#damn blackmails and corsets

[maevelin]

I just realized...

Edmund Bridgerton: I can't- Violet Bridgerton: You must breathe! Penelope Featherington: Colin... I can't breathe! Colin Bridgerton: Absolute panic! Violet Bridgerton: MISS WILSON! Antony Bridgerton: Get some water! Eloise Bridgerton: Give her some air! Me:

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @minaethrym

[mk-writes-stuff]

For the ask game- how about 6 for objects? No character in particular but I'd like to hear about someone from the Seven Station Chronicles, whoever you think is most interesting :3

Objects my characters are proud to own… hmm this is a hard one. Let’s try the ones from the Seven Station Chronicles I can come up with

Cassie: not sure if this counts but she scavenged and built her own robotic prosthetic arm with some help from Lower Station engineers, so she’s pretty damn proud of that

Nellie: her corset. Nellie is trans and wasn’t allowed to own anything when she worked for Narcissus, so not only getting to have a corset but having it be hers is a big deal for her

Ruthlessness: some documents she’s using to blackmail one of the other stations (not saying who yet for spoiler reasons). She’s hoping to use them to give her the political leverage to become the heir to Fourth Station over her twin sister Ambition

Thanks for the ask! This one was tough but I enjoyed it :)

[vaguely-concerned]

To celebrate the

of it all (;______________________________;), I wanted to post a snippet from my TF POV WIP (this one also goes out to the anon who asked for that; sorry I am perpetually terrible at answering asks)!

context: this fic has huddling for warmth (because TF fell into a frozen lake and Graves had to fish him out) and a few metric tonnes of pining lol

---

“Yeah, yeah, don’t you be goin’ anywhere just yet. Gotta get you properly thawed out.”

I sigh like this is a great hardship and rest my head more comfortably against his shoulder. “Fine, have it your way.” 

“Thanks, I will.” 

I let my hand brush against his chest, as if by accident as I shift position. He’s so solid, bulk built for use rather than show but not exactly unsightly that way either. If it ever came down to a wrestling match between Graves and a wild bear I’d have to hedge my bets and put money on both. Probably a bit more money on Malcolm, though, for the sake of loyalty if nothing else.   

“It’s what you get for bein’ so damn scrawny. Can’t even fight off a little chill.” 

“I ain’t scrawny, I just tend to stand next to you and we can’t all be built like an ox.” 

I can hear the sound of his heart under my ear when I rest my head right.

Is this weird? I’m fairly sure this should be weird. It doesn’t feel weird. He doesn’t seem to think it’s weird. I’m not gonna make it weird by pointing out that it should be weird. 

“Mmm, whatever you say. ‘S been a while since it was just the two of us,” Malcolm yawns, burrowing himself and by extension me deeper under the covers. “Kinda nice to have the peace ‘n quiet for a change.” 

“Yeah, this job did drag out a few weeks longer than planned, didn’t it.” Honestly it’d sounded like an easy gig, stealing back an heirloom that had apparently gone to the wrong branch of the family after those disgraceful snakes falsified the testament of old Great Uncle Terran, gods rest his soul and so on — I never listened closely enough to the client’s labyrinthine explanations of generations’ worth of betrayals and inheritance squabbles to know if we’re actually on the righteous side here, but then again I don’t really give a shit, I’ll pretend to listen sympathetically to a lot of rich people nonsense if it gets us paid in the end. Turns out rich people nonsense also includes being willing to chase a couple of sorry bastards across half a continent and repeatedly attempting murder to reclaim the engagement diadem of Great-Great Grandpa Filliam. The more you know. It’s been a boon to have the added numbers of the rest of the crew bolstering us through the wild chase, but Malcolm’s right, this is a nice change of pace.

“How much of your cut are you willing to part with for me to not tell Kolt about how you went and stumbled into this lake, by the way?” Malcolm says, in what he must fondly imagine is an approximation of innocence. 

I snort. “Oh, you do not want to get into a blackmail war with me, I’ve got a decade of dirt on you and I won’t hesitate. There will be no survivors.”

“And if I’m willing to take my chances?” 

“Remember that girl back in Noxus?”

He pauses. “Ah.” 

I press on with relish: “Remember the unholy amount of shit I had to pull to get you outta there before she handed you over to whatever bounty hunter came up with the highest bid, while all you could do was lie there trussed up like a turkey?”

“Well, now,” he says, holding up a finger tentatively, like a man who’s not entirely secure in his own argument but realizes he has nothing better to play, “I seem to remember you had to don her friend’s lingerie to get away with that?”

“And I absolutely rocked that look, I ain’t got nothin’ to be embarrassed about,” I declare, and he makes a noise like he’s forced to grudgingly agree. I was barely twenty-one at the time, her friend had been tall and slim with dark hair and impeccable taste in fabrics, and the corset had been unexpectedly comfortable, actually, even if figuring out the lacing on my own gave me a bit of a headache. It’d probably take a lot more finagling for me to pull that trick off these days, but I’ve never been one to balk at a challenge.

“We’re fallin’ back on a stalemate of mutually assured destruction here, then,” Graves allows.

“Unless you’re happy to take your life and your dignity into your own hands, yeah.”  

Graves laughs quietly and shifts his arm around me. While he can’t see my face I smile against his chest at the low gravelly rasp of it, fondness blooming in my chest. 

[after-witch]

Corsets and Blackmail [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

Title: Corsets and Blackmail [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

Synopsis: Dabi wants you in a corset. What Dabi wants, lately, Dabi gets.

Word Count: 1630

Notes: Yandere, implied noncon, mentions of body mods, improper use of a corset, very uncreative title

You inhale, eager to catch your breath, and you instantly regret it. The relief of a full breath is instantly replaced with an uncomfortable pressure, as he uses the moment to further tighten the corset he’d tossed at you earlier that afternoon. It took bribery, then outright threats, but you eventually agreed to let him put it on you.

Another decision you’re regretting.

“It’s not--” you try to exhale, to catch more breath. “It’s not supposed to be this tight.”

In response, he merely gives the bottom laces another firm tug, and you can feel the flesh of your hips underneath the leather squishing out, pushing in vain against the firm material that he’s tightened to a ridiculous degree.

You grunt, and squirm, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Your hands are pressed up against the wall, and you occasionally lean your forehead against n the cool material for support. But it’s not like you could fight Dabi off (you never could, even when you were actually dating and your fights were playful) and even if you could manage to get away from his grip, you’d never make it out of the room without a bruising grip and heated warning.

“Don’t be so dramatic, babe. Just think about all the women in history or whatever who wore these all the time.”

You bite back a smart-ass response about the myths of corsets and how movie scenes depicting women being laced into them like torture devices were based on misconceptions and myths. A corset should be supportive, not so tight that it makes you feel faint. But he’s not in the best of moods based on your initial refusal to play dress up, and so you keep your knowledge to yourself.

When he’s done--you hope he’s done, your entire midsection feels compressed and uncomfortable and your breath comes in shallow intervals--he spins you around. A few months ago, this would have been cute. It would have made you feel good. The way he’s looking at you appraisingly, approvingly, pinning you with his gaze would have made your stomach flip into butterflies.

But that was before you broke up with him. Or tried to, anyway. Before he threatened you--and your family, and your friends, and any neighbors you were particularly fond of--and eventually forced you to move in with him. To keep an eye on you, he’d said. To spoil you.

If dressing you up like some kind of fetish doll in an exaggerated shiny black leather corset counted as being spoiled.

He hums in approval and grabs your now-compressed waist, pulling you closer. You can smell his cologne and body odor and smoke, mingled together in a way that used to get you excited. Now it triggers an instinct to run.

His lips brush against your ear, kissing and teasing, and you can’t help the way your skin prickles in goosebumps, the way your stomach flips. You hate him. You wish your body would get the message more often.

“You look so fucking good. I could just eat you up.” He pulls back and tips your chin up with a finger, tilting your face to the side like he’s inspecting a prize pet at a county fair. You suppose he is, in a way.

“You want me to do that? Make you feel good?”

You shake your head, softly. It’s a stupid move, you know. You know you’re on thin ice. You know you should nod and let out a breathy sigh and let him lead you to the bed, where you’ll lay in an uncomfortable position as he slides off your underwear and makes your body respond in ways that your mind hates. But you don’t.

The instant you decline he’s gripping your chin, hard. The thin ice is definitely cracked--and you’re falling into ice-cold water.

“Why are you being so damn difficult?”

The oxygen must be getting to your brain, you think, because instead of placating him by backtracking and begging him to take you on the bed, you want to explain yourself. As if rational thought has anything to do with your current situation.

“You know why I’m so--so--” you inhale, sharp and short, hating the way your chest feels for a myriad of reasons. “--difficult, Dabi. Why can’t you try to understand how this makes me feel?” 

You feel tears pricking at your eyes and you wipe them away, not wanting to deal with the drama, the fighting, the back-and-forth guilt tripping that crying usually brought on. 

“Fine,” he says, practically spitting on your cheek.

He drops the subject--and drops your chin-- as his eyes stray to the side, where there’s a dust-streaked mirror propped up on top of the dresser. He stares at his own reflection for a moment before looking back at you, his expression far less pissed and far more thoughtful. Thoughtful scares you more than pissed, and you can feel your nerves begin to tingle in anxiety.

“Hey, you know what would go perfect with this corset?” His voice is softer now, all the harsh edges from earlier gone. It worries you just as much as his thoughtful expression.

You shake your head. You don’t know. You don’t want to know. But he’ll tell you anyway.

“How about some piercings, huh? We can match.”

Your stomach feels like it’s dropped out of your body. Your gaze flits from his grin to his own modifications. He wouldn’t--would he? Before all this, before you tried to break up with him, he’d casually suggested them once--but never again once you made your stance clear. No piercings, no tattoos, no body mods. And now…?

“I--” You swallow down your stronger objections, very aware of the dangers lurking if you chose the wrong words. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. But thanks.”

“No, no,” he argues, voice so jovial and light that it’s making you want to throw up. “It’ll be fun! Like a bonding exercise. Couple’s therapy. You’d be surprised how quickly tongue piercings heal, too, so don’t worry about missing out on takeout.”

You want to cry. Could you even breathe right if you started crying right now? The more emotions you feel, the tighter the corset feels against your waist. You swallow and dip your head back, fighting against the tears.

“Dabi… you… know--you know I don’t want piercings.” You keep your voice level, even as your stilted breathing. Avoid a fight, avoid a fight, avoid a fight.

“Oh?”

He shrugs. A casual, fuck-you gesture that stings. 

“And I want to throw you on the bed and eat you out. But if you won’t give me what I want, why should I care what you want?”

You don’t have an answer. The thick, blubbery tears you’ve been fighting are practically screaming to be let out. But you dip your head back again, determined not to cry. Crying reminds him that you don’t want to be here, and it never ends particularly well. 

So instead you force yourself to be casual. As if you’re not a captive begging your captor to not forcibly modify your body. As if you’re his… partner, having an argument about what to eat for dinner that night. As if he couldn’t just push you onto the bed and have his way with you, if he really wanted to do so.

“Dabi, c’mon…” 

The thought occurs to you--to throw in some of the snarky bite you two used to share for good measure. It’s a risk. It’s a big risk. But the idea of Dabi shoving needles through your tongue, into your skin, wherever he pleases to remake and modify you, makes you take a leap.

You grin. And oh, is it forced. But it’s all you can manage.

“Don’t be such an asshole.”

His breath is hot on your cheek as he suddenly leans grabs your arm and pulls himself in, his nose pressing against your cheek in a way that would have been endearingly mocking before; now it’s only another invasion of your space, another way to make you uncomfortable. Or maybe he’s trying to pretend that it’s the old days, too.

“Hey, that’s up to you, doll. You know that. So you gonna be my sweet girl? Let me spoil you?” He trails the back of his hand down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone; down, down, until he’s gripping the waist he laced so tight just a few minutes before. “Or do you want me to run out and get a pack of needles?”

You have a choice. 

You can’t hesitate to jump into the opening he’s given you, so you don’t. You lean up and kiss him, a soft little chaste kiss, part of the routine you used to share; you start with sweetness, with pecks and whisper-light touches, and he grips your hair and doesn’t let you go until you’re breathless from his kiss. Then he’ll take you to the bed and you’ll hate yourself afterwards.

Your thoughts are bitter as your mouth responds automatically to his own lips, to his tongue that finds its way into your unwillingly inviting mouth. 

At least the corset will make you breathless faster.

[schrijverr]

Captured

Someone is blackmailing Harvey with pictures of him having sex with other men. He tries to hide and push everyone away, but it only gets worse. A worried Mike finds him in his condo in the middle of a panic attack. After calming him down, he shows Harvey that he’s not alone, helping him fix it and teaching Harvey that being bisexual isn’t so bad if you have friends.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: blackmail, stalking, internalized biphobia, mentioned homophobia and panic attack.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Harvey is in trouble. It’s not a sentence one would often hear in relation to him and that is honestly why it is so terrifying now that it is happening.

Okay, maybe we need to back up a bit to what happened. Earlier that morning a package came in the mail for him, it was a manila envelope with no return address. Harvey had thought it looked suspicious, but it wasn’t the first time he had gotten something like it, so he had opened it without a care.

Now he is in the office, trying to breathe as he looks at a series of photo’s taken of a younger Harvey, naked as the day he was born, in the arms of another man. Underneath are more recent pictures of him in the same compromising position.

On a logical level he knows the only scandalous thing about these pictures should be the fact that he is naked. Jessica has often joked he will be the first sex scandal out of the partners. However, he also knows the society (and the part of society) he moves in and there is a reason he has never told anyone he is bisexual.

He loves women and having sex with them. He knows he gets around and is quite happy with that reputation. He just likes to indulge sometimes and apparently he should have known that was a mistake, because look where here he is.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, wanting to rip the pictures apart, but not wanting to leave a shred of evidence behind in his office.

His hands are shaking and his chest is being cinched by an invisible corset. He wants to move, knowing that he must look weird from outside his office, hunched over, holding something out of sight, but he is frozen to the spot.

What do they want, he wonders. How did they get these? And who are they? He’s always been so careful. God, he is going to loose his all clients, his prestige, his job, his friends even if he’s unlucky.

There’s a letter in there as well, but Harvey hasn’t found the wits to read it. He probably should, so he knows what he has to do to get this to go away. (On a logical level he also knows that doing what they want won’t make this stop and whoever send these will just continue to use these to get him to do whatever they want).

“Harvey?” Mike’s concerned voice cuts through his spiral.

Harvey startles and would have dropped the pictures, were he not clutching them so tightly that they are crinkling. It takes a second, before he remembers how to operate his mouth, then he greets back: “Mike.”

“Are you okay?” Mike asks, the frown deepening.

No, Harvey thinks, panicking that Mike is already noticing that something is up. He is sure it flashes over his face, but he’s not reacting to Mike’s expressions, covering it up with: “Of course. What did you need?”

“We were going to talk over the deposition,” Mike reminds him. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Harvey says, not so smoothly. “Go sit, I’ll grab the files.”

He doesn’t check if Mike listens, shoving the pictures back into the envelope, which he hides in his briefcase. Shoulders relax as he clicks it close, files in hand as he makes his way to the couch where Mike has made himself comfortable.

Usually Harvey will plop down next to him, but today he hesitates. There is nothing special about sitting down next to Mike. It’s just sitting and he doesn’t even like Mike like that. The kid is too young for him and reminds him too much of Markus. Mike is his friend, his brother. But those damn pictures twist everything in his mind. He feels watched, like everyone already knows and is following his every move, judging him.

Harvey sits in the chair.

Mike gives him a look, but doesn’t comment, content to let this go if Harvey doesn’t want to talk about it, much to his relief. And they set to work on the deposition.

The day passes in a blur for Harvey. He is functioning, moving like he has always done, but he is mentally far away. It’s not that he is thinking over the pictures constantly and therefore can’t concentrate, he just took a mental step back, so he won’t devolve into a panicking mess and can go about his day as best as he can.

He goes home as early as he can without suspicion, ignoring Donna’s questioning eyebrows just like he had ignored Mike’s concerned brows throughout the day.

Only in the safety of his condo does he open his briefcase and gets out the envelope. He is still in his suit, but he has no shoes on and his tie is loosened, his buttons undone. His hair is a mess from the amount of times he ran his hand through it as he sits on the couch, staring at the envelope in his hands.

With clumsy fingers he opens is again, not looking inside, but feeling for the letter that must be in there as well. No one sends someone blackmail without motive. There must be a motive.

He finds the letter and pulls it out, not sure if he wants to know what he has to do to keep this a secret.

After reading the letter he sits and stares out over the New York skyline. This person, whoever they are, is asking him to break attorney-client privilege. That is a crime. He can loose his license for that. Not to mention the malpractice that comes with it.

Being bisexual isn’t a crime, however. His reputation might get a hit, but he wouldn’t be breaking the law and he’ll get to keep practicing. The smart choice would be to not listen, to not do it and just deal with the fall out.

A small voice in his brain pipes up, you’re already breaking the law with Mike. It’s not that different from that. He can keep practicing as long as no one finds out.

But then they just have more blackmail, he argues with the small voice he wants to give in to, I have plausible deniability with Mike. Besides, you can sue them for blackmail. The letter gives you evidence.

If you do that, everyone will know what the blackmail was, the small voice tells him.

You can keep that sealed, the rational part argues.

But everyone in Pearson Hardman will know. The rumor mill will work over time, all the partners will look at you and know. Louis will know. Jessica will know. Mike will know. Everyone will figure it out and the damage will be done anyway. Who knows if someone will leak it with enough motivation.

Again the rational part reminds him that being bisexual isn’t a crime and so the arguments cycle in his mind.

Harvey doesn’t even realize he’s crying until a drop smudges the ink of the letter he’s still blankly staring at. He quickly puts it on the coffee table and wipes his eyes, hating himself for the weakness when new tears take their place.

He curls into himself hugging his knees to his chest as he buries his face between them, shoulders shaking with sobs he rarely allows himself to let out. But he needs it today. Couldn’t stop it, no matter how badly he wants to.

So, he cries.

He cries by himself on his couch with nothing but the New York skyline for company. He doesn’t have friends he can confide into, nor the ability to be that vulnerable in front of someone. He’s all alone and he has never felt it more.

When he finally manages to drag himself to bed, he still hasn’t decided what to do. He huddles under the covers, too exhausted to cry more, yet too worked up to fall asleep and considers calling in sick tomorrow.

In the end he does go to work. He is very late, which is thankfully not too much out of character for him.

That morning he agonized in front of his mirror for ages. He’s wearing a plain black suit and white dress shirt. It’s the straightest outfit he could think off that won’t set of alarm bells in Donna’s mind and he hates himself for even thinking like that, but he has to hide. He has to.

Harvey has long since learned that it’s okay for others to be queer, but not him. Never him.

He’s aware that he is a bit stiff throughout the day, but he is hyper aware of his every movement and continuously on guard. Mostly, he is just glad that he doesn’t have meetings today and Mike is busy with research.

As he works, his mind is distracted by the situation, analyzing it. The person, who send these wants him to sabotage a take over of Lemmin Inc. and give them enough inside knowledge of his client’s weak points to return the favor, as well as hand over all the weak points they found in Lemmin Inc. that they were planning to use.

If he were to give in, he would be breaking attorney-client confidentiality and committing malpractice. That could ruin his career.

But- but if he wrote in a loophole that Lemmin Inc. could use against his client, then it could just be an accident and he’ll have his plausible deniability and he won’t break confidentiality. However, he won’t comply completely and who knows what they’ll do then. Not to mention that Mike will find the loophole and point it out. What will Harvey say to him?

And if he just complies, then this can go away. Sure, he’ll have committed malpractice and broke confidentiality, which can sit on his shelve next to fraud.

Yet it will always be a threat hanging over his hand if he complies. They will know what they have is good and they can use it whenever they want, with each order getting more and more things they can use against him.

Harvey is stuck in a loop, the uncertainty of what the do draining him and making him anxious. He wants to go to Jessica, ask what she would recommend. He could tell her it’s just normal nude pictures and hear her advise without having to come out and face her opinion on that.

He knows he can’t do that, though. He has always told her that if he ever gets blackmailed with his sexual escapades, he’ll sue the hell out whoever tried and represent all the women who had to be exposed too pro-bono. Joking that all they’ll give him is free advertisement.

He can’t come back on that now. He’s alone.

The following days pass in a blur and he is sure that Mike and Donna are getting concerned for him as the time passes. He sees their exchanged glances and furrowed brows whenever he’s distracted or shrinks away from their touch. Shuts them out.

When they talk his mind drifts and he can’t stop it, when they ask him things it takes him a moment to respond, when they invite him he declines.

Harvey knows it’s obvious that something is going on with him and it’s frustrating that he can’t hide how he’s splitting at the seams. How he can’t even pretend he’s not crying himself to sleep each night, hating himself and hating that he hates himself.

His mind is making itself up against his will, but he’s tired of arguing with himself. He has worked hard for where he is today. And he vividly remembers those years at school before he was the sports star, when he was a bit of a posh kid, who the others called a poof and worse. Those were the darkest days of his life and he vowed never to be in that position again.

Besides, everyone already thinks he’s a dirty lawyer with no principles. Hell, he has committed a crime, what’s one more?

He doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t see another way.

Everyone’s eyes feel like judgments and he feels seen wherever he goes. He doesn’t go out anymore. He locks himself in his apartment, the safest place he has. And he just wants this to be done, to leave it behind and go on with his life.

