’s school, I got it. Last few years? Nothing.” 

“Maybe Chris was washing his hands more, man,” Buck reasons. 

Eddie chuckles. “Either way, I’d put money on me being fine and you getting sick.”

Buck sighs. “Any advice?”

“Buckets everywhere,” Eddie counsels. “Do not trust a six year-old to make it to the toilet.” 

It’s going to be a long fucking night. 

v.

The next morning, it takes Buck longer than it should to realize he is also sick. Which is comical, because he was fully expecting it. It’s just that, after a night of not sleeping for more than forty minutes at a time, cleaning vomit off the bathroom floor, and soothing Dove as she went through what seemed particularly hellish, he just thought he was tired. 

Usually, though, exhaustion doesn’t lead to puking. Usually. 

He’d had enough foresight to keep the contents of his stomach relatively mild. So it’s not as painful as it might have been. But it’s still a stomach flu. The kind that leaves your throat burning and your bache aching and your stomach and ribs sore from wretching. The kind that leaves you feverish and delirious. 

He’s been through it all before, of course. Hell, he’s had comparable hangovers, in the worst of his party days. Point is, Buck knows how to be sick. He can handle it. Except, usually, he’s on his own. He’s never been this sick while someone was depending on him. And that’s sort of scary. 

Dove sleeps most of the morning, to make up for what she missed overnight. During which time, Buck is progressively getting worse. He texts Eddie to say he was right, Buck is fucked, and then hopes that Dove stays asleep until he’s over the hill of this, so to speak. 

She does not. 

Dove wakes up with a new life breathed into her. She’s not better. She stills ‘feels icky’ and doesn’t want to eat anything other than dry Cheerios. But she’s got some of her energy back, and she’s functional. But Buck is not. He’s struggling and getting worse. He keeps retching straight bile and he can hardly stay focused to save his life. Everything that touches his skin hurts. He’s sweating and freezing. He wants to lay on the bathroom tiles and moan. 

He cannot. He needs to take care of Dove. 

Dragging a long empty paint bucket around the house with him so he can hurl at a moment’s notice, Buck does his best. He sets her up on on the end of the couch with a box of Cheerios and a water bottle and a bucket of her own in case she needs to puke again. He puts Phineas and Ferb on the TV from the very beginning. The length of a single movie might not be enough and she hasn’t seen this show before. It’ll keep her attention. He makes sure she knows how to use the remote. 

“I’ll be right here with you, okay?” He says. “But if I get sick or fall asleep, and you need to pause, you can. If you need anything you need to tell me, because my head is super fuzzy.”

“Okay, Buck,” she says. “Sorry I made you sick.”

“No, sweetie,” he says. “You didn’t. That’s just how germs work.”

“Germs?” Dove asks.

“That’s what makes people sick,” he explains. “But don’t worry, we’ll both be okay.”

Then, he lays curled on the other end of the couch, bucket in front of him, in the best position he can manage to not feel like he’s on the edge of death. And though he doesn’t mean to, it’s not even two episodes in before Buck falls asleep. 

▪️▪️▪️

He opens his eyes to the sound of a voice that isn’t silly or cartoonish or Dove’s. Deep. Male. Familiar, but out of place. 

“-crackers,’ it’s saying. “And ginger ale. But you’re going to want to let it go flat.”

“Soda isn’t flat, Eddie.”

Eddie.

A warm chuckle. “No, no. That just means, the bubbles go away.”

[princelylove]

Hello Your Highness!!! It’s been a while from me and I am extremely apologetic. I’ve had the thought of Leone and his addictions stuck in my mind. How does life with him go by with him being an alcoholic? Is there anything he may do while inebriated that he wouldn’t do sober? I love your writing and I’d love to hear what you think about this.

I'll forgive you, this once.

Life with an alcoholic is always going to be hard, especially if you love them. They say things they do not mean, they do things they usually wouldn't do. Alcohol is one of those things that depend on the person. Some people are whiny drunks, some people get really bitchy, some people want to fuck the can it came in, some people look at a stranger twice their size and think 'Yeah I'd win that.' Who knows.

