#its really neat and tidy but leaves open ends at the same time

[squipedmew]

happy halloween! *tosses marble hornets art out like im throwing breadcrumbs to birds*

og picture under the cut

[bakugosbratx]

NSFW 18+ The Assistant— AU Levi Ackerman x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Smut, degrading, cursing, punishment, dom levi, sub reader, bondage, bdsm, some angst, toxic relationship, spanking, cheating, etc.

Words: 3, 673

Check out my other works here

A/N: Me and my irl moot @idfkwtfgof came up with this idea so I decided to write it out. Enjoy this fifty shades of gray moment. I’ve been working on this for over a month 🙃 I’m sorry it took me forever.

Tags: @idfkwtfgof @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie

You take a deep breath as you approached the double doors in front of you. Your heart pounded against your rib cage. The silent hallways seemed to be echoing the thumps. Anyone in your position would be nervous too if they had to meet with the CEO of the Ackerman Industries. He was not one to enjoy much company nor request it. His gaze alone could intimidate the strongest of people and you are no different.

Fist resting on the wooden door in front of you, you hesitate, but close your eyes and knock anyway. You did not hear a response as you patiently wait. Instead, the door swings open to be met with the CEO himself, Levi Ackerman. Not a word was spoken, but he ushered you inside his huge office.

Scurrying, you slightly jump as you heard the huge door slam. You are in Levi’s office. Only businessmen and women are allowed in here. You feel not even worthy to be stepping on the same floor these successful people walk on. It could also be the fact that the office seemed spotless. For someone as busy as the CEO, he sure did know how to make a stack of papers seem neat in a stack.

“Sit.” Levi instructed as he strolled over to his desk chair and doing the said action. You looked around the room. Behind Levi is a wall of windows to overlook the city of New York. His desk his a beautiful dark brown that was so clean that you could see your reflection. Along with seeing your reflection, you can see —and feel— Levi starring at you. Meeting his silver orbs, you gulp.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Y/N?” Levi questioned, his tone remaining calm as always. Somehow, this intimidated you even more.

“No, sir, I don’t.” You admit. In all honesty, you are not sure why Levi called you into his office. He waited until almost everyone has gone home for the evening to set up this meeting. You have felt nauseous all day about it. Receiving an email from the CEO was enough to make anyone’s breath hitch, but to have a meeting — alone — with him is enough to make one soil themselves.

“I want to offer you a promotion,” Levi explained, his gaze hardening. “That is, if you want it?”

This is way better news than you expected. Levi has employees for a reason. He always calls the shots since it is his million dollar company, but why get his hands dirty when he can pay people to do it for him? Since no one is allowed in his office without special permission, this seemed a bit off.

“What does the job intel?”

“Well, my company is expanding even larger than anticipated this year. I need a personal assistant. Examining the work you have put in over the years, I decided you are cut out for the job. What do you say?”

You take a moment to contemplate his words. The offer is amazing and would definitely look great on your resume, but working so close to the CEO of the company is quite intimidating. Any bad habits you have developed better end swiftly or else it’s your job on the line. Levi is not afraid to terminate anyone not fit for the job.

“I’ll take it.” You smile, the words flowing out before you could even think any further.

“You start tomorrow. I expect you in my office 8am sharp. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Standing up, you straighten out your black pencil skirt and head your way towards the door. Levi’s eyes did not once leave your figure. The way you naturally sway your hips as you walk and the way the skirt hugged your hips just right. His eyes are enjoying the desires most men have yet when you turned to look over your shoulder, his eyes where focused on his paperwork.

You went home that night, excited to tell your significant other about your promotion. He did not even blink an eye in your direction. Instead, he is pissed that you are home later than normal.

“Babe—“

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed.

“I-I was called into the CEO’s office. I got a promotion!” You stammered, nervous under your boyfriend’s glare. He always made you feel small and his anger tends to send you over the edge. This is one of those many times.

“Why would he have you in there this late? Do you think I’m really that fucking stupid?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Babe, I’m being serious. I would never lie to you.” You argued.

“And how do I know that?” He countered. “How am I certain that you aren’t cheating on me? Or even hurt? Are your damn thumbs broken, Y/N? Can’t keep me updated ‘bout what’s going on? I was worried sick about you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll do better.”

Your boyfriend walked over to you, embracing your body into a tight hug. You had so much more to say, but to prevent any further escalation of an argument, you apologized and kept your mouth shut.