Harvey loved his life, he doesn’t want to isolate himself, be upset, the feeling in his chest tightening with the second. He wants to say yes to drinks with Mike without fearing how it looks. Wants to joke with Donna without fearing she’ll know. Without others thinking of why he gets along with Donna so well, why he knows about her bags, without fitting stereotypes together into a semi-correct picture that’s Harvey doesn’t want to be forced into.

He just wants to leave it all behind him. So, he finds himself late in the office by himself, crumbling under the pressure.

Yesterday he got another package delivered to his office. More pictures. How the person keeps getting more and how long he has been watching Harvey, he doesn’t want to think about. But the message is clear: hurry up with your reply.

So, he is putting a loophole into his contract, so that Lemmin Inc. can wiggle out of it, trying to think of a reason to keep Mike away from the contract and a way to tell whoever is doing this to him that he’s complying.

When he is done, he feels empty inside. He mails Mike to focus on finding information about their opposition for the meeting the day after tomorrow and that he’ll focus on the contract. Then he goes home, crawling into bed and staring at his ceiling, deciding not to come in tomorrow.

The next day he moves through his apartment like a ghost. He’s giving up. The great Harvey Specter everyone, bending under the slightest threat. Tucking tail like a coward.

His phone rings and beeps, but Harvey doesn’t care. He only wishes to disappear and be forgotten by the world.

Harvey doesn’t know why he’s hit so hard by this. He thought he was okay with who he was, but then again, he has always hidden that side, believed himself to be subtle, treated it as a dirty secret and never said the word bisexual out loud.

He is a giant ball of over compensation and denial. And suddenly all the things he never fully accepted about himself have been dragged out into the open to be used against him.

Not only that, but he is powerless in face of it. Harvey has always prided himself on being the one to hold the power in conversations. He turns the biggest disadvantages into advantages. He is never powerless.

But here he is. He holds no power, he doesn’t even know who is leveraging this against him. He is vulnerable and weak and he hates it all.

He sits on his couch in his pajamas and his old oversized Harvard sweater he has dug up. In his lap is a pint of ice cream that he is eating, feeling terrible about his body too. However, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to go out running these past few weeks. All his outfits made him look feminine or were too gay.

Harvey thought he stopped caring about that a long time ago, ignore pimp and prissy comments about his appearance. Apparently not, though. He just taught himself to forget the judgments that come with it and it only took being reminded to slide right back.

Outside the sky brightens and darkens again, but Harvey doesn’t care. In his apartment he might be lonely, but he is also safe. They can’t get to him here.

He’s shaken out of his misery by a knock at his door. He freezes, waiting for Donna or Mike to start yelling to let them in, because he can’t think of anyone else coming here.

When neither are forthcoming, he gets curious. Cautiously he gets off the couch and makes his way to the door. He peers through the peep hole, coming face to face with an empty hallway. For a moment he thinks he has imagined it, then he steps on something.

Looking down he sees a manila envelope that had been badly shoved under his door. His hands start to shake as he opens the door to pick it up, needing to see what’s inside.

Innocently the envelope stares up at him as he struggles to open it, practically ripping it open as the contents partially fall out. His brain is buzzing as he grabs the few still in the envelope and looks at them. It is more pictures.

These pictures are different though. They’re not older pictures, but recent. Most of these were taken this week and he is clothed in all of them. He is also at home in all of them.

Blood freezes in his veins as he flips through them.

Him coming home, taking off his shoes. Him standing in the kitchen to cook. Him looking out over the skyline, phone in hand. Him crying on his couch…

Between the pictures there is a note: We can replace the camera with something else and a PO box with the date tomorrow beneath it. The deadline is before the meeting.

The fear grips him. It burns as it moves down his neck, sweat sprouting as it envelops his heart. He stumbles backwards, feeling the need to hide or flee, which one he isn’t sure yet, but he can’t focus on choosing.

Breathing is increasingly difficult and Harvey feels like he’s dying. His brain yells at him to get water for his dry throat, as if water will fix it. While another part flashes the picture of his kitchen in his mind to remind him it’s not safe there.

He stumbles through his apartment, hands thrust forwards to look for something he can hold onto that will end this.

In the end his knees give out and he hides behind his couch, huddling into himself to get away from prying eyes. His frame is shaking, he’s chocking on breaths he can’t probably inhale, he can barely see through blurry eyes and the fear overwhelms him.

‘We’re going to pass out!’ it screams. ‘We’re dying! This is it. We can’t breathe. Help!’

Suddenly there is a hand on his shoulder. Harvey can’t see and the blood rushing past his ears makes it hard to hear, so he’s defenseless as he shrinks away, waiting for the attack.

This is what they wanted, his brain tells him. They got you in a vulnerable position and now they’re coming for you and killing you.

Though his panic he doesn’t recognize the voice calling his name as Mike’s, who had gone up to check on him when he didn’t reply to messages all day, which was extra suspicious with the meeting coming up and how he’d been acting recently.

Mike, who had arrived to an open door, papers scattered everywhere and no reply to his call. Who had found Harvey curled up in a ball scared and not breathing right. Luckily, Mike knows quite a bit about panic attacks.

Slowly Harvey realizes that he’s not being grabbed and when Mike calls his name again, he recognizes him. He’s too relieved to be humiliated about how he must look that he can only say in strangled voice: “Mike?”

“Yeah, Harvey, it’s me, Mike,” Mike replies comfortingly. “I’m going to take your hand now, alright?”

Harvey nods, unable to do much more.

His hand is taken by Mike and he considers letting go. It’s a bit intimate, isn’t it? Somehow that scared thought is the only clear one between the panic. But then Mike places his hand against his chest and starts to do exaggerated breaths, encouraging Harvey to follow his lead.

Bit by bit, Harvey manages. Gasping breaths turning into shallow ones, before he is breathing semi-regularly. All throughout Mike keeps up a stream of approving comments, telling Harvey that he was doing so well and to just breathe.

“I’m fine,” is the first thing Harvey manages to say, scooting away from Mike, not seeing how it breaks Mike’s heart that he shies away like that.

“You’re not,” Mike tells him. “Please, Harvey, what happened? Stop shutting me out. You haven’t been yourself the past weeks. I’m worried about you.”

“Nothing happened,” Harvey lies, not sure why he even is at this point. Mike found him crying in the middle of a panic attack wearing sweatpants and an oversized sweater, he is beyond dignity right now.

“Your door was open and there were a bunch of papers on the ground,” Mike says. “I thought you were attacked. Please, Harvey, just talk to me.”

Again that please, so genuine and kind, just like Mike always is, those pleading eyes holding nothing but good intentions. All that can melt away. Harvey has seen it before. Mike just isn’t a friend he can risk like that.

“Let it go, Mike,” he asks, the request sounding like a plea even to his own ears.

“What are you caught up in that you can’t tell me?” Mike asks. “I know there is something, so don’t try to lie to me again. You’ve been distracted and you’re pushing me and Donna away. You weren’t answering your phone and you’re getting sloppy. I found a giant loophole in your contract. It’s what I came to talk to you about. Lemmin Inc. can nullify this deal whenever, if they want. It isn’t like you to let those things slip by you.”

Harvey cringes at Mike finding his shame. His defeat. Subconsciously he curls into himself and doesn’t meet Mike’s eyes.

In that moment, Mike knows something bigger is at play here and Harvey needs a moment, if Mike wants to convince him to talk. So, he pretends to let it go for the moment, getting up and offering a hand as he says: “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me. But you had a panic attack and I’m not leaving you alone without a cup of tea.”

He accepts Mike’s hand and tries to ignore the memory of the picture that is burned into his mind as he sits at the breakfast bar, Mike starting the kettle.

It’s quiet as the water boils and Mike takes a second to close the front door when going to the bathroom, picking up the scattered pictures on his way back. Curiosity winning out.

Harvey freezes while pouring the tea, his heart sinking as Mike reenters the kitchen holding a stack of pictures, concerned frown on his face. He meets Harvey’s eyes and asks: “What are these?”

“Pictures?” Harvey offers after swallowing thickly, setting the kettle aside and dropping to his chair, his knees a bit weak.

“Yeah, pictures of you in your apartment with a very obvious threat accompanying them,” Mike says. “What the hell is going on, Harvey? This is serious.”

The last thing Harvey wants to do is tell Mike why he found that giant loophole, but Harvey is exhausted, emotionally drained and tired of arguing. He just wants this to be done, cry some more, even get a hug if he dares to be honest.

“Harvey?” Mike prompts.

“I’m being blackmailed,” Harvey admits in a small voice.

“What?” Mike can’t stop the exclamation, hand slapping over his mouth as the word leaves his lips, though Harvey can’t blame him.

He curls into himself on the chair, cradling the cup closer. He bites his lips, then exhales, shoulders dropping as he replies: “I know.”

Mike gapes for a moment, then sets the pictures down on the counter, the one of Harvey crying staring up at him. He sits down next to Harvey and does the understanding face he uses on clients (one that is just genuine, but Harvey can never quite believe Mike does care about everyone he represents) to look at Harvey as he asks: “What do they have on you?”

“’m not telling you,” Harvey answers, only look down to the counter. “I’m not stupid.”

“I won’t use it against you I swear,” Mike promises. “One, I’m your friend and I just wouldn’t do that to you. And two, you know that I didn’t go to Harvard. You can quite literally ruin me whenever you please.”

“As you so kindly pointed out on your first day, you can take me down as well,” Harvey reminds him. “Trust me, when this,” he gestures between them, “goes to shit, your a little fish compared to me.”

Mike sighs, then tries again: “Still, I won’t use whatever it is again you. You’re in a rough spot, like I was with Trevor. Consider it returning to favor if that will convince you.”

Now it’s Harvey’s turn to sigh, burying his head in his arms. He doesn’t want Mike to know. He’s humiliated and insecure about it, maybe a bit disgusted with himself that he couldn’t stop himself from giving in to the temptation. Fuck, growing up Christian really fucks with a person.

But he’s also lonely and vulnerable. He’s been fighting this alone and all he wants is to have someone to lean on, something Mike is offering. Not only that, but Mike is Harvey’s closest friend next to Donna. He has proven himself to be trustworthy and somehow Harvey finds himself believing Mike’s promises.

“They have pictures of me with a few of my one night stands,” Harvey admits softly, hoping to obfuscate who the one night stands are if he can.

“They can’t spread those, if they do they’re violating section 245.15, section 52-B and 52-C,” Mike says. “Not to mention the blackmail and assault charges.”

“It’s not like I can just sue them,” Harvey replies. “I don’t even know who’s blackmailing me and if I do go to the police and the court about it, everyone will know what they have. I’ll be ruined, Mike.”

“Everyone knows you have a lot of one night stands. The pictures will be sealed by the courts and whoever is doing this will be locked up,” Mike argues, exactly what Harvey told himself on those nights he warred internally.

And if he wants to show Mike, why that is incorrect and he’ll still be ruined, then he will have to come clean – well, come out – about who those one night stands were. But Mike knows the law inside out, if anyone can figure something out, it’s Mike. So, he’ll just have to trust that the kid knows how to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s not like that,” Harvey starts, unable to verbalize it.

“What?”

Frustrated Harvey groans, then opens the drawer next to him wherein he has hidden all the other pictures so that he could check each morning that they hadn’t been touched. A small part of his brain knows that this is worse than just saying it, but his mouth is filled with spiderwebs and he can’t make the sounds necessary to tell Mike.

The picture he takes out is of him and a guy whose name he has forgotten. It’s a rather tame one, most of their clothes are still on. Nameless guy still has his shirt and jeans on and is busy unbuttoning Harvey’s shirt. They’re clearly kissing with Harvey being seated on the counter of the guy’s apartment, pressed back against it.

He always made sure to go home with guys, so he would be the one doing the walk of shame in the morning. It gave him the illusion from coming from anywhere, perhaps a lady. Control where he could get it.

“This is not exactly what they’re expecting,” he says, handing Mike the picture. Still unable to look him in the eye.

Next to him, Mike lets out a surprised noise as he sees what’s in the picture. Tensely Harvey waits for the other shoe to drop, the judgment that is about to come down.

“I didn’t know you were queer. What do you identify as? If you want to tell me, of course,” Mike breaks the silence in the most unexpected way.

Stunned, it takes Harvey a moment to find his words, then, for the first time in his life, he say: “I, uhm, I’m bi. Bisexual.”

Uncertainly he meets Mike’s eyes again and finds only kindness in them as Mike smiles: “Great! Me too. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

“What?” Harvey doesn’t even care that his voice is quivery and so, so small. He had never come out like that and to have Mike’s sincere thanks for his trust along with seemingly unconditional support is so much more than Harvey ever thought he would have.

“Yeah,” Mike says, not picking up on all that. “Let me tell you, Trevor as a best friend is pretty bad, but Trevor as a boyfriend is worse.”

Mike sounds so casual when talking about it, like there is no shame in being with another man. Not only physically, but emotionally too. He is comfortable with himself, confident and completely himself. He’s all Harvey never could be.

He isn’t aware of the tears that are falling again, until Mike frowns and wipes them away. A sympathetic look comes over his face. He smiles sadly and softly says: “I get it.” And Harvey believes him.

The tears turn into sobs as Harvey cries for all the things he never allows himself to have, all the ways he’s brought himself down, all the moments he didn’t take. All the loves he let go. He cries and lets himself be held by Mike as he does.

A part of him tells him this is weird. Mike is his friend, sure, but he’s also the kid’s boss and mentor, he shouldn’t be comforted like this by him. However, Mike is his equal too and Mike gets it. He isn’t alone here and after the horror that has been his life, he allows himself the bit of comfort he has been given.

Mike for his part, doesn’t complain. He sits there and rubs Harvey’s back as he whispers comforts into his hair and holds him, not caring about his shoulder getting soaked.

They sit there for what feels like hours, until Harvey can’t cry anymore and their tea has long since turned cold. As he runs out of tears to cry, the humiliation creeps in and when Harvey untangles himself, he again ignores Mike’s eyes as he leans back and crosses his own arms to create a barrier between them.

He hears Mike huff, but it sounds vaguely amused not offended or mocking. So, he risks a glance at his face surprised that he finds an easily, soft, almost expectant yet patient expression, like he is waiting for Harvey to gather his bearings.

When he sees Harvey looking up, he says: “It’s okay, promise. You have no clue how much I cried about figuring it all out. Here, I’ll make us a new cup of tea, you just sit for a second longer.”

The confusion that must be written all over his face is graciously ignored as Mike gives him his privacy while making tea. Harvey has never been more grateful for Mike than in that moment. The kid is kind and understanding without coming across as condescending or judgmental, not to mention loyal to the bone.

With Mike’s back turned, he wipes his eyes and blows his nose to get the runny, stuffy feeling away. He takes a few breaths and closes his eyes. The exhaustion of the panic attack, followed by the emotional roller coaster is starting to hit, but after stretching he feels a bit more awake.

By that time, Mike is done with the tea and sits back down next to Harvey: “Okay, so I’m thinking, we get comfortable and settle in for a long night to figure out what to do now. Are you okay with staying here?”

Harvey thinks for a moment. They can obviously follow his every move in here, maybe they’re even watching him now.

But with the deadline tomorrow, he hopes they won’t do anything yet. If they leave, they’ll know where Mike lives and he’s not letting them, nor is he booking a hotel room for them (it’s quite obvious Mike isn’t leaving and Harvey doesn’t want to admit how grateful he is for that), because he is aware of how that could be twisted in court if it comes to that.

“I’m fine here, if, uhm, if we can go to my study or something. A place with less windows,” he answers after a second of deliberation.

“Alright,” Mike agrees, getting up to follow Harvey, who leads him to his study, which has less windows to make place for all the books. As they leave the kitchen, Mike takes the threatening note with him.

All starts to feel a bit more normal again as Mike gapes at his study. He walks by all the books, eyes gliding over his spine. He comments: “Give me like, a month in here and I will be in heaven and a better lawyer, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Harvey’s standard reply comes and he smirks at Mike standard pout as he launches into his standard protest of why he should be allowed to call Harvey dude.

Once they have gone through those motions and are sitting comfortably, Mike starts: “So, what do they want you to do? Like next to the giant loophole you put in that contract.”

Harvey cringes a bit when Mike mentions the contract and asks: “Did anyone besides you see that contract?”

“No, I thought the email was odd, so I read it and when I saw, I thought you were loosing it or something and didn’t want anyone to accidentally send it thinking it was the right one,” Mike replies with a shrug. “I deleted it. I could recreate it if you were really upset about it.”

“Thank you.” Harvey scares himself a bit by how sincere that was, but Mike deserves all the sincere thanks he can give him. And after all that has happened, he cuts himself some slack at the amount of control he has over his emotions.

Mike smiles. “Not a problem.” Then dives back into the previous conversation topic. “So, what did they want from you.”

“They wanted me to sabotage the take over and let Lemmin Inc. and they wanted me to give them weak points to exploit from both sides,” Harvey says, picking up the paper. “And deliver those to this address.”

“Hmm,” Mike hum as he inspects the paper, idly commenting: “So, basically make you break confidentiality and commit malpractice?”

“Jup,” Harvey sighs, slumping in his seat.

Across from him, Mike frowns at the paper. Curiously he says: “That’s odd.”

“What is?”

“I recognize that address from my delivery days,” Mike answers. “It’s a Lemmin Inc. PO box, so whoever is doing this is from inside the company.”

“Well, it’s not the CEO, he wants to sell to our client,” Harvey says. “So someone who doesn’t want that. Are employee’s being cut?”

“No, but whoever is next to take over the company will likely be pissed he’s not inheriting a successful company,” Mike replies, sitting up straighter as his eyes get the same look they always get when he’s mentally reading something over again. “Lynus Chairroot. CFO and the one to take over if the current CEO went. He wouldn’t like not running things. He has invested years in the company.”

“Chairroot,” Harvey repeats, thinking back if he remembers the man. A light goes on in his mind and he nods: “He’s the guy. I met him at a party years ago. He flirted with me, I turned him down. I thought he looked familiar.”

“Well, good call, I don’t think a guy who does this,” Mike gestures to the pictures, “would respect boundaries.”

“So we know who did it,” Harvey says. “Now what? We don’t have the time to get material against him, before the meeting tomorrow to leverage him into not doing anything with those pictures.”

“We don’t have to,” Mike tells him and he has that glint in his eyes he always gets whenever he thinks of something brilliant.

Harvey feels relief flood through his veins, that look means results, that look hasn’t failed him yet. Mike and his wonderful brain haven’t failed him yet. He prompts: “What are you thinking?”

“Blackmail and revenge porn are both a class A misdemeanor. Up to one year in jail and a fine up to 2.500 dollar, yeah? However, with this,” he holds up the threat from today, “this can be a stalking harassment case that falls under RCW 9A.46.020. That’s a class C misdemeanor punishable with up to five years behind bars and fines up to 10.000 dollar. What would you plead guilty to? We have evidence for both and it’s much better for us to file for stalking and these,” he holds up the not-nude pictures, “will be evidence enough.”

Slowly a grin appears on Harvey’s face as he gets what Mike is saying. “We just need to get him to plead guilty to blackmail and agree not to press charges in turn for all copies.”

“Exactly,” Mike says, looking quite pleased with himself.

“You’re becoming quite the lawyer,” Harvey compliments him.

Mike preens, but plays it off. “What can I say, I’m a natural.”

“Only one problem. How do we get him to sign that before the meeting tomorrow and what are we going to do if we come there without a deal, because my last one sucked,” Harvey asks.

“Well, one problem is fixed, I wrote a new deal and I was coming here to present it to you, but I got sidetracked,” Mike says and Harvey could kiss him (not like that, but metaphorically, Mike is his kid).

“Alright, so what do we do about Chairroot?”

“Uhm, it’s 11 PM now, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not an unreasonable hour. We can just call him and tell him to meet us,” Mike suggests.

“And why the hell would he do that?”

“I don’t know, if the guy you’re blackmailing figures out it’s you and contacts you, one might be inclined to hear you out?” Mike shrugs. “You’re the expert manipulator here.”

Harvey thinks it over and has to agree with the kid, so he asks if he has a number. The kid, of course, read it somewhere and rattles it off without issue. Soon, Harvey is listening to the dial tone, Mike working on their affidavit.

It doesn’t take long for a nasally voice to greet: “Lynus Chairroot speaking, who is calling at this hour?”

“Hi, Lynus, this is Harvey Specter,” Harvey greets finding sick joy in the terrified swallow that comes through.

“Why are you calling me,” Chairroot bravely squeaks. “You’re not allowed to talk to me without my lawyer present.”

“Oh, but I am,” Harvey informs him pleasantly. “Lemmin Inc. is hired by the CEO not the CFO and I’m not here on my clients behalf, nor here for Lemmin Inc. business. We both know that. I’m here for you, Lynus, on behalf of myself.”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the crap, Lynus,” Harvey hisses. “You’ve been blackmailing me – well, trying to, at least – and I’m done with it.”

“You’re crazy,” Chairroot accuses in a last ditch effort.

“We both know I’m not. You have strong motive, you even gave me your address. And when I sue you, I’ll subpoena your records and they’ll show all the people you hired to follow me and how much you paid them to do so,” Harvey informs him. “So, let’s not play dumb.”

There is a silence, then a sigh, before Chairroot goes: “Yeah, it was me. What do you want?”

Harvey raises a brow at Mike, who nods. The phone is on speaker and Mike can be his witness, his amazing memory making him very reliable. They already have a confession.

“I want to meet,” Harvey says. “Central Park, Ballfields Cafe. Meet me in an hour. Bring all the copies you have. All of them.”

“Alright,” Chairroot agrees and hangs up.

When he does, Mike speaks up and says: “This guy is a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, he is,” Harvey says, getting up. “I’m taking a shower. How’s the affidavit coming along?”

“If he signs, we’re solid,” Mike says.