Leone is addicted to harming himself. He just cannot stop. He tries, but he always ends up relapsing, no matter his support system. He always tells himself it could be worse, he could've went for something way harder, but a vice is still a vice, and alcohol hurts him just as much as he craves.

Leone is a crybaby when he's drunk. It's free humiliation. He weeps over the smallest of things- Guido told him to fuck off earlier when he asked for a slice of the pizza they ordered, and he was clearly joking because he still cut it for Leone, but Leone just can't stop. Everyone's so mean to him. Weird guy.

He'll work himself into a fit every time he's inebriated. There's always something to sob over. It's too bright in this room. You looked at him funny the other day. You hate him. He kidnapped you. You like Guido more. You like Narancia more. You think he's annoying. You didn't like the movie he put on. You think the music he listens to is stupid. The oven beeped. There's a bird outside and life is beautiful and maybe he shouldn't kill himself. The doorbell rang. There's a commercial on the television about puppies dying and needing a home. He's a weak man.

It really depends on why he's drinking- sometimes he just cries the whole time, sometimes he desperately wants you to manhandle him and turn him into a whore. It really depends. He's a bit moody, you can't really tell if he's going to cling or if he's going to hide from you beforehand. It's usual for him to both hide and hover, but the touching is new. Some days you may not even see him, other days you can't get him off of you. Arms around your waist, head on your shoulder, buried into your neck. He loooves you, why can't you love him, he's so obsessed with you....

He'll just zone out thinking about you taking him, sometimes. Drink in hand, staring at your face while you talk to him about- God, he has no idea. He just can't stop thinking about you inside of him. If you don't have the proper tools for it, he'd buy you one. A pretty one, with a nice harness, in whatever color you wanted. He'd take a pretty pink strap-on with a bow at the base if that's what you were into. Oh, yeah, sure, he can cook later...

He'd never actually be so clingy with you when he's sober. 'Sober.' He doesn't deserve to touch you, he doesn't deserve to be near you, but it's like his hands move on their own. They never go where they want to go- your waist, your hips, your legs... but they do grab quite a bit. He feels a sort of shame even when he's drunk, but he's genuinely just trying to be as close as possible. He wants your bodies to merge so he can never let you go. He's not being handsy- handsy would be if he groped you, or moved your clothes- he's just being touchy because he loves you.

None of that is really bad, is it? He's not really making moves, because Leone hates himself too much to really go for it. He could grope you, he could force something, but he's never going to. It's always just hugs and shoving his face into you, he doesn't even kiss. Or inhale too much. Maybe just a little.

The issue is when you take it away from him, because he's a giant mush and nothing gets done when he's just making a mess of himself all day.

His hangovers are pretty bad. Usually he makes a 'cure' for himself in the morning and deals with the consequences, but usually that just means another, smaller glass. So resourceful. If he doesn't have any, he gets bitter, and alllll of the hard work he put in to make you believe he's genuinely a mush is getting washed down the drain.

It's probably the first time he outright insults you or tells you to shut up. His head hurts, beat it. Of course he regrets such a thing later- you're divine, he never should've spoken to you like that, but he'll do it again the second he hasn't had a drink in a while. What a worthless, spineless bastard that doesn't deserve you. Maybe he should hurt himself in other ways.

Just kidding, that man is never letting himself run out of wine. The real issue is his lack of consideration for anyone but himself. It's selfish to get absolutely wasted every day and pawn the responsibility of an entire human being onto somebody else. An entire human being, that's probably scared out of their mind, doesn't know where anything is, and probably hates him for what he's done. God. He doesn't deserve grace, of course he always ends up in a pile on the floor. A man of his caliber should never be near good things- he doesn't deserve the clean up. Just toss him in the trash, where he belongs. Ohh, that's too much to put on you, he'll do it himself.