The next morning arrived. You woke up extra early to have time to do your hair and makeup, dressed in your nicest attire, and wear the most expensive of jewelry. Since you are going to be around the CEO for now on, you cannot show up to work appearing sluggish. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe.

“Dressed quite nicely, huh?” He spoke, meeting your eyes through the mirror. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

“I have to be.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his orbs tracing your figure. He hated when you showed confidence. It killed him inside and knowing that other men saw your beauty as well made his blood boil. He just has to ruin it.

“For the circus? Your makeup looks awful and your hair is tremendous.” He scoffed.

You bit your bottom lip. Tears welled in your eyes, but you prevented them from falling. You refuse to let him ruin your confidence. You are a strong woman and his insecurities shouldn’t be placed upon you. It is not your baggage to carry.

You meet his eyes again through the mirror. You feel your confidence crumble beneath you, but you remain strong. Turning around, you brush past him as you stroll out of the bathroom. You ignored him calling your name and demanding you to return. All he could do is watch as you left without even saying goodbye.

You arrived to the business earlier than expected. You have checked your hair and makeup more than once in the car review mirror. You are not necessarily even wanting Levi’s approval, — though he is quite handsome — you just want to look presentable. He is your boss, after all. He is not afraid to fire anyone on the spot. You are no exception.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you knock on Levi’s office door. You hear his approval to come inside and welcome yourself inside. You were not even receive a glance as you closed the door behind you. Levi’s gray orbs never left his monitor screen. You gulp nervously as you proceed towards his desk.

“I stopped to get some coffee. I brought you a tea,” you lay his cup on his desk, “just how you like it.”

He nods, still typing away. This did not help your anxiety at all. Is he regretting his decision making you his assistant? Are you disturbing him? Is he contemplating firing you? Your stomach turned at the thought.

The sound of the printer disturbed your nuisance thoughts. Levi grabbed the piece of paper and placed it on top of a neat stack. He stands up, finally looking at you.

“I have a meeting to attend to in an hour. I need these documents assorted in alphabetical order before then.”

Your eyes fall to the tall stack of papers. You definitely need more than an hour to get through them all. By Levi’s facial expression, you knew he was serious. Levi always looked serious.

“Yes, sir,” you grab the stack and meet his a gaze again, “I’ll get it done swiftly.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. Sit over there.” He orders, glancing at the couches and coffee table in the middle of his office. Maybe it is just your nerves, but his workspace seems bigger than remembered. This did not help your anxiety.

You began getting to work. You thought you are doing well on time, but time seemed to have passed you by. Levi is now towering over you, his unsatisfied silver orbs glaring down at you. You hesitate, but force yourself to meet them.

“Thought you said you would have this done?” Levi recalls.

“I-I’m really sorry, s-sir.” You stammered, expecting the worse.

“Sorry doesn’t sort the papers, Y/N.” He scolds, his silver eyes only being shown through slits.

“I—“

“We will discuss this after my meeting. Until then, I want my office spotless.” Levi continues, cutting you off. He begins walking towards the door and pauses once he reaches for the handle. “Oh and Y/N?”

You look up, meeting the CEO’s annoyed orbs. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re on strike one.” Levi warns. You did not even have a chance to ask questions as his office door slams shut behind him, leaving you alone to sulk in your thoughts.

You tidied up Levi’s office like he requested of you. Every paper went into its appropriate home, cushions are straightened out, rug is vacuumed, and you are currently dusting. This man is a clean freak by nature so there was not much to do. Still, your nerves were pulsating. This is only day one and you are not on Levi’s good side. You are becoming worrisome as your job is now potentially on the line.

The door opening made you jump. You can feel Levi’s silver orbs on you as you dust his bookshelf. He did not disturb you, though, as he proceeded towards his desk and went to work like nothing happened. Curiosity is begging you to speak, but you remain silent and complete your task.

You gather the cleaning supplies and place them back into the small closet. Returning on the guest side of Levi’s desk, he does not even look up from his monitor.

“I’m finished cleaning, sir.”

Levi did not say anything. Instead, he stood up and went to the window. His fingers grazed along the exterior which collected dust on the tips. He studied it for a moment. Your heart stopped as your breath hitched. You did not mean to forget the windows, but they look so clean already. They truly do not need much more cleaning.

“Seems like you missed a spot.” He remarks, turning to face you.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I thought—“

“Your cleaning is lamentable. Back to dusting. Now.” He demands, cleaning the dust off of his fingers with his handkerchief.