Harvey nods, before going to shower. He scrubs off all the eyes he has felt on his skin, all the tears and the terrible few weeks he’s had. When he’s done he changes his sweatpants in for a suit, putting on the layers like an armor.

He’s the great Harvey Specter and he can crush whoever he likes, no matter what they think they have on him.

When he’s done, he checks his reflection one last time in the mirror, nodding in satisfaction at the confident man looking back at him. Then he takes a deep breath, before leaving the bathroom, ready to face Chairroot.

Mike is waiting for him, giving him the affidavit to look over while he hails a taxi.

They arrive at Central Park just in time and walk over to the closed down cafe. Chairroot is waiting for them, briefcase in hand. A rage comes over Harvey at the sight of him, but he suppresses it under a cold demeanor as he greets: “Lynus.”

“Harvey,” Chairroot returns the greeting. “You didn’t come alone,” he asks an unspoken question.

“Never said we had to,” Harvey informs him with a shark-like grin.

“I brought all the copies,” Chairroot offers, showing the briefcase.

“And the digital ones?”

“Deleted them all,” Chairroot says. “Except for the ones on the USB drive that’s in here.”

“Alright,” Harvey nods, he doesn’t trust Chairroot, but if this goes right, he’ll have leverage to throw him in jail, so he lets it go. “I want to make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Chairroot asks.

“You’ll sign this affidavit admitting you tried to blackmail Harvey, hand over all the copies and in turn we won’t sue you into the ground,” Mike tells him, presenting the affidavit to him with a flourish.

“Why would I do that?” Chairroot chuckles. “If you sue me, all these pictures will circulate and your dirty secret will be seen by everyone.”

Harvey feels his hands tighten into fists and he can barely speak through the anger. Fortunately, Mike is there and does the talking. “Because if we sue you, we’re not suing you for blackmail, but for stalking harassment, which has up to five years in prison and fines up to 10.000 dollars. And trust me when I say that we’ll ensure you’re getting the maximum sentence possible.”

“You can’t do that,” Chairroots says, starting to look scared.

“But we can,” Mike informs him with a grin he learned for Harvey. “You gave us many, less compromising pictures, of Harvey in his own apartment, not to mention a death threat. We won’t ever need to mention the other pictures at trial and if you do, we can just sue you for blackmail, revenge porn, maybe we can even make it inflammation.”

“You’re stuck, Lynus,” Harvey tells him gleeful. “Just sign the damn papers.”

“I have to discuss this with my lawyer,” Chairroot protests.

“Too bad, this deal expires when we leave this meeting,” Harvey says.

Chairroot is sweating and Mike and Harvey wait calmly for him to crack. They know how to play this game and right now, they’re holding all aces. It’s just a matter of time.

“Alright, give me a pen,” and there Chairroot breaks.

Under their careful eyes, he signs the paper and Mike snatches it back and puts it away safely, while Harvey accepts the copies. As he does he leans in close and hisses: “If you ever try anything like this again, I have you by the balls. And next time, I’m kicking your ass. So, these better are all the copies, clear?”

Terrified Chairroot nods and assures Harvey that these are indeed all the copies.

Satisfied with the deal and glad to leave the whole thing behind him, Harvey walks away. Mentally he is already deciding to invest in privacy windows everywhere, not just his bedroom, but overall he thinks he’ll be able to live in his apartment without issue in due time after this. Mostly he’s just happy that it is all over.

However, the whole thing has drained him and he falls asleep in the cab back. He wakes up after Mike pokes him a few times and furrows his brow, which makes the other laugh.

“Come one,” Mike tells him. “Donna told me once your guest mattress is the softest and I’m not about to be deprived of that.”

And it isn’t until Mike says that that Harvey can let go of the entire thing. Tonight he doesn’t want to be alone and he doesn’t have to, because Mike is there and Mike will always be there by his side, no matter what.

To make Mike smile, he puts on an old man act as he groans and stretches when getting out of the cab. It works and he’s pleased with himself.

In the condo, they gather all the pictures and Harvey puts them in a box and hides them deep in a closet, hoping he’ll never have to find them to use as evidence.

After that he loans Mike some sweats and a t-shirt to sleep in, changing back into his own pajamas too as he gets Mike a new toothbrush. They brush their teeth together and Harvey rolls his eyes at Mike attempting to talk while brushing his teeth.

It’s weirdly comfortable and Harvey realizes he’s never felt more at ease than in this moment.

He loves his father, but the man wasn’t the best in pushing something other than straight masculinity and that damaged Harvey more than he had realized. Until now, he hadn’t noticed how much of his brain was occupied with projecting the ‘right’ image. And now tired he is of censoring it all.

“What are you thinking off?” Mike asks, finally spitting out his toothpaste, thank god.

“I don’t know,” Harvey shrugs. “Just that I want to let go of all the straight toxic stuff, but I can’t, now can I? You see how that turns out.”

Mike thinks about it for a second, then says: “I mean, I get why you don’t want anyone to know. It’s not like I’m very open about it at work, but you shouldn’t have hide a part of yourself if you don’t want to.”

“How?” Harvey asks, for once inexperienced and unsure somewhere.

“Well, I would start with creating an environment you do feel comfortable,” Mike shrugs. “It’s easier if you know other queer people. I’m your friend, right? You can start there. I’ll show you the queer classic movies and you can comment on the hotness of all actors without judgment. If you’re comfortable there, I can take you to meet some more of my queer friends. After that, it’s finding where you’re the most comfortable.”

“It’s that easy?” Harvey raises a brow that tells Mike he doesn’t believe him, but it also hides how touched he is that Mike is there for him without question or hesitation.

“Nothing is that easy,” Mike smiles, “but it’s not as terrible as you will fear. Promise.”

“Thank you,” Harvey says, the word not enough for all he does want to say, but he can’t find the words for that.

“Of course,” Mike smiles, as if he gets it. And, if he’s honest, Harvey knows that Mike does get it, which is only more comforting.

Then Mike opens his arms and grins: “Come on. Lesson one, hugs are great and contrary to what society told you, you can enjoy them just as well. So, bring it in. You need one.”

Harvey hesitates for a second, then realizes this is one of the least embarrassing things he’s done this evening. So, he steps into Mike’s arms and lets himself be hugged, even hugging back after a second.

Mike is right, of course. The hug is nice and Harvey closes his eyes as he lets the stress and sadness melt away, a calming comfort coming over him.

When they let go, Harvey feels much better and he smiles at Mike, who cheekily says: “See, the world didn’t end.”

“You’re an idiot,” Harvey informs him.

“And you chose to be my friend anyway,” Mike informs him happily. “Now, I have a mattress to disappear into, so I will see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Harvey replies as Mike disappears into the guest room.

He knows he has a long road to go, before he will be comfortable with who he is, but he isn’t alone anymore and he isn’t scared. He knows he has someone he can rely on and that makes all the difference to him.

~~

A/N:

Ngl, I made myself upset at the image of Harvey crying by himself, yet not alone, to be exploited and used against him. Like, bro, he already has so many trust issues (amongst others) why am I doing this to him??

I also know more about law now, so go me. This will never be useful in any other context bc I do not live in New York or America in general and likely never will.

((also for my fellow nerds both Lynus and Chair are based off roots for the word Lemon aka the word on which I based Lemmin))

For those confused about why this is a request, these were left on my ao3 in the comments. But I prefer to get them here, so I dont loose them. However, these people didn't have a tumblr, so free pass ;p

[thesapphictimelady]

Sacred Purity Chapter 5

Word Count: 1 K

Warnings: Lesbian relationship, sex in a church, domme/sub relationship, I will poke fun at the church a lot in this, spanking, blackmail

Characters: Wilhemina Venable and OC

If you want to be added to my taglist, just let me know!

Taglist: @serawalkerwrites @hopelessly-devoted-to-mee @okpaulson

A/N: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I've had such bad writers block lately. I'm trying to get back in the groove of things. Next chapter will hopefully be more exciting.

Ms. Venable thrust a bundle of shower supplies into Sister Anastasia’s arms, “Go and bathe. You smell like dirt.”

Sister Anastasia followed the direction Ms. Venable pointed her in and closed the bathroom door behind her. She carefully surveyed the room for cameras before she stripped out of her habit and climbed into the shower. Quickly, she ran through her usual routine of washing her hair and her body before she climbed back out, not wanting to leave Ms. Venable waiting. She wrapped herself in her towel and did a quick survey of her body. Sister Anastasia grimaced at the downy hair on her pubic bone before she padded out of the bathroom in search of Ms. Venable and some clothes.

~

“Ah, Sister Anastasia,”

Sister Anastasia jumped, nearly dropping her towel.

“Did I frighten you, dear?” Ms. Venable purred, stroking the young woman’s collarbone with her fingertip.

“N-no, Ms. Venable,” sister Anastasia whispered as she tightened her grip on the towel.

“Hmm, I’ll have to try harder,” Ms. Venable mused, loosely wrapping her long fingers around the nun’s neck, “Drop the towel,”

“What?”, Sister Anastasia’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed

“You heard me,” Ms. Venable said, lifting the hem of the towel with her cane, “Drop. The. Towel.”

Sister Anastasia hesitated, hands fidgeting with her towel, “But...but Ms. Venable, anyone could see,”

“Oh, now you’re concerned with that?” Ms. Venable laughed, “Where was that when you were fingering yourself in the chapel? When any of the other sisters could have walked in on you? Now, drop the towel.” She punctuated her last words by tightening her grip on Sister Anastasia’s neck.

Sister Anastasia squeaked and dropped the towel to the floor. She was rewarded with a light kiss to the end of her nose.

“Good girl,” Ms. Venable purred, “Now get on your knees for me. I want you to prostrate yourself before me the way you prostrate yourself before the cross”

Sister Anastasia dropped to her knees and placed her forehead to the ground. Miss Venable grinned, pleased with the submission of the young girl.

“Such a good little whore, aren’t you?” Ms. Venable reached into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew a purple collar. Carefully, she bent down to clasp it around Sister Anastasia’s neck.

“This is a very special collar, Sister,” she said, stroking the top of her head, “The idiots at Kineros designed it for me. They aren’t as useless and coked out as I thought. Shall we test some of its features?”

“Y-yes, Ms. Venable!”

Ms. Venable smirked, pulled the small remote from her pocket and pressed one of the purple buttons. Sister Anastasia shrieked when the collar shocked her.

“What the fuck! You got me a damn shock collar?”

“Watch your mouth!” Ms. Venable warned her, “Unless of course you’d like me to turn up the frequency?”

“No! No Ms. Venable,”

“That’s what I thought. Yes, it does shock. It contains a tracking device so if you escape, I will know. And it does this,” with a push of a button, the collar began to tighten around Sister Anastasia's neck, “but that’s only for special occasions.”

Sister Anastasia gasped as the collar loosened again.

“Now,” Ms. Venable said, pocketing the remote, “Suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me.”

The young girl eagerly took Ms. Venable’s fingers into her mouth, looking up at her with big doe eyes. Ms. Venable smirked and slapped her, pulling her fingers free with a pop.

“What the fuck?” Sister Anastasia shouted angrily, “Why did you do that?”

Ms. Venable gripped her long hair and pulled her up to stand, leaning in until their noses were almost touching.

“Watch. Your. Mouth.” she hissed, “If I hear you curse in my presence again I will punish you,” she released her hair and smoothed her skirt, as if to compose herself. “Now, I expect you to conduct yourself like a lady and the first thing we will do is work on your posture. It’s terrible. I would put you in a corset but I prefer you in the nude so this will have to do.”

Ms. Venable placed a small stack of books onto Sister Anastasia’s head.

“What-how is this supposed to help?”

“That’s not everything, pet. I also have these,” Ms. Venable presented a pair of purple stilettos and a purple leash, “Once you’re wearing the shoes and the leash, we’ll be taking a walk around the house. If you can keep those books atop your head the entire time, I’ll reward you.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I don’t think you want to find out,”

Sister Anastasia carefully lowered herself to the ground to put on the heels, dropping a book in the process. She jerked and all the books fell from her head when her collar delivered a sharp shock.

“What was that for?” She demanded.

“You dropped a book. I did warn you.”

“You gave me these stupid shoes after putting the books on my head!”

“And?” Ms. Venable twirled the remote in her fingers, “I never said I’d make it easy for you.”

Sister Anastasia grumbled and slid the shoes onto her feet before she carefully stood. Ms. Venable clipped the leash to her collar and set the books back onto her head.

“We’re missing something,” Ms. Venable said, tapping her chin with one perfectly manicured finger.

“M-missing something? I think this is perfect Ms. Venable.”

“Oh? Does the little slut think she knows better?”

“N-no Ms. Venable!” Sister Anastasia tried to back away, recognizing the glint in the older woman’s eyes.

“Ah ah ah,” Ms. Venable tugged on the leash, pulling her closer, “You don’t get to back away from me.”

The young nun whimpered as the books fell from her head once again.

“Little slut,” Ms. Venable cooed, “Something tells me this form of training just isn’t going to work for you.”

“No, please Ms. Venable! I-I’ll be good!”

“Silence!” Ms. Venable snapped, “I’m giving you a chance. You will keep these books on your head while we go for a walk. If you can’t, I will be forced to punish you.”

[missgarnet]

Where We Stand

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word count:5.7k

Genre: angst with fluff

Warnings: pregnancy, mentions of past miscarriage, blood and injury, Duchess Min and other characters from Stay,  I swear there’s a happy ending

Summary by @minjoonalist​: fluff, pain, almost pain, spain without the s' and fluff?

Link to ao3

Happy Birthday @sope-and-shine​ Belle, I love you! (also I’m sorry for not killing anyone off in this story, I just couldn’t) 

I also want to say thank you to @minjoonalist​ and @sope-and-shine​‘s Fae for reading through this to helping me edit and think of titles!

“How do I look darling?” you ask, slipping the thin dagger into the hidden slit in the corseted top of your dress.

The duke stepped closer to you and took in the reflection of the two of you together. You watched in the mirror as he swept your hair to the side and started to kiss you, his lips a gentle whisper against your neck. “You look… powerful. I’d have to be an imbecile to ignore that.”

“Is that it?”

You feel his lips forming a smirk against your skin, “Of course not, you’re stunning and you know it just as well as I do. How was I lucky enough to find a wife as brilliant and beautiful as you.” His hands find themselves at your waist, trailing back to play with the laces of your dress.

“Yoongi,” you laugh as you swat his hands away. “They just finished getting me all dressed up in this, I don’t want to call the maids back to retie this again.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already, you normally make them redo this until it’s as tight as you can get and both of you are exhausted.” He wraps you in his arms again and turns the two of you to face the mirror, “unless you’re…”

He can feel the sharp breath you take, realizing he’d figured it out. “Please, don’t get excited, it's too early for that. I don’t want to tell anyone else just yet.”

“Who else knows?”

“My maid, she thought it was weird when I asked her to find dresses with a higher waistline. She figured it out pretty soon, and I politely asked her not to say anything just yet.”

“Mmhmm, and what do you mean by politely asking this time.”

“I may have… accidentally… threatened to have her tongue removed if she so much as hinted to it”

“You never cease to amaze me, my love.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted the few moments of alone time you had left. The two of you rushed to finish getting dressed for the day, this meaning countless weapons being discreetly tucked away in the many hidden pockets of your clothing. It was an important day, and you made it a rule to be prepared for anything and everything that could go wrong. Today you had one mission and no one was going to get in your way, not even the king himself.

Looking back you should have said no when she asked you to walk her down the aisle. Traditionally she should have had a family member to give her away, but tradition be damned, if your best friend and closest ally wanted you by her side then nothing was getting in your way.

By the time you got there the poor dear was already panicking as she paced the floor of her dressing room. “What if I mess up or trip and the entire court starts making fun of me”

“I’ll give them something else to talk about.” You said, instinctively reaching toward your favourite dagger. It’s jeweled angel wings sitting at the very top of your gown, giving the appearance of a simple broach when tucked into it’s spot atop your corset.

“Y/N, no weapons. How many times do we have to say this, stabbing people doesn’t solve problems. It only creates more.”

You scoffed at her reply, knowing fully well that it was the first thought you had. “First of all, I wasn’t going to stab anyone… this time. Second, there’s no rule against blackmail or accidently sharing information that would draw far more attention to others.”

“I don’t know how you did this. You didn’t even know Yoongi when the two of you got married, I’ve known Tae far longer and I’m still way too nervous for all of this.”

“Are you kidding me?” You laughed, “I was a wreck on my wedding day. Hell, I practically had to be dragged down the aisle and I would have clawed my way out if I could. I wanted nothing to do with it, then again that wasn’t really up to me. Even afterwards I was still too nervous to actually talk to him, it was much easier to argue and plot all the ways I could get rid of him.”

“You were planning to divorce him?”

“Oh Queenie, divorce was mild compared to what I had in mind.” You smiled at the memories of when you first moved in with your husband. The two of you had barely spent a minute alone, and were at each other's throats any time you were in the same room. He expected someone docile, sweet, and a little fearful of him the way that almost everyone else was. What he hadn’t expected was to be matched with a wife even more stubborn and intimidating than he was, you had become the first true rivalry he had ever experienced and it was thrilling.

It didn’t help him to find out that he had met the only person with a reputation worse than his own among the court, nor that you had found ways to win over his entire staff in a matter of days. Despite being incredibly talented and an excellent asset to have on his side, Yoongi seemed determined to prove that he was still the one in charge for those first few months. Everyday was a competition and the two of you had engaged in a seemingly endless battle of bickering and petty vengeance against one another. Your favourite of these occurred after he made it a point of removing you from a meeting with the generals. He should have known better than to mess with someone who was feared by the court and adored by both his family and his staff.

That next morning as the sun began to rise Yoongi was nearly blinded by the amount of light pouring into his chambers, waking up to the smell of burnt fabric and charred toast. You could hardly contain your laughter when one of the staff recalled being called into the sight of him slipping on his robe only to find that the right sleeve had been completely torn off. Tears ran down your face as you heard about him storming around the room looking for something to wear to meet you at the breakfast table only to find most of his clothes had been sent off to the tailor to be altered or repaired in some way and he had been left with an assortment of mismatched clothing and heavy winter suits. That morning neither of you felt willing to give each other the satisfaction of reacting to the other’s actions. Showing weakness was to show defeat, and neither of you planned on losing. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of just pride as you watched your husband shift in his seat clearly displeased with the current state he was in, almost laughing as he hobbled in missing his left shoe.

You had almost missed the defeated sigh he gave as he took his seat across from you. If he were like any other man you knew, he’d have given you the outburst of rage that you had been preparing yourself for. Instead he had a rather gentle gaze as he met your eyes from across the table and spoke in a soft almost admiring tone, “We can’t keep doing this. I mean seriously, destroying my curtains, burning my breakfast, and ridding me of my entire wardrobe in one morning. And why? I’ve done nothing to offend you.”

The servants quickly began backing out of the room in anticipation of another argument between the two of you.  “Nothing? You really think you’ve nothing wrong?” The icy glare you were so determined to keep directed at him was the only thing holding tears of frustration at bay. But you refused to let him or anyone else see you crying. “Yoongi, you undermine me at every opportunity available, making sure that I have no say in what is going on around me. I have no family here, no friends, no allies on my side. Everything here is about you, while I am constantly pushed aside and belittled by even your guards and servants. I was one of the most brilliant women my age. I learned the arts of battle, bribery, and blackmail by the age of five, and perfected each of them by eleven. And the worst part is all of that is going to waste, I am wasting away and it is all your fault.”

“I’m sorry I had no clue. I just thought you’d want a break from having to fight all the time, I guess I should have noticed this was wrong when you seemed so determined to argue at every opportunity possible.

“You really are an idiot sometimes.”

He laughed at this, the two of you finally sharing a moment of understanding and bonding over as you later called it his very best moment of complete stupidity.

As you sat there recalling all of this your eyes began to water and you let out a quiet sniffle. The two of you had been through so much since then and with very limited exceptions you wouldn’t change a thing. You may not have had the best of beginnings with each other, but he’d done his best to make up for that every day that you’ve shared since then. The two of you still bickered, but it was more affectionate and caring now that you’d decided to save your fury to defend one another.

“Y/N are you crying?” your best friend placed her hand over yours in a comforting gesture.

“No, of course not.” You tried to dry your eyes, but the gesture was not as subtle as you had hoped. “Fine maybe a little. I think I’m just feeling sentimental, all this wedding stuff had me thinking about when Yoongi and I were newly married and the time we had our first good fight”

“You still haven’t told me what happened to the shoes, and everytime I tried to ask the staff they just got really quiet and seemed like they were too afraid to speak.”

“Well, I took all of his left shoes and I had one of my maids put a box outside his room. Then I took most of them and put them away in the box, and I sent the rest away to be burned.”

“You burned his shoes”

“Only the left ones, and only the pairs I didn’t like. Besides if I were to do that now there would have been a lot more of them being burned, I swear just the smell of that shoe polish is enough to make me sick nowadays. Then again there’s been a lot of things that do.”

“Are you, you know?” The young queen-to-be asked, doing her best to emphasize the implied meaning.

“Am I what,” you asked, a challenging tone in your voice. It was obvious she knew, but if she wanted to ask she would have to use her words.

She gives you a knowing smile and pulls you in for a hug, “Congratulations Y/N!”

“Oh, shut up” you laughed trying to hide how nervous you were feeling. Yes she was your best friend, but this pregnancy was news you didn’t want out to the public just yet. “Today is your day, I don’t want to take away from that.”

She rushes to the clock at this realizing the two of you were running horribly behind schedule. As you rush through the halls together, you do your best to pin her veil in place and keep the train of her dress from collecting dust and dirt from the floor. Both of you pause outside the closed doors grandly looming before you, your faces warm and nearly out of breath.