It's nearly impossible to get anything done without him. It's unfair to Guido- who VOICES that it's not fair to him- to put all the housework on him because he wanted a drinky drink. Guido didn't ask for a whole other person! This is such bullshit! He's a busy guy, do your part of the chore chart, dude! They've got a ton of jobs to do- he's not working two different repo jobs in a day just to come home to a sink full of dishes and no spoons left. Grow up, dude.

Leone's darling can make themself useful and help out, but it'd just make him feel worse. Of course you're picking up after him now. He's such a burden.

When he sobers up enough, he'll fix everything without a word, and pretend nothing happened.

[ms0milk]

𝟔 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐛𝐚

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You dread what would have happened if His Highness accompanied you here. You dread what you would have to do to this crowd to keep them from touching him."

cw bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics, reader is a bit scantily clad (thin nightgown) and someone has big feelings abt it. temporary sense of claustrophobia, descriptions of a very crowded room. i love aizawa i love uraraka i love kirishima i love poor deku i hope you enjoy this protective fluff. 4.1k

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Uraraka Ochako is functioning on four hours of sleep and a few well timed snacks. She’s led morning stretches for the first-shift guards, floated smithing equipment to the forge, freed a bird from the clocktower, and worked Sero’s horrible tape off the back of a fireproof Alderan cloak.

Since midnight it’s been nothing but Alderans pilling up in the courtyard. Every time staff thought they’d collected the last of them, two more would tumble through the gates– one fell from the fucking sky. Captain Hawks deployed from the garrisons at the sight of a flare and dropped Kirishima on castle grounds, crispy, an hour later.

Uraraka has made her morning rounds four times over and polished her cuisses to thinning. She helped Miss Nemuri battle the Alderan Prince to bed and found furs for singed Kirishima. Even off-duty she’s still in her greaves and chausses because without weight on her legs she’d get so distracted she might simply float away. She couldn’t sleep. Not when there was one person missing all night. Until half an hour ago, everyone from the forest fire was accounted for except for Master Aizawa.

When she enters the throne room ahead of you, he’s standing beside the queen no worse for his usual wear. There are a menacing amount of people squeezed inside and the wall of open windows does nothing to make the crowd less oppressive. Off-shift guards, generals, military personnel, butlers, even the kitchen staff are sprinting to try and provide the unexpected guests with appropriate refreshments. You look pale when Uraraka checks behind her, and feel cold in her hand.

“Y/n?”

You nod, but don’t quite look at her. You’re busy peering out at the seagulls flying past and stumbling on your nightgown hem, like crossing the threshold of the throne room stripped you of all the coordination you displayed just minutes ago. The hodgepodge of royal advisors have squeezed into this modest room for an emergency meeting, but they’re shouting and squabbling like a group of children loud enough to deafen horses at the edge of town. They’re here because of the flame mage.

Uraraka stops trying to navigate through the crowd and turns to you, “Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m alright.”

Do you realize you’re whispering? Or that you answered too quickly?

She pulls your hand a bit and steps even closer, “Is it like last night– like the poison?”

One voice cannot be heard over another, one face cannot be seen for long before moving behind a chest or shoulder or otherwise being walked in front of. Uraraka realizes it was silly to take you from the hospital directly to the queen, even if you were requested. She should have objected. To be fair to herself, she didn’t anticipate the chaos.

A gentleman trips on the corner of a rug and causes enough of a fuss around the pair of you that you’re being bumped by guests from all angles. You look agitated.

“Do you need a chair?”

“Just tell me what your queen needs from me.”

The sound of your heartbeat shouldn’t be so loud in your ears considering the low hum of hundreds of voices around you. You realize you’re staring at the floor and when you look back up, Uraraka stands just inches away with a grounding hold on your hand. She's warm too, like Kirishima. Too warm, she’s too close to you and her hold is too tight.

There’s a bit of movement in the space beside your head and taking a second to focus, Uraraka spies a shock of green hair bumbling through the throng towards her. She knows this particular friend will not be a huge help in this particular moment but what she doesn’t anticipate is your light footwork the second he breaks through the crowd. Poor Deku. He would have been okay if he hadn’t steadied himself on your shoulder after wrestling free of the crowd.