“Yes, sir.” You reply, gathering the cleaning supplies once again. You sprayed the windows and clean every inch of them until lunch time. Levi was sure to inspect your work before releasing you to go get something to eat.

“You’re dismissed.” He finally speaks. You are quick to collect your belongings leave his office. You stroll the long hallway to the elevator. You are finally alone with your thoughts and honestly, they were overwhelming. This job is very nerve racking and it’s only your first day. You are not making the best of impressions on your boss.

Digging in your purse, you check your cellphone. You have several missed calls and texts from your significant other. A pit in your stomach began to drown your appetite. You know this is going to cause a major fight between you two. A fight you did not want to participate in.

Reluctantly, you call your boyfriend back. He picks up on the second ring.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He hissed, sending chills down your spine. The elevator doors open and you head towards the cafeteria.

“Working. I can’t be on my phone while I’m—“

“So work is more important than me?” He interrupts.

“What? No. That’s not it at all.” You argued, picking up a bag of chips and a drink from the dispensers before checking out.

“Then answer my damn calls, Y/N!”

“I can’t when I’m at work!” You exclaimed. You hand the cashier money before mouthing the words ‘thank you.’ She gave you a worried look, but you disregarded it. This is not the first time that have heard a heated conversation between you and your boyfriend.

You go find an empty table to eat by yourself. The bickering between your boyfriend did not end on a good note as the other line went dead. You slammed your phone back into your purse and forced yourself to eat your chips. You did not even want them. Your relationship is falling through the cracks, you are failing at your job, and you are on the verge of losing what is left of your sanity.

Time really slipped away while you fumed in anger because you are now late to returning to Levi’s office. Tears prickled in your eyes. This is not good at all. Levi is going to be furious. Even possibly firing you.

You raced to his office. You did not even take the elevator as it will take far too long to get to his office. You are panting by the time you arrive and sweat droplets formed at the top of your forehead. Your hands began to shake as your hand rested on the handle. You need to go in there, but your body did not want to move. Your boyfriend is already pissed. You did not want to deal with your furious boss.

Sighing, you forced yourself to go inside. “I am so sorry.” You blurt out as you enter inside. Levi is giving you a disapproving look.

“Take a seat, Y/N. We need to have a talk.”

Following your boss’ orders, you sit in the chair parallel to his. You begin to tremble as you expect the worse. Levi’s glare does not help you feel any less uneasy either. His silver orbs are staring deep into your soul and making you feel small.

“You know you’re on strike three.” Levi begins. You gulp.

“I know, sir. I’m very sorry. I’ll accept any punishment you have in mind for me.” You sigh, trying to remain brave. Levi can see right through it, though. His gaze hardens and he makes his way around to your side of the desk. He folds his arms but does not remove his gaze from you once.

“What punishment do you think you deserve?” Levi ask, hoping you have the same answer in mind as him.

“I-I’m not sure. I’ll take anything. It’s what I deserve.” You admit, a flustered feeling coming across you. Levi studied your features, clicking his tongue.

“Bend over the desk.”

“What?” You whispered, not sure if you heard your boss correctly. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His intimidating glare pierced through you.

“Talking to that lame ass boyfriend of yours must have you goin deaf. I said bend over my desk.” Levi instructs, letting go of your chin once you catch his drift. You do as your told, bending over his desk. You are uncertain what he is planning to do, but the removal of your skirt gave you a pretty good idea. Your cheeks felt hot as your bare ass is now exposed to Levi’s viewing.

“Lace panties, huh? You planned on being put in this position later?” Levi chuckles, his digits playing with the strap of your thong. You bit your bottom lip, not knowing what to say. A hard smack to your bare ass caused you to release a moan.

“I asked you a question. It’s only polite to answer, brat.”

“Yes. It was for my boyfriend.” You confess in embarrassment for more reasons than one.

“Oh, I see. Your toxic little relationship is in need of fixing, but the only thing you have to offer is your pretty little pussy.” Levi analyzes, rubbing his hand on your ass before delivering another slap. You wince in pain, but you mentally screamed for more. You wanted Levi to continue spanking you.

“That’s not it, sir.” You mumbled. His hand landed down on your sore ass once more while the other hand finds refuge in your hair. He pulls it, tightly, bending your head back.

“What really gets me is this mouth of yours. I suggest you use it to tell the truth before I stuff it.” Levi growls lowly in your ear, letting go of your hair to return behind you.