You begin the task of fixing her appearance one last time before everything starts changing again. She was always so small and quiet when you first met. You never thought such a timid young woman would come this far, but something about her just spoke of being so much more than just another commoner. And now here she was in the most delicate white gown with layers of chiffon carefully draped over each other and tiny sleeves resting just off of her shoulders, looking more composed and regal than anyone you’ve ever seen before. The light reflects against some of the crystals sewn into her veil almost creating a halo around her. The light airy dress looked stunning on her and seemed even brighter as the two of you stood side by side. All the intricate layering and the bright white of her dress contrasted beautifully against yours. It wasn’t your original plan but the midnight blue gown and it’s simple pattern seemed to exaggerate your figure in the best of ways. It’s plain bodice and jeweled collar drew attention up and away from the changes you were hoping to hide.

The doors are drawn open and the two of you take a sharp breath as you begin the long anticipated journey down the aisle. To anyone else she would seem calm and composed, but you knew better, “You know, I’ve still got the carriage waiting outside. Say the word and we’ll start running. I’ll even lead the horses myself if that’s what it takes.”

You can see the slight bounce of her shoulders as she begins silently laughing. Looking around you begin to hold on to faces in the crowd, doing your best to remember where everyone was seated to use for later. It was a shock to see Namjoon and his new bride so close to the front, you thought they’d be in the back where she’d be hidden away from the prying eyes of so many nobles. After all, their relationship had been quite a scandal and she was much too far along to hide anything. What didn’t surprise you was the look on Taehyung’s face when he saw you and his fiance nearing the altar. The two of them were stupidly in love with each other and you could see that from a mile away.

You found yourself rather exhausted after all the excitement from the queen’s wedding, deciding to take just a short break at home before involving yourself with any of the court’s drama for a while. It was meant to be just a week, maybe two at the most but as time went by it felt much better to be in the manor with Yoongi than anywhere else. The two of you were still bickering like any other day, but being at home gave you a space away from the rest of the court once you’d started showing. The two of you became cautiously excited about your future child, still too worried to be fully invested but getting closer as each week went by.

There had been a few rough times along the way, but everything had been going well for the most part. That little piece of hope growing each day was worth any of the worries and discomforts you were facing, even the morning sickness that lasted much longer than you would have preferred. You thought things were getting better until another worrisome incident took place.

“Yoongi,  I started bleeding this morning, and something feels very wrong.”

“Are you alright?” He shook his head realizing his mistake, “I’m sorry that’s a ridiculous question. What are you feeling, is there anything I can do?”

“I’m scared Yoongs, I don’t know what’s going on and I can’t tell if it’s normal or if it’s going poorly again. It can’t end like last time, I can’t lose another. I don’t know if there’s anything that can be done, I just don’t want to be alone.”

He crawled up into the oversized bed beside you, gently taking you in his arms as he brushed your hair aside. “I know there’s nothing you or I can do and it’s completely out of our control, but I want you to remember I’m here and I will always love you no matter what.”

The midwife had a sad smile when she entered the room. Mrs. Lee was one of the oldest staff members serving the Mins, having delivered you herself. It warmed her heart to see the two of you curled up together so caring and gentle for once. She had originally been hired to act as a wet nurse, but when your mother went into early labor the midwife had been by her side. You’d practically been raised by her along with a few other maids, so when you found out you were with child there was only one person you wanted to have with you.

Mrs. Lee had seen you grow from a small frail infant to a rather intelligent young woman, and knew almost all of the struggles you had faced along the way. It was always her that you went to with any problems whether it was scraped knees or scheming nobles. Your first pregnancy was rough to say the least, and she was there for all of it holding your hand when everything came to it’s heartbreaking end.

And here she is now, doing her best to keep you calm as she conducts her exam. You begin to shift as you feel another one of the pains you’d felt earlier. It wasn’t horrible, only strange and unpleasant. Yoongi presses his lips to your forehead while you begin to play with his hands to distract yourself. The two lay holding tight to one another as you wait for the midwife’s news. As she felt your stomach, Mrs. Lee paused for a moment furrowing her brow before suddenly bursting out in a smile unlike any other.

“Your Grace, I have good news and even better news. First off your child is in perfect health at the time being.”

You let out a heavy sigh of relief, both of you feeling as though a large weight had been lifted.

“Second is those little pains you were complaining about. It’s not something going wrong that feeling is from the baby kicking. A lot of mothers complain about it being an odd feeling, but it’s good and it means that the baby’s doing well.”

“They didn’t kick last time,” you whispered.

“I know Angel,” she explained. “But you’re much further along this time, and you seem much healthier. Having some spotting this late is a bit concerning, but so long as you start getting enough rest and I keep checking up on you, I don’t think we have anything we need to be too worried about. I’m going to head out now and give the two of you some space, but you can call for me at any time even if it’s something small.”

Mrs. Lee excused herself and quietly left the two of you on your own once more. Yoongi loosened his embrace and turned to face you, there were tears in his eyes and the biggest gummy smile he’s had. You take your hand and place his against your stomach where your unborn child kept kicking. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a while before he finally felt something, “They kicked! They actually-” He laughed and gave a joyful little sigh at this, “I love you so much Angel, you’re going to be an amazing mother.”

“I love you too Yoongs, I couldn’t do any of this without you. We’re going to be a great team, but I think our child is going to need a name pretty soon.”

Yoongi gave you an evil grin, “We should name her Yoonji”

“Absolutely not, I think I’m going to be sick,” you announced pressing your hand to your stomach. “We are not naming her after your sister, she’s too much of a b-”

“You can’t keep calling her a bitch, especially when we’re in front of others,” he tried to sound exasperated but the laughter that followed quickly put an end to that act.

You rolled your eyes at the ridiculous argument the two of you kept falling into, surely there were more important things than your opinions and not so backhanded comments about his sister. “Please be serious. If you could choose any name for our child, what would it be?”

“What about Aria for a girl’s name?”

You smile and take his hand in yours once more, “I think it’s beautiful, but we’re not going to need it. We are having a son.”

“My Love, I have no doubt that you know just about everything but we’re not going to find out until they’re here. There’s no way of being sure.”

“No, I’m absolutely sure. This child will be our first beautiful little boy, and I know I’m right. It’s a mother’s instinct and I’m never wrong.”

“Then what are you suggesting, since you’re never wrong.”

“What about Hyun-Su?”

“It’s perfect.”

You pull him closer and reach up to cup his face between your hands, “We’re going to be good at this, right? They’re going to turn out better than we did.”

“I hope so,” he turns his head slightly as he presses his lips to each of your palms. “Regardless they’re going to grow up knowing that they have two parents who will love and fight for them no matter what.”

The two of you stayed under the covers, wrapped in this moment of relief and utter bliss at knowing that your child would grow to be safe, healthy, and above all else loved. What you didn’t know was that this joy would be short lived as much grimmer news was always just around the corner. You had found out quite some time before Yoongi, receiving the letter from one of the associates you had within the court. Oftentimes it paid to have eyes and ears throughout the kingdom, but for possibly the first time you regretted having this knowledge. The letter shook in your hands as you considered your choices, you could send help but you knew there would be some kind of trap lying in wait. There was no way you would risk losing Yoongi to such an obvious scheme, even if it meant sacrificing someone else. Throwing the parchment into the fireplace you watched as all of it crumbled to ash.

The letters kept coming, this time from the Southern Kims themselves each one growing more desperate in their pleas for assistance. It would be one thing to send soldiers, but you knew Yoongi would try to go with and fight the second he heard that Seokjin was in danger. The Kims were kind and had been there for you and your husband every time you needed help, they deserved better and it broke your heart to turn them away knowing that they and their children were likely to die.

At first you just hid them in the pockets of your dress, but after one had nearly slipped out in front of Yoongi you had taken more precautions in hiding the precious information contained in the writing. It began with storing them under the dresser, and then in your pillowcase, burning them the second you had a chance. You had been pulling up the floorboards in search of a new hiding place when Yoongi finally found out. Pushing the envelope under your skirts you had tried to keep him from noticing anything amiss. Unfortunately your husband was more observant than you would like to give him credit for and he had known you long enough to know how you’d try to hide something.

“Yoongi, you can’t go. These aren’t just another group of ruthless barbarians stupid enough to slaughter their own men, they’ll know that you’re coming and they will plan for that.”

“I’ll meet with the generals before I go, we’ll come up with a plan. It will be alright, I promise.” He took your hand in his willing you both to believe the words he said.

You pulled away from him as you stood, “Very well, we can meet with the generals and send troops to help the Kims. However, you are staying here.”

“No, Jin might get on my nerves at times but he’s one of my closest friends. I’m not going to do nothing while he and his family are at risk.”

“What about our family? I know I didn’t want to get too excited about anything, but we don’t have very long until we’re parents ourselves.”

“I’ll be back before the baby comes, without so much as a scratch. I promise.”

“Please don’t. Don’t make promises that we both know aren’t guaranteed.” You took a shakey breath, “Yoongi, I rarely ask anything of you, but this time I am begging you please don’t go. I can’t lose you- we can’t lose you.”

He said something, but you could hardly process the words as his footsteps echoed across the floor, he left you with the hollow sound of your bedroom doors swinging shut behind him and a simple apology mumbled from behind the sealed doors.

You refused to sit and do nothing as your husband led himself to slaughter, if there was anyway to prevent his death you would find it. Collecting all the debts and favours owed to you by the less than upstanding members of the court was just the beginning. It took more bribing and blackmail than you had bargained for, but you got other nobles to send the reinforcements you needed. Lady Park had been all too cooperative after you happened to mention a certain nude portrait and it’s current whereabouts, she and her husband sent twice the guards you had asked for and even provided maps of the area. As for the others, some were less generous but were still eager to compensate you for information or silence in one way or another. The Northern Kims were unable to send any troops of their own. However, Namjoon’s young wife had provided a sizable amount of gold and information on a mercenary group that was up to the job. You had nothing to use against them and didn’t know of anything they were in need of, but for some reason she had given you help regardless. It was a small kindness, but a greatly appreciated one in your time of need.

Everything was in place and you’d given the go ahead for them to approach the men surrounding the Southern Palace, but you’d yet to hear back from any of your troops. All of this had been meant as a backup plan in case something went wrong, but as days turned into weeks Yoongi’s chances of success were growing smaller. You’d taken to pacing the halls at night as your due date drew nearer, he should have been back by now.

“Y/N, you have to rest. You're putting too much stress on your body and that’s not good for you or the baby,” Mrs. Lee warned as she pushed your hair away from your face.

“ Well... seeing as how he’s the one causing all of this, you can take that up with Yoongi once he’s back. Until then I’ll be up doing everything I can to make sure that he comes home in one piece.”

Mrs. Lee didn’t seem too fond of your reply and folded her arms across her chest, “I’ll be sure to mention that, but until then I want you to be resting as much as possible and taking care of yourself. So little miss, you will be in bed, eating three full meals a day, and you will not be fussing over all of this anymore. What’s done is done and all we can do is wait.”

One of the maids came knocking at your door, disturbing your mandated rest. Somehow you’d become even more confined to your room after the slight back pains you’d felt that morning. You’d been told to get your rest and avoid getting too worked up. Mrs. Lee would be furious if she found out, but she wasn’t the one in charge here and you had told them to wake you at any hour if they had news from your husband. The young girl had placed a small parcel before you and saw her way out as quietly as possible. You tore the small bow apart, unwrapping it as quickly as possible, tearing the paper piece by piece until you felt shredded wet fabric against your hands.

From the mess you were able to identify one of Yoongi’s jackets, torn to bits and coated in sweat from the battlefield. You’d grown used to seeing things like this, but what stopped you in your tracks were the warm heavily saturated stains of blood that had seeped into the cut fabric. He’d sent you these before, but never in this condition. The two of you had a running joke that he could damage any clothing or armor he wore in a fight, so long as he came home unharmed. But this didn’t seem like it came from someone else, if he had been wearing this then it had to be his blood. Picking up the paper, you looked again for a ransom note, a threatening letter, anything that would tell you that he was still alive, but there was nothing else. He was gone and there was nothing you could do about it.

You felt a sob forming as a different kind of pain tore through you. It was a kind of pressure that brought you to your knees, crying out as Mrs. Lee rushed to your side. She helped you to the edge of the bed, helping you to lay back as she wiped the tears from your eyes.

“It’s going to be alright Y/N, we’re gonna get through this.”

“I can’t- I can’t do this alone. I’m not ready.”

Mrs. Lee takes your hand and squeezes it in hers, “You’re not alone, I’m right here with you

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, he’s gone.”

“Now that’s enough of that, you need to save your energy. I was trying to keep you from going into labor this soon, but it looks like it’s about time to push.” You shook your head at Mrs. Lee’s words as you tried to delay the inevitable. As much as you attempted to stall your labor, your efforts had been in vain as you entered the hours of pushing. Your vision blurred from falling tears as you cried out for the one person who vowed to be by your side for moments like these, all the while knowing that he was never going to walk through that door again

“Angel, I’m here.” Yoongi’s voice called out as the doors were thrown open.

“You’re hurt,” you commented as you took his face between your hands. He had a large gash running down his face, the cut at first glance seeming to go through his eye as well. As you started to remove the blood it became clear that it had been a very narrow miss, but was deeper than you had hoped.

“It’s only a scratch.”

“Oh really, If that’s only a scratch then all this is but a stomach ache and I should be up and about in a few minutes at most.”

“That’s hardly a fair-” Unfortunately for Yoongi, whatever argument he had planned was soon cut off by your yelling at yet another contraction. He climbed into the bed behind you, holding your hand as you cursed him for putting you in your current position.

Whomever said that the pain of childbirth disappeared from one’s memory the second they held their child was horribly wrong, and you wanted nothing more than to personally stab that person in the stomach so that they could feel a fragment of everything you went through. And yet, when you looked at your newborn son it felt as though all that pain were worth it. Yoongi had somehow forgotten about all the horrible things you had called him during labor, or at least decided not to bring it up for a very long time. Your child had made an early and all too exciting entrance into the world, and all of you seemed to be recovering from this in one way or another.

Yoongi had been healing very well, but it became apparent that his wound would leave a scar. Not that you minded, he’d teased you about yours since the very first night the two of you had known each other intimately. Even now as you lie in bed he still traces the two lines on each side of your spine, pressing a kiss to each of the spots he claimed must have held the wings of an angel before you had fallen.

“I think we’ve earned ourselves at least a full day of napping.” Yoongi commented, already pulling the covers over the two of you.

“Just one?” You asked, “If you ask me I think we should try and break our old record and try for at least two and a half days of sleep.”

“When did we,” he paused as the memory dawned on him, “Are you talking about the New Year’s when we were snowed in with the Park family. I remember being in bed for most of that weekend, but I don’t recall much sleep going on at the time.”

“I was talking about after all of that, we ended up being so tired that we spent our last couple days asleep. We could have gotten a few more hours of rest if their staff hadn’t woken us up.”

“Well, there’s no one to bother us now. And our son is sound asleep, so I think we should be too.”

The two of you glanced at the tiny figure in the crib across from you, he looked so small and fragile but you had been relieved to know that he would continue to grow into a strong and healthy young boy. He was only a few days old and you were already starting to notice that he had formed his dad’s same habit of oversleeping, “Hey Yoongs, I’m happy he takes after you.”

[winter-fox-queen]

No Cheap Thrill

Thank you to @autumnleaves1991-blog for this awesome prompt, Writer Wednesdays are lovely!  Also, thanks to @hnt-escape for encouraging me to try.  The title is from one of my favorite Suzanne Vega songs, which uses poker playing as a clever theme.  “It’ll cost you, cost you maybe more than you can pay...”

Summary:  You are a thief trying to steal a prize off a steam ship during a themed poker weekend, but a certain Statesman Agent has other plans...

Some making out, the reader is in a dress and seems fairly feminine.  No names used so can be a reader insert.  Not re-read...I wrote it yesterday, got stuck, so I changed it a bit.  

I was not best pleased with the reflection the mirror showed me.  I looked like an extra from a Maverick movie, down to my lace covered cleavage and corset top.  The skirt was full, the sapphire and black colors of my clothes, down to the jet beading decorating on the sleeves screamed expensive and highly inaccurate 1800’s costume.  At least the full skirt hid my revolver (pearl handled, must stay in costume, right?) and some assorted odds and ends.

I was on a steam ship, a steam ship with a themed poker tournament – the prize was a diamond. The diamond wasn’t the real prize. The box, with its flash drive full of dirty little secrets was.  And that was what I wanted.  Not that I’d turn down the diamond.

Tonight was just practice. The main event would be tomorrow…but before the sun rose I intended to be far, far away from here.  I went into the parlor.  

I don’t want you to think I am easily distracted.  But the second I entered the room I made my first mistake.  I let my eyes longer for far too long on a man.  

Everyone there was in costume…but he was the only one here who carried it off.  Black cowboy hat, black frockcoat, tall black boots.  His vest was tawny colored, with a hit of copper in the brocade, and saved the outfit from being too cold.  Something about him hit me in the chest.  And, stupid as I was, I let myself forget who I really was.

He noticed me staring at him and he smirked at me, tipped his hat.  He looked so damned smug – he knew he looked good, blast him.  The voice of self preservation in my head told me to ignore him.

Instead, I did my best sashay over to the gaming tables, took a seat.

I looked up.  He was still looking at me, his gaze more speculative now.  I tilted my head towards the other empty chair, and smiled.

He put down his drink and accepted my invitation.  Settling into his chair he said, “I’m Jack Daniels, what’s your name, darlin’?”

“Darling works.  You have to earn more.”  I said, as the dealer started to lay out the cards.

He grinned, sensing a challenge.  “Well, then. Let’s  play.”

He had a casual way of playing.  I hoped he would be horrible at cards, careless.  He played with the ease of someone who’d been playing all his life.

Then I made my second mistake.

I got invested.

It was a combination of things.  The way he smiled at me, his eyes lazy as they worked down my cleavage and back up. I felt the weight of his gaze like a caress, on the back of my neck, tracing my collarbone…Those dark eyes made me feel like I was melting from the inside out.  It as also the way his large hands held the cards. The way they flipped chips into the pile in the middle of the table.  Oddly graceful.  I never thought I’d ever be jealous of a stack of cardboard, but there you are.

I also liked the way his eyes crinkled, the way he praised me when I had a better hand.  It was so damned good natured.

Sexy without being sleezy. He had a sweetness to him, but also an edge.  Sometimes I would look at him and think his gaze was more sharp than it should be, but he covered it up with that good ol boy act of his.  And I found myself wanting to believe that he really did think I was that attractive.

Finally, it was just us.

“You gonna call, darlin?”

I stared at my hand. A full house.  Not much beats a full house, and I could get my money back, maybe a little of my dignity.  Jack had twisted me around his fingers and then led me to my destruction.  “I don’t…I don’t have anything left.”

He gave me another one of those looks, the kind I could feel burning my skin.  “I wouldn’t say that.”  I blushed like a virgin.

“Still.”

“Your earrings.  Toss those in.”

I took them out and threw them in.

He looked at his cards. I held my breath.  

He dropped his cards with a flourish.  Aces and eights.  

A full house, like mine.

But mine was king high. “You won.”  I said softly.

He stood up, took the earrings off the pile.  “Nice meeting you, darling.”  And left. Someone asked about the pot sitting in the middle of the table.  “Let her have it,” he said, as he worked through the crowd.  

I wanted to get up and rush after him.  But I stayed, tipped the dealer, made arrangements for my winnings.  Use the opportunity to follow the chips back to the saferoom, scope out what I could.

I took off my choker, and placed it with my chips.  “Do you mind locking this up, too?”  It had a nice sapphire on it, but wasn’t really worth much, but the banker smiled and did as I asked.  

Jack had accidentally made the next step of my plan easy.  I walked back towards my stateroom.  The necklace had a tiny sensor and camera installed.  I could pull up a lot of data on my phone, data that would…

A hand grabbed me by my upper arm, and I was pushed back against a wall.

“Jack.”  I was ashamed how relived I sounded.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have been…we were alone in a side corridor, and unlikely to be disturbed.  His eyes looked far more dangerous than warm.  His arms caged me on either side.  Something told me it would not be wise to run.

“Good evening darlin’. Did you get a good look in the saferoom yet?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He grinned at me, mirthless. “You’re a beautiful woman with a rather unfortunate hobby.  Do you really think I don’t know who you are? We were told someone would come for the diamond…”

I looked him in the eyes and cupped his face gently.  “I’m not here for the diamond.”

“Then why are you here?”

I pulled him a little closer.  “Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Daniels?  Maybe I’m here to distract you.”

He reached into his pocket. I felt a tug on my ear, his fingers traced their way down my neck.  I realized he’d put one of the earrings back into my ears, his touch like a ghost’s.  

“Consider me distracted.” He whispered, kissing the other side of my neck, firm enough that his moustache didn’t tickle.  I felt an ache, deep and longing, start to build.  His hand rested on my waist, his other hand coming up to replace the other earring.  

“We can do this one of two ways, sweet thing,” he drawled softly on my ear, then kissed along my jaw line, just stopping short of my lips.  I kept staring at his lips, wondering what they’d feel like on mine. Part of me felt angry, yelling in the back of my head for acting like this, lust struck over some cowboy.

“Does one of them involve you kissing me?”

He grinned a little, “It could.  Let’s see…” And he kissed me.  Gentle at first, then deeper.  I fisted his jacket labels in my hands.  

He pulled away, took my chin in one of his hands, and looked me in the eyes.  “Don’t make me do what I’ll have to, if you go back for the diamond.” He paused, and then, soft, heartfelt. “Please.”