“Hey Och–!”

With eyes still unfocused and balance still off, you kick a foot between his legs, take solid hold of his hand, and then he’s flying– fully airborne– over the back of your head and onto the marble floor. Uraraka barley pushes a pair of diplomats behind her fast enough to keep his red boot from knocking out any teeth. A hush ripples immediately through the crowd.

“Deku you can’t just grab people!”

The short young man gapes up at you from the spot where you have him pinned to the floor. Freckles and nervous eyes, a slight smile, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back immediately.

“That’s enough!” Another voice, a tired voice, breaks through the mortifying silence and kick-starts the chaos again. You release your hold on the boy who is quick to pick himself up and bow his head, but people are moving, generals or ordering, waitstaff are fussing, all around you again. You don’t have Uraraka’s hand to hold. The boy could be apologizing, his mouth is moving for sure, Uraraka is gone– you’re trying to excuse yourself to a young woman whose foot you’ve tread, but she’s replaced by an old man in blue cloaks, then he’s replaced by a spindly child with a silver horderve tray and it’s becoming terribly difficult to stay afloat.

“Y/n,” The tired voice becomes clear again. You raise your head and Aizawa is standing in front of you, borne from the crowd pushing past. He takes another step forward and it’s so much easier to concentrate on his dark coat in the colorful chaos.

He doesn’t seem to be burned, or maimed, or...ghostlike, and he is not phased by the swarms of expensively dressed men shouldering past the pair of you. You don’t know where the boy or Uraraka went and you haven’t introduced yourself to the queen who must be in here s–

“Y/n.”

“Yes, sir.” You snap back to attention.

Aizawa’s caught your eyes wandering to the windows again and when he says your name it’s low and clear, “May I?” You nod. He pinches the collar of your nightgown with his long fingers and clasps the silver neckline closed with a brooch. “You’re in the throne room. How do you feel?”

“Well, sir.”

“You were injured last night, do you feel any side effects?”

“I’m–my thoughts, are fuzzy.”

Panic subsides with nothing to focus on but the man in front of you. He stands close and works slowly. When your eyes are no longer pounding with your pulse you take a glimpse of his handiwork at your chest and melt a little at the shining dragontooth below your collarbone. White and unburnt, heavy and familiar. Aizawa rests his hand over your chest when he finishes his adjustments and your heartbeat slows considerably under the pressure. No one bumps into you anymore.

“You were very brave last night Y/n, thank you.”

You think you thank him in response but you’re having a difficult time taking your eyes off his hand where that pressure keeps your lungs from overflowing with panic. You close them instead.

“You’re in the throne room, are you meant to be here?”

“Yes sir.”

“You don’t like tight spaces do you?”

“I’m alright, sir.”

“It helps to focus on one thing in a situation like this.” He lifts from your dragontooth and replaces the warmth with two hands on either shoulder. Briefly, he glances over your head to the crowd undulating, not daring to crash into the black guard, before tipping his head back down, “What are your orders? You should be in bed.”

The presence of the crowd beyond their clicking howling and clinking is only in the absence of fresh air to breathe. The overwhelming chaos of the room is subdued now, dull save for seagull cries, and Master Aizawa watches on patiently like he knows that he’s the reason for your peace.

How many orders had you received this week? You blink a few times as you remember and become fully aware of the tragedy of your mission; Queen Mitsuki’s letter to Her Majesty Todoroki, one of the only two things you were tasked with protecting, is ash in a forest miles away.

“I– have no orders. I was requested for an audience.”

“Unhand me!”

Aizawa’s hand at your shoulders becomes a grip when new noise vibrates from a far corner of the room. 

“– if you don’t–!”

A horrible tide overcomes the crowd, slowly at first, then the pull of a thousand eyes, heads and legs towards the sound of the commotion. Exactly what you always dread, the sea of people begins to churn and it is never the threat of the crowd that chills you but what a crowd can do to itself.