Another slap was delivered. Little melodies of moans escaped your lips that you attempted to conceal. Levi did not comment on it as he proceed with the punishment. Your cunt dripped with your slick. It is begging to be touched, fucked, anything Levi desires really.

A few slaps and a very red ass later, Levi’s digits founder their way inside your soaked cunt. “Someone enjoyed themselves, hm?” He teased, curling his fingers in you. You shuffle a bit, enjoying the sensation he is giving you. The removal of his fingers made you whine in a needy tone.

“I did, Levi. Please fuck me.” You cry, wanting his cock already. He chuckled at your begging, his hand rubbing your red ass then hitting it again.

“On your knees. Now.” Levi demands. You happily oblige before him. He pats your head in approval. “Good girl. You do know how to listen.”

Levi begins unbuckling his black belt. You are practically foaming at the mouth as he slides the leather out of each loop. He sets it on the desk before proceeding to unbuckle his pants, releasing his hard cock for you to pleasure. Your eyes light up at the sight. The tip of his erection is at your lips, ready for you to move forward. Your tongue teases his sensitive head before you let each inch slide in-and-out of your saliva filled mouth.

“Yeah, like that, baby.” Levi praises as you deep throat his length. You choke some, but continue taking all of his cock. Your tongue spends time playing with the veins in his cock while his head relaxes in your throat.

“The cock hungry slut having a hard time deep throating all my cock?” Levi mocks as you pull it out to catch your breath. A string of saliva connected your lips and his cock together as your lust filled orbs met his.

“Not a chance.” You grin, placing his dick back in your mouth. Levi groans in delight as you repeat the same patterns as before. His cock twitches inside your mouth as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down your throat. You gladly swallow it as his cock becomes overwhelmed, releasing his semen onto your tongue. Not a drop was spilled as you milked his cock for all he had to offer.

Pulling away, Levi praises you again. “Such a good little slut you are. Time we give your pussy some attention, huh?”

“Yes, please, sir.” You beg, eagerly. He taps his desk.

“Bend over my desk.” He commands. Following orders, you bend over his desk like before. You arched your back so your ass and pussy is more accessible for Levi. He spreads your legs out more so your weeping cunt is fully exposed. The cold air sent chills down your spine. Levi is already hard again as he stares at your pussy.

Aligning himself, the tip of his cock enters your dripping hole, sliding in perfectly. You moan as he thrust a rough rhythm. His hips slap against your ass and his hands cling onto your hips. You tightly hang onto his desk as he pick up the pace. You sob out pleas for more.

“Better quiet down. Don’t want your coworkers hearing me fuck you like the whore you are now do we?”

You did not even care. You wanted Levi and you wanted him bad. Groans and profanities filled the room from you two as Levi hits all the right spots. You babble incoherent sentences as you start to climax again on Levi’s girth. Your walls clenched on his size and released when he re-enters himself. This does not stop Levi, though, as he chases after his own high.

“Already cumming again, slut?” Levi teases as he is slowly losing himself inside you. He hit your ass again while his dick twitches. “Ask permission next time.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You cry out, not wanting him to stop. He pulls on your hair again, bending down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to fill you up so much that you have to hide it from your boyfriend.”

“Please Levi.” You beg, not even caring anymore. You wanted Levi. You have wanted him for a long time and the feeling is mutual on his end. That is why he hired you, after all.

Levi’s cock could not withstand the pressure anymore. Releasing into the depths of your cunt, he huffs profanities as every drop enters inside of you. You gladly take it as you breathe heavily. He finally pulls out, leaving you a cum filled mess. Giving your ass a gentle tap so you will get up.

“You are dismissed for the day.” Levi grumbled as he situated himself and you did the same. You straightened out your outfit and fixed your hair. You will fix your makeup in the restroom. You proceeded to exit your boss’ office when he called out to you. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You purred, looking over your shoulder.

“Let your boyfriend know you’re my slut now.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[leetotters]

could you do a peter parker x reader where she can control her hair? and it can be any length she wants but prefers the length mid thigh and its and its unbreakable? so like fury asks if anyone in the team knows anyone they could recruit and he suggests her and all the avengers go meet her at a tailors shop she owns while she's cleaning and she shows her powers? please and if you do it, thank you

note: i hope you meant the powers to be reader's hair bc that's what i used it as lmao. also i used the gif because this is kinda how rocket got smacked with your hair. thank you for requesting<3

warnings: kissing, curse words

peter parker x reader

summary: something like request^

The swooshing of the broom and the melody of a random song played through the speakers of your tailor shop while you swept the floor. The small lengths of wool and silk thread tangling on the broom bristles as you scooped it up. The racks and unwanted pieces of cloth laid on the marble floor making you let out a sigh of exhaustion.