My jaw dropped a little, and I said, moved to honesty, “The flash drive…it’s got…”

“There is no flash drive.” He said softly, dropping his hand away.

I felt the blood drain out of my face.  “The whole thing was a trap.”  I said, dully.  

“My friends picked up three other like minded souls already.  A couple more less savory characters are due in tomorrow.  I’ve read your file.  You ain’t like them, darlin.  Not yet.”

“I’m a thief.  I said with a spark of – alright, yes, misplaced – pride.  

He leaned against the wall next to me.  “And a damned good one, stealing things back for people who can’t get them back otherwise, stealing blackmail back…you’ve never actively hurt anyone.”  He paused.  “Yet.”

“Yet.”  I said softly.  

He leaned in close.  “I have a proposition for you, pretty thing.”

I hugged myself.  “What?”

His lips were so close to my ear I could feel the heat of his breath.  “Ever hear of the Statesmen?”

[wicked-game-black-butler]

This ask was submitted by @katelittlekitten. Thank you for your support! It means a lot! <3

Anyway the ask if you’d like to do it is: Grey having to crossdress for a mission that he and Phipps are working on, kind of like Ciel did during the Jack the Ripper case. I guess this fits the bulletpoint format ? But feel free to write it in whatever way you see fit.

The assignment from the Queen appeared simple at first glace: retrieve and destroy the damning photographs Lady Byron intended on using to blackmail Her Majesty. Upon further inspection, both Grey and Phipps realized this mission would be more complicated to execute than they had initially assumed for the main fact that the Queen’s butlers were known to the Bryon’s. So, after much deliberation (and plenty of complaining by Grey), it was decided they would visit the Byron’s London townhouse in disguise...as a couple.  

The fitting process was an absolute nightmare for Grey, who was as pleased about the turn of events as a cat being bathed. His pride was rather large and easily wounded, as if it were trying to compensate for his naturally petit stature. His ire was further spurned by the open amusement shared between Nina and Phipps. He glared at his lover’s reflection and decided while the seamstress effervescently prattled on about how she had always dreamed of getting to fit the slender butler for a corset, that the next time he was balls deep in Phipps, he wasn’t going to let him climax until he properly apologized for enjoying his embarrassment so unashamedly. 

 Two weeks later found them crossing the threshold of the Countess’ abode, where they had to spend an agonizing hour discussing the greatest sights of the area (as they were disguised as a newly wedded couple who had recently moved to London), before Grey couldn’t take it any longer and discreetly excused himself under the pretense that he needed to relieve himself. Once out of earshot, he scaled the stairs-two by two-muttering curses along the way of how blastedly heavy and uncomfortably warm the dress was. Even his balls were sweating. He snuck into Lady Byron’s chambers, hoping it wouldn’t take long to find what they had come for. He knew on a good day that Phipps wasn’t much of a conversationalist, so he didn’t have much time. Fortunately for him, Lady Byron wasn’t distrustful enough, and had hidden the photographs in a secret compartment of her writing desk. So he tucked them into a pocket Nina had sown into the skirt and rejoined his “husband”. And by the nervous twitch of Phipps’ lips, which only Grey would understand, he had arrived just in time, the other clearly struggling to maintain conversation with the Lady. Upon his arrival, he announced his return using their code phrase “powder my nose” so Phipps would know the mission had been successful and they could leave as soon as the conversation naturally allowed for it.

To Grey’s chagrin, their visit lasted for another half hour. And, unfortunately for Phipps, Grey did nothing but moan on their carriage ride back to the palace that he couldn’t wait to get out of the infernal dress. However, Phipps surprised Grey as he assisted his lover out of the cumbersome garment when he paused and wrapped his arms around Grey’s waist. The rare flush came to Grey’s cheeks- who was in nothing but a corset, garter, and stockings- when he caught the way Phipps’ eyes darkened as his gaze trailed the other man’s form. Grey’s stomach clenched with anticipation when their gazes met, Phipps stating that it was a shame that he hated the outfit so much...he rather enjoyed seeing him in a corset.

I hope you enjoyed this. It was rather fun to torture the smaller butler. *cue evil laughter* And I hope you didn’t mind that I wrote their relationship the way I did. I low-key ship those two. ^_^

Anyway, thank you for this ask and for your support! I hope you’re staying safe! 

PS- Oh, I forgot to add this, but this is the dress Nina made for Grey. 

[duskodair]

5, 29 🤠

5: squeezing the other’s shoulder

29: nudging them to show they are right beside them

It is a perfect day. Damned perfect, thinks Noel as she watches the morning sun shine down the street from the ajar window of her hotel room.

She secures her undergarments and turns away from the window, letting Jonah in. He sidles into the room, carrying the heavy box in his arms. Between them, a dense layer of foreboding grows that the weather outside seems oblivious to.

They have a couple of hours to work, so Noel turns to the dresser and reaches for the crystalline decanter and pours out two glasses of whiskey. As she returns the decanter to its place, the clock beside it ticks out a warning.

Behind her, Jonah clicks the box open. Neither of them move to act on its contents, they simply look at them and then at each other.

Noel lifts the glasses of whiskey and moves over to his side. Gently, she shoves his glass into his hand and perches beside him on the bed.

Outside a bird sings, the only sound to fracture the regular metronome tick of the clock. The twins sit in silence.

Then, Jonah, 'Are you sure you want to go through with this?'

She pauses, 'No. But I'm going to. And besides, it'll only be a year or so.'

He frowns and considers and she watches words fade from his tongue, unspoken. He takes a sip of his drink and hardens his resolve.

'Gah. Well, we'd best get on with it then,' He plops his glass on a side table and rises, turning to rest his hand on her shoulder. He squeezes it automatically, more for his own comfort than hers. She sighs, puts down her glass, and follows suit.

He reaches into the box and pulls out a petticoat. He hands it over and she slips it over her head, tying it securely over the base of her corset. It's a finer fabric than she's used to, and on any other day, that would delight her, but today it simply helps to build her lingering sense of dread.

Getting her dressed takes little more than ten minutes. Jonah is long practiced with tiny buttons and pins. His hands make light work of the components of her dress, carefully draping the pale blue silk of her skirt over the crinoline.

Once she has the bodice pinned in place, he directs her over to the stool and pulls out a comb. He works carefully to unwind her hair from the rags that they'd set it to curl in on the previous evening and combs her hair into gentle ringlets.

'Are you sure that you're sure? We could leave town right now, if you want. You don't have to do this, Noel'

'The plan was to do this. We can't just write off an entire con just because I get cold feet.' He doesn't like that response, she hears him huff from behind the curtain of her hair.

'This is more than just a con, Noel, and you know it. I can't let you marry this bozo if you're not sure. This con is not more important than you, and there are always other cons-'

She cuts off his monologue as it begins to spiral, 'I am doing this. It's not a real marriage and you know it. Lord knows it's not even in a Catholic church, Sister Agatha would be reeling.'

He chuckles, 'yes, absolutely. It is the denomination of the church that makes this marriage not binding, rather than the eight other factors that should prevent it bein' lawful.'

She raises her voice into a terrible impersonation of Sister Agatha, producing a frail quaver, 'Now you listen here, young Anthony, you must remember that marriage is key. Haven't you heard that children born out of wedlock are the devil's own work-'

'Noel,' he starts, serious once more, 'sister dearest, listen to me for once. It may not be a marriage in law or in feeling, but you know it is a marriage in act. I know you know this. And we both know what kind of a man Mr. Lloyd is. Are you sure that you are up for this?'

She takes his hand, interrupting his combing. Both of their hands shake a little. For a moment, she simply sits there. He squats down to look beneath her hair. Her eyes flick to his and she swallows.

'I don't know. I don't know if I can do this, but I don't want to give up either. We do need the money.'

'Don't think about the money right now, awright. We'll get the money, somehow. You don't have to marry this fella if you don't want to. Hell, we can leave Danser right now, if you want.'

She smiles, a little shaky, 'You're real sweet, but I said I'd do it, so I'll do it. It's not like you're going anywhere in the next year, is it? We'll be awright. Death till us part and all that.'

He sighs and rises, 'Well, if you're sure. Let me know if you change your mind'

He works the comb through her hair again, slowly working to pin the long red strands back.

She lets him work in silence for a while, listening to the foreboding tick of the clock and the faint bustling of the people of Danser. He ties a ribbon in her hair and makes sure to fasten her crucifix round her neck.

'All done,' he announces, passing her a hand mirror. A confident woman gazes back at her and she grimaces.

'This will work,' she appraises, 'I look like I was raised by a bloody governess and sent to finishing school in Europe. Now daddy is marrying me off, Look'

She wafts her engagement ring at him. 'Yuck,' he says, 'You sure as shit don't talk like it, rich girl.'

She sticks her tongue out at him by reflex, before regretting it instantly. A quick glance at the clock confirms her suspicions, 'I don't have to be prim and proper for an hour yet. When that clock goes I'll be a proper repressed little lady for you.'

He pulls a chair over to join her, offering out his hand to hers. She takes it and feels his clammy palm in hers. She lifts her head and looks him in the eye. A heavy weight hangs over him and foreboding swirls in the air. He blinks and looks away, turning toward the window.

'Are you ready?' He asks, after they have sat in restless silence for a moment that seems to last forever, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock.

'No. But I guess I have to be.'

'I guess so'. He squeezes her hand in his, 'can I help?'

She worries at the ruffles on her skirt as she stares at the floor. She rolls her words around her mouth before she mutters them, voice far removed from the crystal clarity that she usually relies on. 'I don't know what I'm doing'.

She hopes she doesn't have to spell it out more than that. She doesn't think she can. Of the two of them, he has always been the one with sweethearts and lovers. She has never been interested in that kind of thing, but she's kicking herself now that marriage is looming.

He sighs and scuffs the toes of his boots together, squeezing her hand in his. 'Lord, Noel, I can't help you with that. If the plan goes right it won't get to that, and he'll be too drunk to touch you. And if he hurts you, I will duel him.'

'If you duel anyone, I will kill you myself.'

'Noel-'

'No. If he hurts me. He hurts me. No point in getting shot over it. An' besides, we've surely got enough blackmail to settle it like grown ups.' She gives him a withering look. Used to it, he is unperturbed. 'You oughta get dressed up, you scruff bag. Haven't you heard it's my wedding day?'

Dismissed, he drops her hand and rummages for the suit he is renting. She watches him chuck his more comfortable clothes into a pile on her floor as he pulls it on. He returns to her with his red hair askew, with tufts of it sticking out hither and thither.

She holds out her hand for the comb and rises to tidy him up. They keep their silence, each subsumed in private worries and frustrations. As she combs, she catalogues the contents of her packed trunk, imagining where each item will go in her new house.

He stares straight ahead and his jaw twitches as he thinks. About what, though, she has no clue. As she finishes, the clock begins to wind up to strike, bringing with it a crushing sense of dread. She fumbles the comb as she puts it down, her shaking hands knocking it to the floor.

'Time,' says Jonah, offering a hand.

She takes it and they leave the room. She turns the key in the door and steps away, abjectly aware of every breath. She is happy to be led by his arm as she follows down the stairs and into the street.

Nothing in Danser has stopped for them. Life in the town continues as Noel's heart threatens to stop. Jonah leads the way. She focuses on moving her feet.

The church rises before them as a threat, a dark shape blotting out the sun. The door hangs open, awaiting. She pulls herself to stand straight and tries to force herself to focus. Jonah comes to a pause.

'Ready?'

She nods. He leads them into the darkness. It is cool in the church. Or at least something makes her blood run cold. Perhaps it is the sight of the back of her fiancé's head. For a second, she forgets how to breathe.

At her side, Jonah nudges her to remind her that he is there. She turns to glance at him, takes a deep breath in, and steps forward. As they walk, she hears their steps echo through the barren church. The pews will seat over fifty, but there are only five people in attendance.

She tracks them with her eyes, watches the preacher adjust his notes with a tired kind of boredom. She watches Mr Lloyd pick at his sleeves, notes the more casual jacket that he is wearing. Gunther Price, his foreman, slouches behind him, still in working clothes, the least interested witness that Noel could imagine.

It's nice to know where she stands, she thinks, as she makes her way down the aisle. Her husband-to-be has no strong allies, nobody to come to his wedding unpaid. Jonah's observation is correct, he will not be missed.

She takes her place before the preacher and listens to his words, foreboding in this echoey church. He speaks of the sanctity of marriage, of the love of God. He asks if there are any lawful impediments and Noel has to bite her tongue and concentrate to not turn to face Jonah and laugh. Resolute silence is the answer in the empty church.

Noel keeps her breathing steady and prepares to make promises that she has no intention of keeping. She keeps her voice steady as she makes her vows. She has practiced this. She does not look at Jonah. She does not look at the man who will be her husband.

Her hands are shaking so badly that Tobias struggles to slide the ring on her finger. It is cold to the touch and his fingers are clammy. She slides a ring in return. Fine California gold. Lovely.

She closes her eyes and lets him kiss her. She dislikes the scratch of his beard and the clumsiness of his lips. The church is filled with silence as he takes her in his arms.

They sign paperwork and return to the Hotel. The twins work to ensure that her husband is well supplied with drink so that by the time the newlyweds retire to their room, his hapless fumblings will be unable to reach beneath her shift.

She closes her eyes and prepares to rise early. The next stage of this con can't come soon enough. At least, she thinks, Jonah will get her out, if things go wrong.

[aliciameade]

Santa's Little Helper - Merry Pitchmas 2019

Merry Pitchmas to @brandneweyesx! 

Summary: Beca needs to earn some extra cash so Chloe hooks her up with a job at the mall. And maybe her motives aren't totally innocent.

Rated: T

(Also on AO3)

“Just cover me one more time; you know I’m good for it,” Beca says, giving her best big doe-eyes that she knows will win over Chloe. She doesn’t take advantage of the known weakness that often, but it’s useful when she does.

She watches Chloe sigh yet nod in agreement. “Okay. You know, if you’re so broke, I could try to put in a good word at a few of the stores in the mall. They all staff up for the holidays.”

Beca’s instinct is to reject it; she’s busy enough as it is with figuring out how the Bellas will defend their national title and repeat as champions. Oh, and attending class. She does that most days, too. She’s also flat broke as a result of her packed schedule and Chloe’s paid Beca’s share of the Bella house bills for the last three months.

“Fine,” Beca says, resigned. “But nothing lame like Cinnabon or hocking hand lotions at a kiosk. Get me in at Journeys or Sunglass Hut. Somewhere I can get a discount on stuff I actually want to buy.”

She smiles into Chloe’s shoulder when she gets tackled by a wholly unnecessary and welcome hug. “I’ll do my best. I can’t believe we’re going to work together!”

“Do not get me a job at Victoria’s Secret.”

“What—too tempting to look at all the pretty girls?”

“Shut up,” Beca huffs while pushing Chloe off her. She schools her face into a strong pout with a hefty glare that earns her a giggly kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Chloe says, voice dropping to a whisper, “your secret’s safe with me.”

Beca’s pout turns into a furious blush. She’s still getting used to the whole someone-knows-she’s-gay thing. Chloe was the first—and remains the only—person she’s come out to. It’s been kind of nice getting to talk about it, even if it feels a lot like learning to ride a bike without training wheels.

It’s helped that Chloe had made no secret about her own bisexuality, and her current favorite hobby is quietly pointing out (or texting pictures of) girls she thinks Beca might find attractive and prodding her for an opinion. It’s also often accompanied with, “I can talk to her for you if you want.”

Beca’s been dismissive of the options, begrudgingly admitting that, “Yes, that girl is pretty,” but, “No, please don’t talk to her for me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” is the reason she provides when Chloe asks why not.

“What if we went on a date instead?” is the answer she wishes she could give,” but, “No, please don’t talk to her for me.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” is the reason she provides when Chloe asks why not.

“What if we went on a date instead?” is the answer she wishes she was brave enough to give instead.

“Okay, no lingerie stores,” Chloe laughs, interrupting Beca’s thoughts. “Let me see what I can rustle up for you.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

When Beca shows up at the mall the following Thursday afternoon, she’s there via what seems like one step away from an illegal hustle based on the lack of information provided by the man who had called her.

“Southeast entrance. 4:00. Ask for Randall.”

Turns out the southeast entrance isn’t where she’s going; a man identified as Randall leads her through a service entrance and into a network of nondescript, neutral-colored hallways. She’s considering texting Chloe and asking what exactly she’s about to walk into or if she needs to have her family prepare ransom money when Randall pushes open a door into an employee locker room.

Her apprehension eases considerably at the normalcy that comes with it. Just walls of blue lockers, a few benches, and a vending machine.

“163,” he says, pointing vaguely.

“They’re assigned? What is this, high school?” she asks with a laugh, only he doesn’t laugh back and she sobers, apprehension immediately returning. She follows his orders though, glad to put some distance between them, and pops the latch on locker 163.

“What is this?” she asks, pointing at its contents as she turns around, but Randall is already leaving and has offered no further instruction or clarity. “Cool, cool, cool,” she says with a nod as she turns back to face her reality.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“We need to talk,” she texts Chloe, accompanied by a photo of the atrocious red and green outfit hanging in her locker before stuffing her phone into the pocket of her green skirt (at least it has pockets). The candy cane-striped leggings are itchy, the corsetted top is, in her opinion, too racy for Christmas, and honestly, don’t even get her started on the hat.

At least she can wear her own boots.

Unsure where to go, she stomps out the same exit Randall had gone and nearly runs into the man waiting on the other side of the door.

“Let’s go,” he says before dialing a number on a weirdly out-of-date flip phone.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? I mean, I have a pretty good idea but it’d be nice to know—“

She stops mid-sentence when a door opens and she’s pushed (not led) right into the open floor of the shopping center just meters away from what is clearly the back of the mall’s installation of Santa’s Workshop, a noisy, bright monstrosity designed as a cash-grab for parents who need Instagram content. She’s avoided it like the plague every season while shopping, and now it seems the avoidance has ricocheted back upon her ten-fold.

She turns around looking for Randall but he’s gone and the door she was booted through is closed and the only thing left for her to do is to explore the obvious: she approaches the back door of the workshop and knocks while considering ding-dong-ditching.

The door swings open and a man that looks to be about her age, maybe a bit younger, sticks his head out. He’s dressed similarly but has a noticeable amount of rouge on his cheeks and he’s definitely wearing body glitter. “Beca?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Just in time; I need a damn break. Get in here.”

She’s half-pulled into the structure which is much less magical inside than its exterior, save for a few deliberately placed decorations that can be seen if one looks in from the front windows. There are a couple of overstuffed chairs, a Christmas tree, a fake fireplace,  and a plain table and chairs that sit in the back out of sight for employees. “Um, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. Literally and figuratively,” she adds hoping for at least a smile but instead, she gets a blank stare.

“You’re an elf. Go be an elf.” With that, her new, nameless coworker disappears out the back as if such an explanation is suitable for someone’s first day on a job, as basic as it might seem.

“And a Merry Christmas to you,” she says with a sarcastic bow in his direction. She checks her phone expecting a response form Chloe but she hasn’t replied so she does the only thing she can do.

She puts her phone away and opens the front door of Santa’s Workshop to the cheers (and screams) of children and a loud, “Ho, ho, ho! Here’s another of my little helpers!” from an unimpressive mall Santa who looks at her with what should be a criminal level of disdain. Or pity. “Well, let’s not keep the good girls and boys waiting!” He gestures at the line that has no end in sight and Beca figures there’s only one thing to do.

“Okay, little guy,” she says, reaching out to take the hand of the next child in line, “let’s visit Santa!”

She’s going to have some very strong words for Chloe when she sees her tonight.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“Dude, you said you were going on a break! It’s been at least two hours,” she whispers harshly under her breath when the elf she replaced returns. All he offers is a shrug and takes up a position at the front of the line to pass off the children to Beca.

At least she doesn’t have to walk back and forth trying to control the kids anymore. If they make it as far as her, most of them are agreeable to her lifting them on to Santa’s lap without too much of a fuss.

Her back is aching by the time someone tells her that she can take a dinner break and her hands are so uncomfortably sticky that she knows she’s destined to wake up puking tomorrow thanks to some illness she’s acquired. She pushes through the front door of the workshop and makes a beeline for the giant pump bottle of hand sanitizer, briefly considering bathing with it but settles on slathering it only on her hands and arms.

A check of her phone reveals to her her worst nightmare.

A photo, sent from Chloe, of Beca standing on the porch of Santa’s Workshop looking less than impressed by her situation, staring off into the distance contemplating her existence.

Only the photo was sent to the Bellas’ group chat, not just Beca, and there are at least fifty texts of varying levels of amusement and threats of blackmail that follow it.

She’s typing out a message intended just for Chloe to convey her irritation as she exits through the back door only to find the would-be recipient of her words waiting for her wearing exactly the smile Beca imagined her sporting when she sent her evil, evil photo to the girls.

“You!” she growls, her stride changing to stalk toward her co-captain. “You knew about this!”

“You asked me to get you a job, Bec!” Chloe says, voice so high and eyes so bright with mirth that it’s impossible for Beca to maintain any level of ill-will toward her. “So I got you a job.”

Beca pokes her squarely in the chest. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“No?”

“I specifically said nothing lame.”

“It’s not lame,” Chloe grins. “I love Christmas!”

“Right. You love Christmas.”

Her correction goes unnoticed (or ignored) by Chloe. “I knew you’d make a good elf.”

Beca crosses her arms. “And why is that? Choose your words carefully.”

“Because I knew you’d look adorable in the costume.” Her eyes roam Beca in what feels like a slightly invasive manner. “And I was right.”