One voice becomes many, becomes shouting over the single note of chatter. They’re fighting, someone has started a fight in the throne room and you haven’t even managed to catch a glimpse of the queen or her mighty entourage yet so the room must be vast and the crowd must be plenty and there is a much higher chance than you’re comfortable with, of stampede.

The old guard doesn’t have time to be gentle with you when he pulls away, “Can you manage the crowd?”

“Yes sir.”

And you both understand that this is an order, not a question, not a concern. “Shinsou!” He calls over your head before diving into the thrawl, “Help our Alderan control this traffic.”

As Aizawa disappears into the swell, the relief of Shinsou’s name floods. Every member of your party had been recovered from last night’s fire. You swivel, hoping to catch sight of the young guard coming your way before you begin to help the Takoban staff herd these guests like Aizawa instructed, but instead of Shinsou there are a pair of wide redrimmed eyes standing much too close.

“You’re the Alderan guard?”

Heads turn.

When a great gaggle of creatures come together, it is the sheepdog’s job to gather them. When a dragon mistakes a castle for a jewel rich cave, it is an Alderan’s job to send them on their way.

“I heard him say it,” the person presses closer, “you’re a member of the Alderan party.”

Sometimes though it is a sheep’s job to wreak as much havoc as possible. The crowd, still generally flowing toward the tussle at the front of the room, has decided that you too are interesting.

“Have you spoken to the queen?” Is the first of many things spoken to you when a wall of well dressed backs becomes a ring of eager faces.

“Where is your–”

“–does Aldera have–”

As you attempt to find footing suitable for a military member of your standing, a stiff breeze reminds you that you’re not wearing anything more than a cotton nightgown. There’s no sword at your hip, no medals at your chest past Jeanist’s heirloom dragontooth, and only a flimsy ribbon holding back your braids.

“– can you– will this affect the–”

“–was quick!”

“How hot–”

The Takoban King must truly love war for his council to be so large, and for the people in it to be so joyous in their involvement. Flies on corpses.

More and more people break away from the forward flow of the crowd as they realize who you are and not one of them thinks to give you breathing space. You become the room’s second center of gravity. Where the hell is Shinsou?

“I will answer–” you attempt and then spin to apologize to a man you’ve bumped into, “– your questions– I will–” What is causing this fuss? One bandit in the woods? Alderan company? Are these the manners of Takoba?

Your breath sticks to your throat in the questioning swarm while they push you deeper through them– like you’ve been swallowed by a great snake. You can’t embarrass your country by using force on royal advisors but the constriction of your arms against your side makes it difficult not to raise your voice.

“Where is your party?”

“Who is– charge–”

“You’ve brought danger!”

“Where is your prince?”

Your prince. You dread what would have happened if His Highness and friends accompanied you here. You dread what you would have to do to this crowd to keep them from touching him.

“Excuse me,” you duck as you murmur lukewarm apologies in escape. You must find Shinsou.

A short woman in tails is at your eye level like this and she begins a barrage of questions about Alderan foreign policy when you error eye contact. One foot in front of the next only introduces you to a new polished nobel and either their disdain or their cross examination. Pushing forward isn’t working. What happened to the vast throne room? Why does it shrink when you move through it?

Your clothes are too tight– your skin is too tight and the hair brushing the back of your neck will surely kill you. You jerk an arm when a brave soul grabs hold of your bicep and force your shoulder stiff in its socket to stop yourself from striking. Their voices melt into itching static, you feel their mosquito bites in the goosebumps of your flesh.

“Where–”

How will you help to manage this crowd when you can’t even walk through it? You don’t want to be alone anymore, this– you, you won’t remember how to get back now.

“You’re a soldier?”

“– and how many–”

“Alderan! Were there weapons or onl–”

A firecracker pop screams in the open air above all of you and you’re gasping when your hearing comes back, long enough to focus on the whistle and crack of a shot in the chamber. One more keeps the static from filling your ears again, and steals the attention of the generals not yet bored by your silence.

“Move,” detonates as a voice off the walls.

Bodies roll past you, through you, to continue their questions without getting crushed by the parting crowds. They can’t yet see the person attached to the voice or the reason for the parting, but you know the owner of the sparks that splash across the blue-green ceiling, and you would follow them forever and a day.

Prince Bakugou, in all his milk golden glory steps through the swarm like a threat.

Generals that swallow you whole don’t approach him and you itch to be closer, but the questions don’t subside just because a new Alderan guest has appeared and in fact they seize on the opportunity to ask you for an introduction.

Your heartbeat is just the ringing of a dented bell, over, and over again and you feel its pulse in your jaw when you open your mouth to speak. No words come out now– now that your arms are trapped at your side and you’ll never be free of this–

“Oi!”

The bell rings louder.

“What–you! Off of her!”

And the person taking their turn to interrogate you is flung forcefully from frame, along with the waitstaff they grab in a panic and take to the ground. And he’s right there, the prince standing directly before you, a vast clearing behind him, growling and billowing smoke. His red eyes aren’t gentle but they pierce your soul with warm homesick.

Having tossed aside the only things between you, other advisors trip over themselves to escape the prince’s course, some hide like you might be a shield. Gold crackles in his palms as he watches you hurriedly catch your breath– why is he here? He’s close enough to touch again and he’s cleared a path to you like the room was empty.

“Highness,” you rush to dip your head and blink the last of the shock from your eyes.

The prince grits his teeth. The veins in his jaw splinter his sculpted cheeks, “You–” he growls. The crowds swell behind him in both size and volume and then flinch when he jerks back around, “– you dare treat an Alderan like your entertainment! Filthy fucking searats–” an explosion from each hand punctuates his rage. 

You flinch. Your eyes flood at the sudden noise and your proximity to it, though something more exhausted than tears, and you realize you may be the one in need of a doctor out of the pair of you.

“C’mere,” the prince locks eyes with an unfortunately close diplomat and snatches their furred collar to many cries and general protest from the fleeing crowd, “You think it’s funny, eh? To pull a member of my party from the hospital and ambush her in her bedclothes?” The man sheds a few tears of his own as the prince shakes him. 

On the first day of winter the queen and her son dance peruro with their citizens. Paint their faces with pomegranate wine and strip off their furs to the waist, and then open the caste gates to let townsfolk pour in for feasts and holiday songs. You are always terribly anxious on the sidelines with Jeanist while trying to follow the crowd’s skipping and yowling to make sure that the queen is safe. The king watches his family from the sidelines too, but much less anxiously and mostly with hands full of food.

In the dance, wild limbs fly like fist fight and there is always, always shouting. Screaming thanks to the heavens while leaping round a great bonfire to singsong horns and strings. The Dance Peruro is destructive and it’s beautiful to watch two pairs of red eyes full of joy, dance together in the crowd that loves them.

Bakugou swells, elated in the scene, red eyes slits and filled with excitement. Gold twinkles in his ears. He finally gets to flex his magic even if it is inside another kingdom’s throne room and practiced on another kingdom’s citizens, but how on Earth you’re going to apologize to the Takoban queen– to master Aizawa– you have no idea.

The prince raises his captive off their feet and hurls them into the crowd hard enough to knock a few sturdy generals to the ground. His arms threaten to tear from the confines of his silky white shirt in his passion. With his back turned you still know exactly the expression he’s making and you’re just relieved that he’s safe. It doesn’t cross your mind to detain him.

“Gimme those pretty coats or I’ll skin them off you.”

Those frozen within earshot either scramble backwards or start to strip their outer layers in confusion. An old man in fine blue robes flees through the clearing at the exact time that the masses start to shuffle and thrum against one another, but Bakugou snatches him by the back of the neck and releases a hellstorm of orange and pink strong enough to eject the man from his capes and clear across the room.

“Classic Takoba hospitality, huh? You parade all your guests around in their underwear?”

With the space created by your prince’s rage, the full glory of the throne room becomes clear. In the empty circle around the pair of you the fine white rugs shine like spotlights. They’re stitched with blue emblems– blue flames– that climb across the floor, from stone to window, elven door to throne. The throne.