Beca blushes despite herself. “I look like an idiot.”

“But an adorable idiot. Are you on break?”

Beca lets her comment slide. “Yeah.”

“Awes. Me, too. Let’s go to the food court.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Beca should have known that going to the food court in full elf attire would garner attention, especially from children. They flocked to her asking about Santa like pigeons to tossed breadcrumbs and if not for the stupidly cute way Chloe watched her while it happened, she would have probably done something to get herself fired on her first day, like yelling that Santa isn’t even real and to get the fuck away from her.

“You know you owe me. Big time,” she says as Chloe walks her back to the workshop.

“If I’m not mistaken, you actually owe me. That’s why you’re here.”

“Right,” Beca grumbles.

“But seeing you dressed up like this is definitely worth more than the money you owe me. Let’s call it even.”

“What? Dude, no,” Beca says, feeling immensely guilty that Chloe’s offering to forgive the nearly $100 she owes. “I’ll pay you back.”

She feels Chloe grab her hand once they’re behind the workshop and sidle up alongside her to whisper conspiratorially. “Tell you what: give me a private tour of Santa’s Workshop after you close. Then we’ll call it even.”

Beca’s stomach flip-flops, maybe from the mall sushi she just ate or maybe from Chloe being so close and sounding so suggestive. “I don’t think I’m supposed to do that.”

Chloe clicks her tongue and the fact that it happens so close to Beca’s ear makes her shiver. “Everyone knows Santa’s Workshop after-hours is the place to be. You just have to know someone to get in. And now I know you.”

Beca can’t help but smirk a little. “You make it sound like it’s the hottest new club.”

“Well, maybe not quite,” Chloe says with a shrug and puts a bit of space between them once again. “But I do want to see it.”

“It’s just a big empty box.”

“Then who cares if I see it?” Damn Chloe and her logic.

“Fine. What time does this thing close? I don’t even know who my supervisor is. Or when my shift ends.”

“Mall closes at 9:00. Santa at 8:30.”

Beca checks her very non-elf-like watch and groans that it’s only 6:30. “Then meet me here at 8:30.”

Chloe gives her one of her excited squeals and a kiss on her cheek before scampering away back toward her much less lame job at Aeropostale with a wave.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

She spots Chloe spying on her in the open plaza of the mall when she’s helping the other elf close up the workshop (which involves little more than placing a sign in front of the door that reads Santa’s checking his lists - come back tomorrow!) and she throws a glare or two her way.

Chloe laughs at them and when Beca disappears into the workshop house to exit through the back, she sees Chloe all but skipping around it to meet her. Beca lets her fellow elf depart first who stops when he almost bumps into Chloe waiting at the back door. Beca’s immediate reaction is to panic that she’s in trouble but instead, he turns around smiling and says, “Nice one, honey. And on your first day.”

She doesn’t have a chance to ask what he means because he’s out the door and Chloe’s stepping in, closing it behind her.

“Why did he look at me that way?” Beca asks, trying to catch sight of him through a side window as he departs.

“I don’t know,” Chloe says airly. “This is cool!”

“Uh, sure,” Beca says as she steps aside so Chloe can explore what little there is to the place. She watches her try out both chairs, wondering aloud which one is Santa’s and which one is Mrs. Claus’s while taking more than one selfie.

“Come sit on my lap,” Chloe says and it makes Beca wonder if she heard correctly.

“What?”

“Come on,” she repeats, patting it. “Don’t think I’m not getting a picture with Santa’s cutest elf in his workshop.”

“Oh, my God, stop,” Beca says with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll do it, but only if I get photo approval.”

“Deal,” Chloe grins, holding out her arms expectantly.

As if it’s really some big chore for Beca.

She perches cautiously on Chloe’s knee only to get pulled back until Chloe’s arm is around her waist, the other poised in the air with her phone at the ready.

“Say, ‘Have a holly jolly Christmas!’”

“Not saying that,” Beca says but she smiles for the photos anyway.

A few minutes and many photos (and one photo approval) later, Chloe has a new Instagram post and Beca has days of ridicule lying ahead. She’s also still basically on Chloe’s lap, the two of them shifting to share the chair, though Beca’s legs have to drape awkwardly over Chloe’s to fit.

“You know,” Chloe starts as she wiggles to get her phone into her pocket, “I’ve worked at this mall for three Christmases and I’ve never been invited to the workshop.”

“Should I know why that’s significant?”

“Well,” she says as she settles again, her free hand now taking up Beca’s to start playing with her fingers absentmindedly, “this is totes the make-out spot in the mall.”

Beca nearly chokes. “What?”

“I told you: it’s VIP. You have to be invited. It’s like, the law of the mall.”

“And you thought making me an elf would get you in? Dude, I’m not going to be a lookout while you hook up with someone in here.”

“No, silly,” Chloe laughs. “I didn’t mean that. I wanted you to invite me.”

Beca feels like her ears are on fire. “What?”

“You wanna make out?”

Beca’s sure she’s now entirely engulfed in flames, and Chloe’s hand resting on her hip isn’t helping matters. “Dude, what?”

“We don’t have to,” Chloe quickly follows with. “Unless...unless you want to? Maybe? I’m not trying to make anything weird, I just thought, you know, I like you, and now that I know you like girls, too, I just thought maybe...”

Beca’s brain tunes out after that because Chloe’s turned from a giggly, cuddly friend to a rambling ball of nerves; she can even feel how tense Chloe is beneath her. She tunes out because Chloe’s asking Beca if she wants to kiss. Each other. And something about Chloe having thought about it?

“Okay.” She doesn’t know where the word comes from but her brain spits it out and it cuts off Chloe.

“...Okay?” Chloe repeats slowly, as though unsure she heard what she thinks she heard.

Beca feels seconds from full-on panic so she just nods.

“Oh. Cool,” Chloe says, the uncertainty and tension starting to ease. “So…”

“So…” Beca repeats and finds herself adjusting her position next to Chloe so they’re less cheek-to-cheek and more face-to-face.

Or lips-to-lips, as it were. Not that she’s thinking of such things. Mostly her heart os pounding in her ears and her stomach is tingling because there’s no doubt that Chloe’s staring at Beca’s mouth with intent and there’s getting to be less and less distance between them.

Beca holds her breath when they’re so close she can feel Chloe’s. But then Chloe stops.

“Are you sure?” she asks and Beca almost laughs.

“Chloe.” She hears herself and is embarrassed by how whiney it sounds but it makes Chloe’s soft lips split into a grin.

“I just wanted to hear you beg,” she whispers before erasing the last inch between them to press her lips to Beca’s.

Beca’s still reeling from the fact that Chloe is kissing her when her sassy and startingly sexy words register with Beca. She starts to pull away with a grunt of protest, not of the kiss but of Chloe’s cockiness, but Chloe laughs against her lips and slides the arm that’s been around Beca’s waist higher up her back so she can’t get far.

Beca doesn’t really want to get away from Chloe anyway. Or stop what’s currently happening. Because Chloe’s lips feel amazing touching hers and just when Beca starts to sink into it, Chloe changes things up and tilts her head in a way that makes them fit even better.

The sound Beca makes at the touch of Chloe’s tongue to her lips is just as embarrassing as whining about Chloe teasing her but the sound Chloe makes in response is the sexiest thing Beca’s ever heard.

It fuels her. Emboldens her to press a bit forward, to part her lips and let Chloe in to meet her tongue with her own.

That’s all it takes for them to be making out in the darkened Santa’s Workshop. A rambly suggestion and Beca nodding like a bobblehead. If she had known it would be that easy, maybe they could have done this a long time ago.

Not that she has any regrets. Not when Chloe’s tongue is playing with hers in a way that makes Beca think she might be showing off. Or maybe Chloe’s just an amazing kisser.

(She’s pretty sure it’s the latter.)

She doesn’t know how much time passes but eventually Chloe is the one to pull back with a satisfied-sounding groan. “God, that was really good,” she says before leaning in to kiss Beca again, a hard, fast, wet kiss that turns Beca on more in those three seconds than everything prior.

“Yeah,” Beca replies and she can hear in her own voice how breathless she sounds.

“And you look...smokin’ hot dressed up like this.”

Beca almost finds enough snark left inside her to turn that into a comment about Chloe having a weird Christmas kink, except as soon as she thinks about Chloe having kinks of any kind, her mind shuts down again and she’s the one suddenly kissing Chloe, hard, fast, and wet.

Chloe groans again when Beca pulls back and it’s all she can do to not lean right in for more. It feels too good and knowing it’s affecting Chloe like it’s affecting Beca is even better. She manages to refrain, though, because she’s noticing how dark it’s gotten. “Dude, they turned off all the lights.”

“Mall’s closed,” Chloe says, voice sounding as dreamy as she looks.

“And it’s okay for us to still be here?”

“Security will let us out. Do you want to do this again?” Chloe’s question follows her comment about security with no warning and it catches Beca off-guard.

“Uh, I mean…” she stumbles over what she should say; she doesn’t want to sound like the horny college student she is, and she doesn’t want to sound like she’s rejecting Chloe’s offer (?), but she definitely wants to do this again. “Amy’s crashing at Bumper’s tonight,” is how she answers it and it’s not until Chloe’s eyes go wide with surprise that she realizes how that sounded.

“I just meant...oh, my God,” she rushes, trying to figure out how to explain that she didn’t mean it ‘that way’ except she kind of did, just not all-the-way that way. Except despite tonight being their first kiss, she’s pretty sure she would sleep with Chloe tonight if things went that direction.

It’s not like she’s never thought about it.

“I just meant we can hang out in my room and be alone and see what happens.”

Chloe’s smiling at her struggle to answer and it only grows. “‘See what happens’? What if what happens is more of that?”

Beca thinks it’s a dumb question. Dumb dumb dumb. “Then that would be fine,” she says with a nod.

“Then let’s go home,” Chloe whispers before pulling Beca into one more kiss, all of it leaving Beca’s legs unsteady when she finally rights herself so they can leave the workshop.

“I can’t get over this,” Chloe says with a tug to Beca’s skirt before standing up as well. “Can you keep it on when we get home?”

“In your dreams.”

Chloe hums thoughtfully as she takes Beca’s hand to lead her out of the workshop and through the hidden hallways of the mall to the exit. “Oh, it will be.”

Beca has a lot of questions about that: what exactly she means, what exactly she’d be dreaming of, what exactly what’s happening means for them as friends, and if it means something more.

Instead of asking about any of that, however, she says, “I didn’t forget what you did. You’re not off the hook for this elf thing.”

The look Chloe tosses her over her shoulder makes her breath catch. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you.”

The End

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 16 Pt 1

He’d snuck out of Sildie’s apartment early. He didn’t want to but he needed to work the bag and meditate, clear his mind so he could enjoy their time together. He left a simple note for her so she wouldn’t worry.

She woke to an empty bed and frowned. It wasn’t like Gustaf to be out of bed before her. As she sat up the note crinkled under her hand.

It’s been a few days I had to hit the gym. See you in a little bit love, I can’t wait to see those moves.

She smiled and rested her head against the headboard. It was so normal, and sweet. Could their lives be normal she wondered. Lily brought her back to reality with a dad dad and made her smile even though she choked up.

“You got mum mum for a bit little miss.” She soothed. “Dad dads at the gym.” She said and had the lovely vision of Gustaf all sweaty lifting weights or punching a bag. Watching those muscles ripple and strain as he honed them. Imagining him fucking her on the gym floor. “Lord!” She breathed out. “The man makes me wet just thinking about him.” She changed Lily and dressed her for the day smiling and giggling with the tiny girl. Picking her up she snuggled Lily in.

One handed she collected her lingerie and tossed them into a bag along with her silk robe. She grabbed the red soled six inch heels from the bottom of the closet and smirked. There was something about those fuck me heels that made her wet. Gustaf was going to lose his fucking mind when he saw her.

She got the kids ready for the day fed and fielded questions as to where Gustaf was. They needed to be reminded that he had a life outside of the five of them. She called Alice and asked if she could be over thirty minutes earlier which wasn’t a problem, the woman was amazing. This would give her enough time to change before he got home from errands.

He felt like shit for leaving her bed without waking her but he needed to go a round or two with the bag. He was full of doubt and anger at himself. The self loathing and anxiety had flooded into him and pulled him under.

“How fucking hard is it to tell her you love her?” He roared at the bag as he pounded his fists into it. “How fucking hard?”

He thought of Ana. How she’d manipulate him, the mind games, the emotional blackmail. The nights she’d leave him emotionally exhausted, a husk of his former self. She’d sucked his soul out. “Why did you have to destroy me you fucking bitch. Why did I deserve that? I gave you EVERYTHING.” He screamed.

He collapsed to his knees and held the bag as the sobs came. He’d been hammering the bag for over an hour now and his muscles were screaming at him.

“I gave you everything I am.” He wept. “I’m so sorry Sildie, I’m no fucking good for you.” Leaning his head against the bag he let it pour from him. “How could you love someone like me? You don’t deserve my demons.” He purged it all as he took the gloves off and peeled the wrappings from his hands.

He sat until the anger subsided and felt some semblance of calm before taking a shower. In jeans and a sweater he sat sipping tea while he watched the sun come up thinking Sildie would be up by now and would have found his note.

He hadn’t lied, he had gone to the gym, his home gym. He wanted to be the man she deserved and he knew he had a lot of work to do. Calming his mind further he sat for meditation and let the emotions of the last week bubble up. He dealt with them head on, not comfortable or willing to let them fester any longer.

“Be the man she needs you to be, yourself.” He repeated softly. “You are more than enough.” He said and opened his eyes at reciting words Sildie had said to him more than once. “For me.” He added. She’d said it over and over and he knew deep down she meant every word.

He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. Once he’d gone through his nine breaths he was considerably calmer. He sat for another tea and closed off his mind to that part of his life. The demons were dealt with for today and he had to shut them away before she came around.

By the time he was stepping out the door at nine thirty he felt lighter and more himself. He’d try again today, try for those three little words she deserved to hear him speak.

She heard his keys in the door and waited in his bedroom with a grin. She’d only just made it in before him so she had enough time to slip into the corset and suspenders she’d worn for the last picture she’d sent him and drape her body over the bed. She closed her eyes and waited until he found her, the anticipation already making her wet.

I left something in your room to play with until I can get there.

Her text chimed his phone and he looked at it as he set his messenger bag on the counter. Intrigued he left his phone and keys on the bag and went to find what she’d left for him.

He was planning to go another round with the bag before Sildie got here, that was until he opened the bedroom door and saw the erotic sight before him. Sildie was laying on her back, legs resting up the headboard, in the same black corset, g string, lace top stockings, and heels as the last photo she’d sent him. His throat went dry and swallowed hard, damn she was sexy as fuck.

“Something to play with indeed.” He growled and saw that smirk tug her lips as she turned her head to look at him.

Those eyes he thought, how he’d missed those eyes and how she looked at him.

“You’re going to have to wait.” He said softly and saw her body ripple at his voice.

“Not even a kiss?” She asked sweetly knowing he would play her game.

“Not even.” He could play the game and she was about to learn he played it well, played it hard, and played it long.

“What time do you have to be back for the kids tomorrow?” He asked stripping slowly, her eyes watching his every move intently.

“At five so we can have dinner and get ready for school Monday.” She said and toyed with her hair. Damn he was fine to look at she thought, all muscle and height, and all hers.

“Do you work Monday?” He grinned playfully as he let his briefs fall to the floor.

“Yes.” She nearly moaned at his hardening cock knowing she’d have him inside her soon.

He knelt at the edge of the bed and let her fingers reach out to caress his scruff.

“Happy birthday love.” She said softly, the genuine sentiment punching him in the gut.

“Thank you.” His fingers tangled into her hair that had cascaded over the sheets.

“You ready for your birthday present?” She prompted, resisting the overwhelming urge to touch him, kiss him. She knew this turned him on as much as it did her, the sensual game of seduction.

“Soon.” He was content drinking her in and making her wait just a little longer.

“You have such kind eyes love.” He said tenderly. “No anger, no judgement, no resentment, no bullshit. Just kind, sweet eyes.” He took her fingers in his and brought them to his mouth, kissing them lightly. The feel of them brushing over his lips was something that made his cock twitch. He loved the taste of her.

He looked into those eyes as they watched him.

“You’re beautiful Sildie.” He breathed, ice blue looked back.

“Only to you.” That sly smirk played at the corners of her mouth.

“Sexy as fuck when you dress like this, I might add.” He growled and bit her finger when she sucked that bottom lip in to capture it between her teeth.

“One day love. One. Fucking. Day.” That tone of a long held promise he’d make good on soon shooting to her heat.

He sucked on that finger and rolled his tongue over it, pulling it out slowly. Kissing her fingers again he stood up. He heard the moan as she saw him rise to his towering height, manhood already erect. He walked to the bathroom and grinned. She’d planned this out and he couldn’t wait to see what she was going to do.

“Good things come to those who wait.” He called from behind the closed door, her laugh was the only reply. How he loved that laugh.

She lay there still in the same position and let her thoughts drift. Did she tell him? Those three little words, did she just blurt them out? She wanted to say them, with all her heart, but she wouldn’t hurt him when he was still healing.

She saw the apprehension under it all, the pain from Ana that still lingered. One day she thought, one day she would see that pain gone. She flinched as his knuckles grazed down her arm, she hadn’t heard him finish in the bathroom.

“I love watching you when you’ve drifted off somewhere in your mind.” He murmured. “What were you thinking?”

“This and that.” Her smile playful. “Mainly how desperate I am to kiss you.”

“Desperate are we? How desperate?” His eyes twinkled.

“It may be detrimental to your health if you don’t, desperate.” She chuckled lightly and reached for him.

“Well that would ruin the day now wouldn’t it?” He took her hand and bent to kiss it. He liked playing with her.

“It would.” She whispered and he nipped her knuckle playfully.

“And what do you plan to do with me today now that you have me naked and all to yourself?” He asked softly, that grin spreading across his face as he climbed onto the bed. Fuck me he thought, she was a vision, his goddess in black lace and her sinful halo of copper.

“Have my way with you.” She kissed him and nipped his bottom lip as her hand drifted down his chest, fingers flexing over it.

“I like the sound of that.” He growled.

“Do you now?” Her grin was equally mischievous.

“I do.” He kissed her seductively. “I love seeing your moves.” He whispered as his hand wandered over lace and skin.

“Then roll over and let me have you.” She said turning his own words back on him.

She pushed a finger gently against his forehead as he went to kiss her again and his chuckle had her smiling.

“Lay back.” She breathed before kissing him in that way he craved.

He did as she asked, moving to lay with his head resting on the pillows, legs stretched out. She rolled off the bed and he laughed when she left him there to go to the bathroom.

“Good things come to those who wait.” Echoing his words from moments ago.

“Such a tease.” He called out, letting let his eyes close, he was slightly drained from the morning workout but so happy, to be home, to be with her, to have this week done with, to help her heal.

He drifted while he waited and only opened his eyes again as he felt her climb onto the bed. Opening his eyes he let out a groan. She was a sight on all fours prowling toward him like she did in the photo, lethal jungle cat. His eyes feasted on every part of her as she moved to him.

“You have no idea how incredibly fucking erotic that is.” He murmured as she stopped just shy of kissing him, those lips smiling a breath away from his. “Watching you crawl to me like that.” Her fingers rested on his wrists pinning them beside him gently, as his eyes roamed hers. Damn she was fucking gorgeous.

“I’ve wanted to do this for you for a while now.” She whispered as her lips ghosted his.

“You’re too good for me Sildie. You deserve so much more than I am.” He looked at her, it was the truth. She deserved someone better than he was, someone without his demons.

“I don’t want more Gustaf, I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” Her kiss took him under, that seductive touch that melted his brain. “Let me have you.” She whispered and started to kiss a trail down his throat, her teeth grazing sensitive skin.

“You have me love, all of me.” He sighed out as her tongue tasted the dip at his collarbone.

He relaxed back and let her clever mouth arouse and seduce him, fingers just as busy. As he watched her travel south he felt that surge of love for her bubble up, that love for her that threatened to spill out before she was ready for it.

When she had kissed down to his navel she stopped and climbed off the bed. She stood at his feet and nudged them apart with her hands for her to crawl between them. Her hands caressed his thighs and he groaned as she sat on her heels and lowered her mouth to his hardening member. Looking down his body was a sight, the sweep of her spine, the curve of her ass, her mouth poised to take him in, those firm ripe breasts contained by the corset wanting to spill out.

Her hot breath on his cock was maddening. He wasn’t fully erect yet but he would be soon, especially as her fingers continued to inch closer to his manhood. He choked a breath as the tip of her tongue licked him from balls to tip before she wrapped her lips around his mushroom tip and gently sucked.

She sucked and pulled off him with a pop as she kept moving forward so his cock was cocooned by her cleavage. She playfully bit his abdomen with just enough teeth to hear the hiss, feel him flinch. Once she started she wasn’t going to stop until he’d come in her mouth, she wanted to taste him.

She teased him relentlessly, kissing and touching him everywhere except his cock, it was maddening. One lone finger traveled up and down his torso, feeling every dip and curve of muscle. It trailed dangerously close to his shaft and then away again and he let out a struggling groan.

With a sly grin that finger traced a line up one inner thigh and down the other until he was breathing hard. Fingers gently caressed his package as she took him into her mouth.

“Sildie.” He groaned and she felt him tense with the sensation, it was his turn to fist his hands in the sheets, his turn to lay there and take what she gave.

Her mouth felt incredible around him, slow and seductive, tongue swirling, lips sucking, her fingers playing with his package only made him harder. As she continued he looked down at her.

His goddess at his feet pleasuring him, head now bobbing up and down in a slow steady rhythm as she took him to the back of her throat. That halo of copper fanned out beside her whispering against his skin. Could she be any more beautiful, sexy, erotic?

Groaning, he gently fisted his hand in her hair as her mouth devoured him, urging her to take him, take what she wanted.

She could sense he was losing control as the fist in her hair tightened, the slight thrust of his hips met her strokes, her name on his lips as she went down on him. Her hand stroked his base as her mouth destroyed him, long smooth strokes that had him on the edge.

His legs shifted, feet trying to find purchase as his fingers tangled in her hair tight, hips thrusting with more urgency. He had to fuck that beautiful mouth.

“Sildie.” His growl was a strangled warning as she continued. She stayed the course, content on him coming in her mouth. With a groan that rumbled deep from his chest he gripped her hair tightly and thrust hard while he came. She took all of him, everything he gave her.

She released his softening member and let it nestle in her cleavage as she kissed his abs and belly. With his hand still tangled in her hair he guided her up his body to crush his mouth to hers, tongue teasing.

“You’re too good to me.” He murmured as she stared down at him. His fingers toyed with her hair now instead of gripping it.

“No more than you are to me love.” She she smiled, and his hands splayed out over her back holding her to him as she rolled off to lay in his arms. The feel of her against him made him sigh.

“Happy birthday and welcome home.” She said softly as a finger stroked his jaw. “You would have had today sooner had Lily not torpedoed my plans.” She laughed.

“I think the timings perfect.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her tenderly. “So back to the normal work week next week?”

“Yeah, me to work, kids at school. The time off is nice but we have to get back to our routine. It’s stabilizes us I think. What about you?”

“Reading, lots of reading. I have seven new scripts to get through to see if I want to audition for them.”

“Busy times.”

“It is, thats why days like yesterday and today are so important. Time to reconnect.” He kissed her lovingly and she deepened it.

“How do you want to do this week? Do you want me to stay over every night or a few nights here and there?” He asked hoping she’d say every night but knowing he’d be sleeping alone at some point.

“I’d like you to stay as much as you can, but I know you have your life to live too. We have to be smart about this. Too much too soon for the boys might shoot us in the foot.” Damn she wished he could stay every night. The thought of sleeping alone without him to curl into was daunting. And when, miss, did you get so fuck needy, she growled at herself?

He nodded slightly. “Can’t say I like that idea but you’re right.”

“I don’t like it either but I have to think long term and how it affects them. Maybe come over for dinner or when we get home and then play it day by day? If they’re ok with you staying then stay but if it’s a rougher day maybe go home?” She looked at him, she was winging it here, she had no clue how to handle this or integrate him into their lives fully. “I’m winging it Gustaf I have no clue how this is going to pan out and it scares the crap out of me.”

His slight smile and chuckle eased her mind. “I feel the same way love. I’m so not equipped to do this anymore than you are but we’ll work it out. Together remember.”

She blew a breath out and kissed him. That slow burn of a kiss that melted his brain and any thoughts he had floating around in it.

“Illegal.” He quipped and her peal of laughter echoed around the room.

“Still gonna do it. It’s ok.” She purred. “I know a good lawyer.” His laugh lifted her heart, that gorgeous laughter of a carefree loving man.

“So do I and she’s in a rather remarkable outfit right now.” He said dipping a finger into her cleavage, toying with the idea of whether to take it off or leave it on her. “I’m loving this.” He murmured, as his finger trailed the skin at the lace border.

“I thought you might.” She almost moaned as that one finger started to undo her. Damn she loved that touch.

“I had dreams of fucking you in this.” He growled and kissed her roughly, his control slipping momentarily.

“Did you?” Her grin turned into a full playful smile as her fingers brushed that scruff she’d adored.

“Dreams fueled by those stunning photos of you in various poses I’d like to fuck you in too.” He claimed her mouth and let his finger graze a nipple as it slipped under the lace.

“Well who am I to deny you your dreams?” Her voice was sultry as her own vision of today started to become reality. She’d chosen this outfit in the hopes he’d take her in it, the man had that effect on her.

“You are my dreams love.” He growled and rolled so she was suddenly under him.

“Those photos took my breath away Sildie. And gave me a raging hard on once or twice.” He grinned and nipped her throat, her gasp making that grin widen.

“You like them?” Her smile was playful but held a certain shyness he found incredibly arousing.

“Are you kidding? I fucking love them.” He kissed her so her toes curled. “They kept me going, you kept me going.”

“I’ll always be here for you love.” She breathed as he bit down gently on her shoulder, his tongue trailing her collarbone. “Always.”

His lips sucked gently on the swell of her cleavage. The corset had pushed it up and given him that tender flesh to feast on.

“So what now lovely lady?” He murmured.

“The question is what do you want to do now birthday boy?” She purred and looked at him with undiluted seduction as she ran a finger over his bottom lip.

“My choice huh?” He asked softly.

“Mmmm hmmm.” She murmured and hooked her finger under his chin. Her eyes seductively searched his. “Birthday boys choice.” She breathed and ghosted his lips with hers.

“How about I show you I’m no boy.” He growled and kissed her so she moaned.

“I want you hard.” He nipped her throat. “On your knees.” He nipped her jaw and then the spot just below her ear. “So I can fuck you how I did in my dreams.” He growled and felt her body quiver for him at his words.

He kissed his way down her body, rough, demanding. Fingers trailing, darting between lace and skin to arouse and seduce. He brushed her hip with his finger in a signal to roll over. As she did he got a better look at the silk and lace she had on and the beautiful stark contrast to her skin. The front of the corset swept up near her collarbone so the lowest dip was in the center of her cleavage. The high cut g string was a strip of lace that sat on top of her hips before plunging between her cheeks, the lace topped stockings completed the outfit and it was an item he’d always found particularly arousing especially when paired with heels. There wasn’t much to it yet it suited her perfectly, that curvy toned body all gift wrapped for him.

“Up on your knees love, hands on the headboard.” He murmured. She heard the desire in his voice, she’d never get over how much he wanted her.

He helped her sit up on her knees and rested his hands on top of hers at the headboard. He was going to take his time now, savoring, seducing, claiming.

She could feel him kneel behind her, his body close enough to sense, not enough to feel, his knees either side of her legs. His finger gently moved the curtain of copper from her back and over her shoulder. Her body was already trembling for him to touch her, to taste her, claim her.

He let his finger wander over her shoulder, down her spine, back up to her throat before his teeth gently nipped the spot just below her ear.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you just like this over these past weeks love.” His murmur was that low tone that made her instantly wet for him.

He leaned in just enough to brush his chest against her bare upper back. She went to push back but he held her hands to the headboard and leaned back out of reach.

“Wait.” He breathed nipping her ear and reciting the one word that she had rocked his world with a few months ago.

“Keep them there.” He growled and squeezed her hands gently to emphasize his request.

His hands trailed the length of her arms and down her back before coasting up the lace and silk at her abdomen. He dipped a hand between her skin and the corset to find her nipples already hard and pinched them gently as he bit down on the nape of her neck. That stuttered sigh between a gasp and moan from her lips making him harder for her, he loved hearing those sounds from her.

His fingers slowly tortured her breasts, the feel of his hands on them almost had her coming. Skilled fingers slipped under the lace to touch bare skin and her gasp had her head tipping back. He seized the opportunity to slide his hand up her throat and hold her head to him as he turned her head slightly and devoured her mouth. He could feel the pulse under his fingers, the rapid beat of her heart.

His free hand grazed her belly, her abs, and down over the lace suspenders before stopping short of her mound and the g string that barred his way.

“Look at me.” He whispered as his hand held her head to him, craned back against his shoulder.

Those ice blue eyes looked into his. As they did he slipped a finger over the lace brushing her clit. Her cry made him moan and kiss her tenderly.

“So wet for me.” He murmured and slid his finger further along her folds under the silk g string.

With painfully slow strokes over her clit he held her in the same position as he brought her undone.

She could feel his rock hard shaft pressing against her as that lonely finger destroyed her. With her head arched back and his hand at her throat she felt the thrill race up her spine. He was so gentle yet so rough, that desire for her was nothing she’d felt before.

His lips ghosted her cheek, her shoulder, all while that huge hand cradled her at her throat keeping her head gently against him as if it were the finest crystal. He felt her pulse increase as he toyed with her, the gasps as her body gave itself to him to pleasure.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t thrust against him to find release, he just slowly and deftly brought her to the edge and held her there. His finger between her thighs stopped and the whimper that escaped begged him to make her come.

“Not yet.” He murmured softly, lips brushing her cheek.

“Please.” She choked a gasp as his finger circled her clit once before slipping to the entrance to do the same.

He held her on the edge torturously for what felt like an eternity. The hand at her throat held her to him gently as the one digit continued its assault until she was whimpering for him to make her come.

“Gustaf.” She whispered.

“Not yet love, because I need to be inside you before you come.” His murmur made her pussy clench.

She gasped a groan that came out more like a whine as his finger suddenly stopped their erotic torture, his deep throaty chuckle was full of mischief. As a hand ventured up her torso slipping between skin and lace, he pinched her nipples hard causing her to arch. His hand released her throat for the moment as he kissed her gently, he liked feeling her pulse thunder through her at his touch.

“So beautiful.” He whispered and kissed his way down her neck.

“Don’t stop, it feels so good.” Her voice soft against his cheek.

“Mmmmm, it’s about to feel better.” He said as his lips dragged up the side of her throat to nip that one spot below her ear. “So much better.” He murmured and lost himself to the moment, his erotic beauty willingly giving herself to him.

His hands caressed the length of her arms and he bit down on her neck. Pressing his body against hers he felt her shiver at the contact and his mouth seductively kiss her shoulder and up her neck.

One of his hands raked down her arm, over her slim shoulder, and lightly down the sweep of her spine. He gripped her hip gently and pulled her to him, bending her forward at the waist.

Bent over her he let that hand wander her body. Over and under lace his fingers teased that stunning body into a quivering mess. He hooked a finger under the g string and moved it to the side letting his knuckle sweep across her heat.

“You’re soaked for me love.” He groaned and kissed the back of her neck, teeth gently biting her, his cock twitched in anticipation.

“Gustaf please.” Her whisper was hoarse with need, her body was trembling as that finger continued to arouse her.

“What do you want?” He asked dragging his teeth along the shell of her ear.

“You, just you.” She choked a whimper as he tormented her with his finger over her clit.

“I want you too love.” He breathed, enjoying her. “I want to be deep inside you.” He whispered.

“Please.” She gasped as that finger dipped just inside her pussy and circled.

He took his painfully hard cock in his hand and ran his tip along her soaked pussy. Positioning at her entrance he leaned over her and placing both hands on top of hers he bit down on her neck.

“What do you want love?” He murmured again, his mouth right next to her ear.

“You, please.” She breathed as he pressed his tip in slightly to stretch her.

“I’m going to fuck you slowly.” His growl alone almost had her coming.

He tip fucked her, just enough to have her continually whimper for him, consistently teetering on the edge of her climax. He knew she’d come as soon as he thrust inside her. Just how he’d planned.

With her legs together and Gustaf straddling them she would be deliciously tight and soft. With a slow maddening thrust he buried himself to his hilt. Her pussy gripped him tight as she tried to buck against him with a cry.

“Mmmmmm. I love feeling you come around me.” He growled and feasted on her neck as he pulled out slowly and thrust into her again.

His thrusts were hard and deep as he plunged into her. That gorgeous body braced against him as he slammed into her. So tight, he thought, and groaned as he took her.

“Harder.” She breathed as he bit her shoulder. “I want you harder.” Her whimper making him smile.

“Anything for you love.” He whispered and speared himself deeply, bottoming out at her inner most point.

“Gustaf.” Her cry was ecstasy. “Faster. Please.” She said between breaths.

“Not yet love. I want you slow.” He purred and buried his cock in her to the hilt and stayed there stock still. He watched her body shake, desperate to feel him move. “And I want you screaming.”

He loved taking her like this, her hands pinned under his, that gorgeous body trembling at every thrust, her whimpers as he kissed, sucked and nipped the tender points of her neck.

He slowly pulled out until only his tip remained inside her, her cry of pleasure, music. He saw the white knuckle grip she had on his headboard and smiled as he kissed her just below the ear. He plunged into her bottoming out again.

With each deep thrust she cried out, with each pull out and pause she whimpered for him to fuck her faster. His mouth destroyed her neck and shoulders, teeth grazing and biting tender aroused skin. He slowly tip fucked her again stretching her pussy and caressing the millions of heightened nerve endings until she was a writhing mess.

“Do you want me to fuck you love?” He asked in that low tone that always made her weak.

“Please.” Her whimper was borderline tears she wanted it so badly.

“Shall I make you come?” He murmured in her ear and nipped it gently. Her whimper was the only response.

Without warning he speared into her, claiming her with his thick shaft. He kept the thrusts slow but they were hard and deep. Smoothly in and out until she was quivering for release.

He let her climax to the agonizingly slow pace. The feel of her pussy clenching him was ecstasy. Her cries were louder and he knew he was well on his way to making her scream, he wanted her wrecked and wanting more.

“I love feeling you come.” He growled and felt her pussy clench his cock.

He felt glorious she thought. That thickness gliding in and out of her, teasing and igniting a deeper level of arousal. In this position she couldn’t rock back as much as on her hands and knees but she would try all the same.

She could barely think with what he was doing to her. He hadn’t touched her except with his cock and his words. One equally as erotic as the other and a deadly combination.

He whipped her to teeter on the peak of another orgasm and started to thrust slightly faster. With her hands pinned to the headboard by his own he pistoned his hips and pounded into her, her tightness consuming him, silky walls gripping his cock.

He tipped her over for two more orgasms in quick succession with the frantic rhythm before his hand left hers and gripped her throat gently again. He loved the feel of her pulse thunder under his fingers, the way she felt as she came.

“Give yourself to me.” He murmured, his own control slipping as he held her head by the throat against him and kissed her, hips still pistoning.

He was asking for permission to be rough with her, he’d asked every time.

“Always.” She breathed and held on tighter to the headboard. His low growl thrilled her.

His hand tightened slightly around her throat and held her head against him just like before. Her pulse thrummed under his fingers as he destroyed her.

With his hand around her throat, his cock pounding into her, that mouth tormenting her exposed skin of her neck she let him take her how he pleased. Rough, hard, and deep. She was so lost to him and the euphoria he was inflicting on her.

He felt her on the edge and knew neither of them would last much longer after this one. He pounded into her relentlessly, claiming her as his own.

“Sildie.” His breath ragged.

He held her to him and dropped his hand from hers to finger her clit. Her gasp was barely out when she screamed his name and shattered. He took her hard and his hips quickened in search of his own release.

As her orgasm ebbed he braced his hand on the headboard again and fucked her hard. She pushed back into him taking him as deep as she could as another orgasm built quickly.

“Fuck, yes Sildie.” He growled as the euphoria of her pussy gripping him consumed him. He wasn’t gentle as his hand gripped her throat, his body trembled and tensed, and the roar of his release echoed around the room as he emptied himself inside her.

He released her throat and kissed where his hands had been. She was slightly lightheaded from his hand at her throat but once he lessened the grip as she relaxed things returned to normal, it made her feel amazing, her climax more intense.

“I love it when you scream for me.” He said softly and sat back on his heels bundling her to him.

“I love it when you fuck me like that.” She chuckled and reached a hand up to rub her throat, the last grip had been a little tight.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked suddenly concerned, stroking tender fingers over the red marks.

“No, it’s just different.” Her hand drifted behind her to hold him to her. “I like it actually.”

“I know you do.” His voice low. “I’ll do it as much as you want until you tell me to stop.” He kissed the nape of her neck and trailed the tip of his tongue up to kiss where he’d gripped her. “You can always tell me to stop.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to.” She purred.

He wrapped his arms around her content to stay where they were for the moment and she leaned back into him.

“This is some birthday present.” He chuckled and nibbles on her earlobe.

“Were not done yet love.” She smirked.

“Oh I believe you. I still want to peel you out of this.” He whispered and let his finger roam.

Her hand stretch back to caress the back of his skull and neck. She loved the feel of the buzz cut.

“You had this trimmed.” She said softly.

“Had to. You’d gone to all this trouble for me I needed to at least get a hair cut. Not that I have much of it but still.” He chuckled.

“I like it like this, all soft.”

“Most women prefer guys with more hair.” He scoffed playfully.

“I’m not most women.” She said bluntly.

“No you’re not.” He nipped her throat just below her jaw. “Thank god.” He kissed her neck and shoulder tenderly. “You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.” He murmured.

His words about her always made her blush.

“I know it embarrasses you but I wish you could see what I see Sildie.” Say it, say it right now, that little voice in his head said.

“Right back at you love.” She murmured and turned in his arms slightly to kiss him.

“I need food.” She said quietly. “I’m hungry for more than just you.” She grinned.

She climbed off him and laughed when he held her hand and pulled her back to flop on the bed. That clever mouth devoured hers.

“You’re beautiful love.” He whispered and let his eyes drink in her face, how happy she was right at this moment.

“Only to you.” She smiled and grazed his scruff with her finger. What is it you’re not telling me love she thought? What’s in your eyes that is so difficult to say?

He helped her up and he pulled on some sweats as she tied her robe. Chicken shit, he cursed inwardly.

“Leave it off.” She murmured as he was pulling on a t shirt. Those slender fingers catching the fabric before it went over his head. “I like it when you’re not wearing one.” Her kiss was sin. Pure unadulterated sin and he gripped her hips tight as he held her to him.

He had no words when she pulled away and blinked at her. Her throaty chuckle and mischievous grin only added to the seduction. She had a few moves he hadn’t seen yet.

“Cat got your tongue love?” She purred.

“No but a sex kitten might.” He kissed her like a man possessed. “Where on earth did you learn how to kiss a man like that?” He breathed.

“I only kiss you like that love.” She breathed and kissed him like it again.

“Not only is that illegal it’s downright sinful.” He looked at her somewhat bewildered. He was slowly uncovering a sultry sex kitten under the prim and proper lawyer and that made it even more erotic. She was his every sexual fantasy and that only fueled his lust for her more. “You only kiss me like that?”

“Mmm hmm. You’re the only one I’ve kissed like that and will be the only one I ever kiss like that.” Her playful smirk had his heart flutter. “Unless you’d like me to stop.” She said softly at seeing his stare, maybe it was too much.

“Nope. Don’t be stopping.” He said quickly. “I’m just a little shocked. In a good way. You catch me off guard sometimes and it takes a while for my brain to catch up especially when you kiss me like that. You steal my words.” He said and kissed her tenderly. “And I love it.” I love you, just fucking say it you moron.

“Then I’ll only break it out on special occasions.” She giggled. Her laughter at his predicament made him snarl playfully.

“Don’t you dare deny me of it now you’ve broken it out to show me.” He growled. “That’s not fair love.”

“Who said anything about fair.” She kissed him and nipped his bottom lip pulling out of his arms before he could retaliate. “I need food.”

He grinned. Damn he loved it when she played the game with him. So seductive, inticing, erotic. She was every bit the sex kitten she portrayed but when she lawyered up you wouldn’t think that was underneath it all.

She took his hand and led him to the kitchen. He pulled her to him and stole a kiss before setting out to make tea.

“So this is what you stashed in here away from the kids.” He chuckled as she pulled out fruit and chocolate amongst other stuff. But not just chocolate he noticed, Kladdkaka.

“You had Brendan make two?” He groaned and wrapped his arms around her waist kissing her neck.

“Yes I had him make two. That’s why I was trying to keep you out of the kitchen when he was baking the other night.” She chuckled.

“I might just eat this entire thing.” He joked.

“And make yourself sick. Besides, if you fill up on that you won’t have room for dessert.” The way she purred dessert made his cock twitch in response.

“Don’t tease.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She kissed him softly before the kettle sang it’s song for tea, the look of pure seduction from under her lashes made him groan.

With tea made he set it on the table with the cups and started placing the food with it. A spread of finger food, perfect for today, something to just pick at. He pulled her into his lap with a yelp as she went to sit down.

“I don’t know what’s better, eating this.” He said pointing to the Kladdkaka. “Or having you in my lap while I eat it.”

“Best of both worlds.” She chuckled.

“Did you want me to stay over tomorrow night? Help get them off to school Monday?” He asked holding a forkful out for her to eat.

“Sure. That would be a nice way to get them back into the swing of things.” She took the bite offered and had to admit it was damn good.

“I’m going to have to start thinking of what to do with them over the Christmas break. Four kids to occupy while it’s cold and snowy isn’t always a good mix.” She chuckled.

[after-witch]

After-Witch Masterlist

My masterlist! Will be updated regularly. Please note yandere content will contain the ‘Yandere’ descriptor before a character.  Content is broken up by fandom, with headcanons listed at the bottom of each category. Multi-part pieces will be noted [Complete] when they are finished.

[Hopefully these links will work on desktop and mobile... if not I will work on a Google Doc version!]

Updated 04/28/21

Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Birthday Gift: Part 1 - Part 2  [Yandere Overhaul x Reader] [Complete]

You finally get up the nerve to ask your captor for a special gift–a birthday gift.

Bad Day [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

You’re in one of your dark moods again. Overhaul wants to help you. 

Just One Night [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

You really, really want to go see The Nutcracker. Will your captor grant your request to continue an annual tradition? 

Damned to Live Forever [Yandere Vampire Aizawa x Reader]

You fall prey to the whims of a vampire with a penchant for lost, helpless souls.

Don’t Fall Asleep [Yandere Dream Demon Dabi x Reader]

You can’t stop dreaming about a terrible man with scars. You’ll be okay--if you can just stay awake.