Most of the crowd has rushed to the entrance in escape, no doubt trapping Aizawa with their terrible fuss, and so the crystalline space all the way at the back of the room is open. And it is where the queen sits in her sea glass throne. Dozens of silver suited guards surround the base of her raised platform to protect her from your prince’s squalor, Shinsou and Uraraka among them– the freckled boy too. 

It’s a struggle not to shout for help. Or rush to her side, for the queen’s fragility lights up every protective instinct, every resuscitative urge in your body; surely she is drowning and you are appalled momentarily, that no one feels it important to save her life.

Icy white skin reflects the light of the afternoon sun and her eyes are dark and sallow. They might even be closed but you’re not close enough to see. You should be closer, she needs someone to keep her from tumbling to the floor like a limply sewn doll. Long light hair trickles over her shoulders to the point where her skirts meet her bodice like a shoreline. She is made of lace. Lace instead of flesh and seems too cold and stiff to survive another moment without proximity to a fireplace. Her Majesty sits with her hands in her lap and does not react to the chaos.

Behind you, your prince is a shark in a pond. Royal advisors at the back of the line to flee, panic earnestly now and guards at the edge of the room rim the onlookers, unsure of whether they’re permitted– or able– to subdue this royal guest. But the prince doesn’t snatch anymore lords and instead turns to you as candy sweet smoke rises to the ceiling now that no one is as interested in bothering Alderans as they are in finding something else, deep inside the castle, to busy themself with.

He’s still grinning when he swings around, but you’re not fooled, not even by his concern. You anticipate the scowl before his grin falls because you know that hates to look at you.

“Cover yourself,” he grumbles and thrusts the old man’s blue robes into your chest but he doesn’t let go quite fast enough. He holds both you and the stolen clothes there like someone who has something more to say, so you blink up to him.

Prince Bakugou is poured of molten gold. He doesn’t look at you but he doesn’t storm away, he doesn’t leave the clearing that he’s made for the two of you and you think he’s trying to say something when his gaze finally flickers from the space above your head to your dragontooth.  You can tell he’s holding back something calloused and loud by the way he bites hard at his lip. Instead he growls in the space between you, “Return to your room at once.” And then barks for Kirishima.

“Coming!” The kind voice replies, echoing somehow in every direction. From your spot in the center of the room you can just barely make out red hair and a raised arm milling through the last fifty or so people trying to squeeze through the silver doors and out into the safety of the castle entryway. The champion is much more polite than His Highness and winds his hulking body through the throng before finally stumbling into the clearing. The prince doesn’t have any trouble looking at Kirishima.

“Take her back– get back upstairs, the lot of you. I don’t wanna hear a single Alderan peep for the rest of the day.”

This feels hypocritical, but Kirishima just smiles like a bowl of bread dough and takes up the open space by your side when the prince begins marching to the back of the room.

Anticipating your concern the champion leans down to explain, “He'll take your audience with the queen.” 

It’s too far to see clearly, but the Queen of Takoba hasn’t seemed to move a single inch in the past few minutes. How is Bakugou going to speak with a ghost?

Kirishima gestures to the piles of rumpled clothes at your feet that the prince threatened off of people in the crowd, “And it looks like you have your pick of fine coats, Y/n.” The smile of his voice keeps you from speculating for too long. You know it’s time to go.

The sweet giant takes the cloak from your arms as he guides you back into the depths of the castle, and you note the gentle way he secures it around your shoulders without touching you at all, “Where is Aizawa?” you ask while nodding your thanks.

“Oh he's taking a long drink in the kitchens.”

With the champion at your side, you give the throne one more glance over your shoulder before stepping through the silver doors, but at this distance you can only distinguish Shinsou and his blue windswept tunic from the crowd of guards and your prince. You raise your hand beside your head in parting and the apprentice slips his own out from where he’s standing formal and so, so far away, with hands behind his back. You smile.

While you and Kirishima puzzle your way back through the castle, off in the distances beyond great columns and disgruntled chilly diplomats, through the windy, salty, seashell castle, a blue light quivers in the dark.

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