Takeout [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

You haven’t been eating. Your captor brings home takeout.

Just a Name [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

Dabi wants a name, that’s all. Things will be easier if you give it to him.

So Close [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

You ran and ran from Hawks and came... so close.

So Far [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Sequel to ‘So Close.’ Hawks realizes he has to break you down to build you back up.

Vacation All I Ever Wanted [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

You agree to visit Japan with a friend for vacation, despite it being home to your controlling ex-boyfriend.

Threats and Lies [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Your bratty behavior inspires threats and lies from your captor. Inspired by the prompt “I could kill you if I wanted to.”

Be Good to Him (The Boy!AU Shigaraki x Reader]

You’re a nanny responsible for the well-being of a doll-turned-ghost. You want to leave, and Tomura really doesn’t like that.

Birdsong [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

A rare outdoor picnic leads you to temptation. Inspired by the prompt “Don’t you dare fucking try it. You know you can’t outrun me.”

Adoration and Pain [Vampire!Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

You are his pure doe, his precious lamb. And his personal blood bank.

Let’s Split Up, Gang [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

You have a stalker. Thankfully, your boyfriend Hawks is there to help you investigate.

Mortality [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

Dabi muses on mortality after a hard day. For request: “Uhshh for the horror movie special I thought the quote “Fire is the reflection of or own mortality, we’re born, we breathe, and we die” from “Get Out” would work super well with dabi.”

Doctor Doctor [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

You’re afraid of doctors, which naturally means it’s time for your checkup.

Down the Drain [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

You and Dabi have a little... chat in the bathroom. For request: yandere dabi x fem reader.

White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]  

[Part 2]

You’ve been with Kai Chisaki for three years. Your life is quiet and cozy and soothing. But what do you do when you realize you want more? For request: yandere overhaul x reader with stockholm syndrome

Pluck [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

You tried to run–no, fly–away. And Hawks is going to make sure you never try that again.

Sweet Dreams [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Overhaul watches you sleep and has an… unexpected reaction.

Big City [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

You’re about to leave for a new university in a new city in a new country. Your friend doesn’t seem pleased. You agree to meet up before you leave in the hopes of keeping your friendship alive.

It’s My Party [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

You’re having a party and Shigaraki is not invited.

You Would Cry Too (If It Happened to You) (It’s My Party Part 2) [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Quality Time (It’s My Party Part 3)

Shigaraki won’t let you go to the bathroom.

Office Hours [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

He gave you the outfit. The blouse, the skirt, the nylons–the heels. A secretary’s unofficial uniform. You can’t help but feel mocked, in a way. Hurt. Was he being cruel on purpose, to make you think about your life before all this?

Thank You For Your Donation [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

For request: “ Shigaraki gets obsessed with a twitch stream and deluded himself into believing they’re together until he finally takes her home “

Sketch Memory [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Chisaki lets you indulge in your little hobbies. But he’s starting to suspect that you’re taking advantage of his “generosity.”

Fragile Little Thing [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Your “boyfriend” is having a rough day and he doesn’t appreciate you being such a difficult partner. If you can’t behave, maybe he can’t behave, either.

Revelations [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

So you don’t eat, you don’t follow his rules; so you hurt yourself. It’s all you can do to keep up the fight against an obsessive captor who thinks he knows what’s best for you.

Sweet Escape [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Escape isn’t easy. Nor is it very long-lasting. When Overhaul’s men drag you back into captivity, you brace yourself and wait for what your captor will do with you.

Comfy Couch [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

It’s fine if you’re not paying attention to Netflix, really. But not paying attention to your boyfriend? That won’t fly.

Corsets and Blackmail [Yandere Dabi x Reader]

Dabi wants you in a corset. What Dabi wants, lately, Dabi gets.

Baby Mine [Yandere Overhaul x Reader] 

Rest Your Head (Baby Mine Part 2) 

Close to My Heart (Baby Mine Part 3)

Never to Part (Baby Mine Part 4)

The first time you laid eyes on your child, you knew: You had to get out. Set in the ‘White Picket Fence’-verse.

Serpent [Naga!Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

You’re so lucky to have wandered into his den. Others might have eaten you, but he’ll keep you safe.

Pinned [Yandere Shigaraki x Secretary!Reader]

Follow up to Office Hours. You’ve given him a kink and isn’t that your fault, really?

Headcanons

Yandere Overhaul and a darling with chronic health problems

Yandere Overhaul General Headcanons

Yandere Aizawa General Headcanons

Yandere Dabi and a depressed darling

Yandere Hawks General Headcanons

Yandere Dabi and a depressed, clingy darling

Yandere Overhaul with a darling who has EDS

Yandere Shigaraki and a darling who doesn’t mind being kidnapped

Yandere Overhaul with a darling who hates mornings

Yandere Shigaraki + Secretary!Reader Headcanons

Yandere Shigaraki and secretary musings

Yandere Overhaul with pregnant reader headcanons

Bungou no Stray Dogs

With Friends Like These [Yandere Dazai x Naive Reader]  

One of your friends thinks your new boyfriend is controlling. Your new boyfriend doesn’t like that at all. 

Dinner Party [Yandere Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader]

Your friends cancelled, one by one, leaving you with the only person in the world who seemed to care about you.

Flight [Yandere Nikolai Gogol x Reader]

You’re a fantastic actress when you’re on the stage. But your captor isn’t fooled when there’s no stage magic to hide your real feelings.

Character Development [Yandere Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader]

You’ve been given a gift by your captor for good behavior. Too bad it’s a shitty book.

Headcanons

Yandere Dazai with an oblivious and nurturing reader

Yandere Dazai and Chuuya with a darling that has post-punishment nightmares

Yandere Dazai and Chuuya general headcanons

Death Note

Oh Sugar Sugar: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader] [Complete]

You’re the owner of a cute little pastry shop. One of your customers falls in love with more than just your baked goodies.

Darling, Light of My Life [Yandere Light Yagami x Reader]

Inspired by a scene from The Shining. You found the book. He wants it back.

A Christmas Interlude [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Set in the Oh Sugar Sugar series. It’s Christmas--and you have a gift coming. Deleted scene here.

Ginger Tea [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

You’re sick. Unfortunately, your captor has no intentions of leaving you alone to recover.

Sunny Day [Yandere l Lawliet x Reader]

He knew there was a high chance that your reaction to being kidnapped could end with depression. But what he didn’t know was how, exactly, to deal with it.

Final Fantasy 7

Compound [Yandere Sephiroth x Reader]

After being caught trying to escape, Sephiroth punishes you.

A Private Cell [Yandere Reno x Reader] 

Part 2

For request:  Can I request FF7 Reno with reader as his prisoner?

No Turning Back [Yandere Sephiroth x Reader]

It’s hard, being with Sephiroth–belonging to Sephiroth. Especially when your own heart belongs to another.

Headcanons

Yandere Kadaj General Headcanons 

Yandere Yazoo General Headcanons

Yandere Vincent Valentine with shy female reader Headcanons

Hetalia 

Wine? [Yandere Spain x Reader]

You “settle” in for dinner. Inspired by the prompt “I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” 

Cold [Yandere Canada x Reader]

You ran away and that’s not good. Inspired by the prompt “I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”

Under a Bridge [Yandere Norway x Reader]

You’ve been under Norway’s thumb, trapped and caged in more ways than one. You seek help from otherworldly beings, but a deal once made, can’t be undone.

Headcanons

Yandere America General Headcanons

Yandere Japan General Headcanons

Yandere Canada General Headcanons

Yandere Denmark General Headcanons

Yandere Iceland General Headcanons

Inu Yasha

Moving On [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

You misspeak when instructed by the demon lord who’s taken you. Inspired by the prompt “I didn’t quite hear that, care to repeat yourself?”

You Can Run [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

For request:  “Could you maybe do something with Sesshomaru? Maybe his ‘darling’ trying to escape not knowing that it would literally be impossible?”

A Gift [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Your demon lord captor presents you with an unusual and unexpected gift.

In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive. Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive, either.

Knives Out

Yandere Ransom Drysdale Imagine

Imagine meeting Ransom Drysdale...

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere!Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Yandere Ransom Drysdale Headcanon

Sticking up for Ransom at a family dinner.

Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

You shouldn’t be this nervous about telling your boyfriend that you want to transfer to a college out of state. Ransom is nothing if not generous with you–so why is your stomach in knots?

Labyrinth

The Pain Sweeps Through [Yandere Jareth x Reader]

You’re not the first one he’s brought into the Goblin King’s Labyrinth. You’re not the first one to best him, to get to the center and beat him at his own game. But you are the first one to beat him and give in: “Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.

Misc Horror Movies

Kim So-Hee x Reader Headcanons (Wishing Stairs)

The Slayers

Yandere Xelloss Headcanons

Trigun

Yandere Knives x Reader Headcanons

Original/No Fandom

Wife or Death  [16th Century Witch POV]

You’re a 16th century witch who finds herself pursued through the woods by a witchfinder. Out of options, you pray to the only lord that might save you.

Floss [Yandere Dentist x Reader]

You hate going to the dentist. You really do.

In the Mirror [Doppelganger x Reader]

She just wants to make your life better. Of course, that’s hard to believe when you’re trapped inside a mirror.

And Home Before Dark [Wendigo x Reader]

Living in the practical wilderness of new France, you knew you were never meant to be in the woods after dark. After all, there was something in the forest that was dark and dangerous and it wanted you.

Madame Guillotine [18th Century Aristocrat Reader]

It’s the French Revolution and you’re a former aristocrat on your way to meet your death at the scaffold.

Down the Cellar Stairs [Early 20th Century Reader]

It’s just a game, just a silly game to play on Halloween. But you may find more at the bottom of the cellar stairs that you bargained for.

[phaltu]

God please you need to write maid keith getting his leggings torn by shiro /prayer emoji

Please except this humble offering on my behalf ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Retrospectively, there are about five other people that Keith could have gone to for this. In fact, he’s pretty sure if he put Lance in a headlock, he’d have been able to get him to cut Keith out of the dress, security deposit be damned. But Keith argues with himself that Shiro was the better choice, because Shiro won’t try to take blackmail photos and Keith won’t have to steal his phone and dunk it into the garbage.

“Are you going to get me out of this or not?” Keith demands, and Shiro nods silently, running a hand down Keith’s back from where the cheap corset is laced up. They’re standing in the middle of Shiro’s quarters— Keith had barged in, demanding Shiro extract him from the black and white outfit immediately and somehow they had ended up like this, with Shiro wanting to get a better look.

Keith’s shoulders are too broad for the outfit, and the silk limits his movements otherwise he’d have untangled himself from it a long time ago. As it is, he’s getting a growing feeling that Shiro’s not as eager to get him out of this dress as he is.

“Yeah,” Shiro replies, but he sounds distant. He brushes Keith’s hair out of the way and circles a hand around the nape of Keith’s neck, pressing his thumb into the knob of his spine. He’s not even trying to hide it.

Keith makes an impatient noise, and to his credit, Shiro does start to undo the lace ties. It relieves some of the pressure on Keith and he groans and tries to roll his shoulders. Shiro’s hands still at the base of his back, and Keith knows he’s mulling over something.

“Are those stockings?” Shiro murmurs, slowly dragging a hand down. “Can I see?”

“Go ahead,” Keith grumbles, not really caring. There’s a hand on his thigh suddenly, and it starts to push up, starts to push up the ruffled fabric of the skirt. He goes a little red, knowing Shiro’s putting him on display for himself, but Keith crosses his arms over his chest anyways. Or tries too. The dress is still too tight for him to move properly.

“There’s a hole in these,” Shiro says, and Keith’s about to ask where till he feels a large hand on the inside of his thigh.

It skims up, dangerously close to the crease of his leg, and Keith finds himself automatically widening his stance. Shiro runs his thumb over the hose, and Keith feels where the hole in the material is, feels where Shiro makes skin-on-skin contact with him.

Suddenly, Keith’s not too eager to get out of the cursed outfit. Not yet anyways, because Shiro squeezes his inner thigh and pushes his skirt up further with his other hand, metal brushing up against skin. He applies just the smallest amount of pressure, enough for Keith to arch a little under his touch.

“You look good like this,” Shiro’s voice is rough and low and filled with intent.

The thought of Shiro bending Keith over a desk and pushing up his skirt comes to Keith like a vision. He knows Shiro would be impatient and hungry, knows Shiro would pull apart the nylons and push Keith’s underwear to the side, knows Shiro would be too hurried to do anything beyond unzipping the pants of his uniform, knows Shiro would hook a finger in the ribbon around his neck and tug as he took and took and took–

Shiro leans forward to press a kiss against Keith’s shoulder, and Keith turns his head to look at Shiro over his shoulder. Shiro’s eyes are dark with intent, alluring, and Keith can’t help but part his mouth. Shiro fulfills the unspoken request, licking his lips before he kisses Keith, wet and wanting. His calm and steady composure belies how fast he pushes his tongue past the seam of Keith’s mouth.

“Yeah?” Keith says in between the kiss, voice low and husky, and Shiro hums in response before biting Keith’s bottom lip.

Shiro snakes a thumb into the tear and pulls gently, and the only thing Keith can hear is his own quickening heartbeat and the soft ripping sound of the black nylon.

[terato-inamorato]

Splurb Catalogue of Dec 2017

(Note! Names are changeable once adopted.)

What are Splurbs?

Alpha

Name: Gloom (Box #4)

Gender: Genderfluid (He/Them) Clothing Type: Gothic (Specializes in Corsets, Belted Clothing, Leather) Color(s): Purple, Pink, Gold Personality: Conniving, Attention Seeking, Greedy, Timid, Hungry, Eerie Parent: First Generation (N/A) Weight: 10lbs

Bio: 

- Likes horror movies. Especially zombie ones. We couldn't get him to calm down unless we let him watch more.

(Note: We found one of our interns watching horror movies in front of this one, we aren’t sure what effect this will have on him so be careful. The intern was promptly let go after this debacle.)

- Doesn't eat as much as he’s supposed to.

- Is too entranced with feasting on your lips. He’s a damn good kisser.      It’s like he’s trying to eat them.

-Please feed him more.

-More info later

Includes: Mid-Form, Adult Form, Alpha Form, 3 Clothing Forms

Base Price: 45$

Minimum Increase per Bid: 5$

AutoBuy Bid: 65$ 

AutoBuy+: 75$ (Additional content: Clothing fitted on character, NSFW Content)

Omega

Name: Mint (Box #1)

Gender: Masculine (He/Him)

Clothing Type: Chic/Elegant (Specializes in Winter Outerwear) Color(s): Blue, White, Green Personality: Vain, Arrogant, Persistent, Affectionate, Secretly Soft Parent: First Generation (N/A) Weight: 8lbs

Bio:

- Believes that he knows best, even when he has no prior knowledge on the subject

- Loves dressing his owner in something fabulous and eye-catching, he has no problem being flashy in public

- A bit of a bungler/clumsy when it comes to showing affection in public, however, but he excels in warm, all-encompassing hugs and cuddling when no one’s watching the two of you

- It is recommended that anyone looking own Mint should be the type to lavish him, of which he is intensely in favor of: petting, massaging, praise, etc.

- More of a brat-submissive rather than a true submissive, he needs an owner that doesn’t mind taming him once in a while

Includes: Mid-Form, Adult Form, Alpha Form, 3 Clothing Forms

Base Price: 45$

Minimum Increase per Bid: 5$

AutoBuy Bid: 65$

AutoBuy+: 75$ (Additional content: Clothing fitted on character, NSFW Content)

Standards

Name: King (Box #2)

Gender: Masculine (He/Him) Type of Standard: TOP Clothing Type: Fantasy (Tightly fitted corsets, short dresses) Color(s): Green, Pink Personality: Clumsy, Obedient, Protective, Loyal, Thoughtful, Passionate, Patient, Ravenous Parent: Cerza Weight: 6lbs Bio:

- Weak Vision, needs consistent care and support 

- Primarily will spend time latched to the host, and will only explore environment if owner says its ok

- Adores sunlight almost as much as he will adore host, will spend hours rolling under it 

- Consumes more water than most with a higher digestion rate, will either slurp from owner for hours at a time or spend a long time under running water.

-Gentle and one of the most considerate lovers to his host.

Includes: Mid-Form, Adult Form, 2 Clothing Forms

Base Price: 25$

Minimum Increase per Bid: 5$

AutoBuy Bid: 45$

AutoBuy+ 55$:  (Additional content: NSFW Content, Clothing fitted on character)

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Name: Vani (Box #6)

Gender: Genderfluid (Masculine and Feminine Pronouns) Type of Standard: BOTTOM Clothing Type: K-Pop Culture (Leggings, Ruffled Skirts, Shorts) Color(s): White, Teal, Pink, Blue) Personality: Coy, Materialistic, Teasing, Shyster, Attention-Seeking, Sensitive, Bully, Cries easily. Loves to climb into your clothes and roll in your body heat and bite your nipples for attention. Parent: First Generation (N/A) Weight: 4lbs Bio: 

-Likes to bully others but is remarkably submissive towards those who implement their dominance.

-Needs regular punishments to stay good

-Gets spoiled easily

-Doesn’t like it when not surrounded by pretty things. Will try to surround themselves with such things.

-Weak to kisses and pets

Includes: Mid-Form, Adult Form, 2 Clothing Forms

Base Price: 30$

Minimum Increase per Bid: 5$

AutoBuy Bid: 50$

AutoBuy+ 65$:  (Additional content: NSFW Content, Clothing fitted on character)

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Name: Halcyon (Box #8)

Gender: Feminine (She/Her)

Type of Standard: TOP Clothing Type: Sophisticated/Chic (Work Tops/Blouses/Shirts) Color(s): Black, Gold, White Personality: Poised, Sharp, Intense, Thorough, Possessive Parent: First Generation (N/A) Weight: 5 lbs

Bio:

- Terribly stubborn when it comes to arguments, tends to brow-beat you into submission if she believes she’s right

- Tends to embroil herself in extremes - for instance, if she’s done you wrong, you may find jewelry or dozens of bouquets to apologize

- Prides herself on knowing just about everything about you

- Loves to use that knowledge to blackmail you into compromising positions, public sex, etc.

- Recommended that those interested should have a healthy interest in BDSM, and being a “sub” to her “dom”

Includes: Mid-Form, Adult Form, 2 Clothing Forms

Base Price: $25

Minimum Increase per Bid: 5$

AutoBuy Bid: $45

AutoBuy+:  $65 (Additional content: NSFW Content)

Accessories

Name: Jewel (Box #3)

Gender: Feminine, (She/Her)

Clothing Type: Boho/Bohemian (Gloves, Scarf) Color(s): Red, Gold, Green Personality: Mischievous, Scheming, Stubborn, Well-Meaning, Altruistic Parent: Plur Weight: 2.5lbs

Bio:

- If you’re currently not in a relationship, she might be a bit nosy and attempt to find a match for you, pointing out random people on the street and asking if they’re what you’re looking for.

- A secret fantasy of hers is being sandwiched between her owner and their partner, so if you’re already paired, be prepared for having her be between you two nearly all the time.

- Prefers warm, toasty snuggles and initiating feedings while you’re at your most vulnerable, such as in the bed or in the shower

- A good toy for her to enjoy is a kaleidoscope, she loves psychedelic patterns and colors

Includes: Mini Adult Form, 2 Clothing Forms

Base Price: 20$

Minimum Increase per Bid: 5$

AutoBuy Bid: 40$

AutoBuy+ 50$:  (Additional content: NSFW Content, Clothing fitted on character)

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Name: Chestnut (Box #5)

Gender: Feminine (She/Her)

Clothing Type: Artsy/Punk (Earmuffs/Earrings) Color(s): White, Bronze, Gold Personality: Clingy, Shy, Cautious, Hard-Working, Helpful Parent: Plur Weight: 3lbs

Bio:

- A bit of a rock hound, loves to hoard stones or rocks like Tiger’s Eye or Moonstone, enjoys trying to imitate them

- Loves to nibble on earlobes or press little kisses to your jaw or cheek

- Favorite places to hang out are against your neck, your shoulder, or on top of your head

- Eventually forms a goopy, soft tail that she uses to hide in or curl around her, uses this adorable power to charm her owner into kisses

Includes: Mini Adult Form, 2 Clothing Forms

Base Price: 15$

Minimum Increase per Bid: 5$

AutoBuy Bid: 35$

AutoBuy+ 45$:  (Additional content: NSFW Content, Clothing fitted on character )

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Name: Bloom (Box #7)

Gender: Genderbinary (They/Them) Clothing Type: Naturistic (Body Jewelry) Color(s): Green, Pink Personality: Free-spirited, Energetic, Happy-Go-Lucky, Emotionally connected, easily manipulated, bounces to the tune when you play music (don't play heavy metal). Parent: Cerza Weight: 2.4lbs Bio:

-Loves flowers, will mimic any you have nearby and sprout random ones in attempts to impress you or just out of surprise!

-Simple Splurb who doesn't have a care in the world other than just making you look good and loves the feeling of skin on its slime.

-Yanking its flower off will initiate ‘Dom Mode’ that initiates an entire personality change + Appearance Change

-BDSM Enthusiast

-Loves to hear your cries of pleasure. Your screams only turns them on more.

Includes: Mini Adult Form, 2 Clothing Forms

Base Price: 15$

Minimum Increase per Bid: 5$

AutoBuy Bid: 25$

AutoBuy+ Bid 35$:  (Additional content: NSFW Content, Clothing fitted on character )

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Bidding information

-Place bids in the chat of this post/Reblogs

-Auction on each splurb will end within 24 hours of last bid.

-Posts to keep up with auctions involving each Splurb will be updated accordingly.

-Paypal only.