A knock on your glass showcase window made you jump. The movement making your hair disentangle from the neat twist plait. You lowly cursed as your hair touched the floor, the belly laugh behind the window noted you that your bestfriend was the person responsible for your little mishap.

"Couldn't you ring the bell like a normal person!" You annoyingly exclaimed, closing your eyes and controlling your hair to stop at mid-thigh length. Your preferred length. You picked your broom up and teasingly shook your head when Peter told you open the door. "I think I'm gonna leave you outside tonight, just for scarring the life out of me and my hair."

You resumed your previous activity, counting the numbers in your head until you heard the lock on your ceiling window open. The sound of Peter's displeased voice and childish complains filling your storage room.

"Can't keep me outside Y/L/N, I'll always find a way." He proudly dusted his shirt, taking the scoop from your hand while you grabbed the racks and placed them in your extra closet.

"Thanks to your super spidey powers." You teased, thanking him when he returned the dustpan. "Anyway, why are you here?" You inquired, curious why your best friend decided to stop by your little, tailor shop.

"Well I- wait," Peter scrunched his brows. "Can I not drop by to visit my bestfriend?" He sassed, hand on his hip giving you a quizzing look.

"Oh please Peter, you only stop by when you need something." You remarked, returning a pointed stare before you began to reorganize the formal wear you were currently adapting. "And that something is usually to stitch those huge ass holes in your spidey suit."

Peter didn't respond immediately, because you were right. He did stop by your shop for you to mend his suit. Because one, he loved your company. And two, you were the only person who knew his secret other than the avengers, Ned and MJ.

"Fine! fine!," He huffed. Not so discreetly looking over his shoulder as if he was giving someone a signal. "You're right-"

"I always am Parker." You boasted, using the ends of your hair to move the sewing machine and pins to there rightful place.

"Yeah- okay, but I really came to tell you life changing news!" Peter amazed, a gasp leaving his lips when he saw the movement of your hair. It never ceased to amaze him how your hair was basically magical. Being able to move stuff with your command, grow at whatever length you wanted, heal others and even be unbreakable. Epic, really.

"And what is this so great news-"

The words didn't leave your lips properly as your tailor shop entry door was suddenly yanked open. Your door handle and lock was surely broken, at the loud eerie sound of a metal crunching noise.

"Get out of my way Tony!" Stephen scowled.

"Shut it wizard dude, I'm the leader here not you." Tony rolled his eyes, removing the pair of expensive shades from his face.

"Since when? Fury sent all of us Tony." Rhodey said, dusting his shoulder.

"I wonder how much she makes in this shop, not much I bet." Steve scrunched his face, eyeing your little shop.

"Did we really have to bring Groot?" Clint groaned, flicking baby Groot off of his shoulder when he tried to grab one of his arrows.

"He's a baby, Clint. We can't leave him at the compound alone." Gamora remarked, tickling Groot's tree stomach as she picked him up.

"Okay if she does joins us, we will have to ask her to design new clothing! Look at this!." Wanda marveled, showing off the mid thigh silk dress.

"I should get this for the recruiting party Tony is planning for her." Natasha thought out loud.

"What the fuck!" You yelled, glaring at the talkative avengers standing before you. Looking mighty and high as always. "I just fixed that lock dude!" You whined, sighing gallingly when you saw the chunk of metal by Thor's feet. "You're repairing my lock, hammer man."

"Ah yes, I will have the Man of Iron restore your brittle lock Lady.."

"Y/N."

"Lady Y/N." Thor smiled.

Peter let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his ear and looking at you sheepishly. "Surprise?"

"Surprise my ass Parker! Why are the avengers in my tailor shop and why is this raccoon trying to cut my hair?!" You moved your hair with your mind, smacking the animal avenger with your y/h/c locks.

"Woah, did she just-" Bucky froze, mouth agape.

"Control her hair to hit Rocket, yeah." Peter Quill laughed at his co guardian misfortune.

"Okay her hair is very much un- unbreakable," Rocket coughed out, holding his stomach. "And strong."

"I am Groot." ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵈᵃˢˢ

"You can not say that word Groot, but I do agree with you." Gamora smirked, finger bumping the cute tree.

You were mad, really fuming. You spent two hours cleaning and by the looks of it you'll have to do it a second time. So yeah, you wanted an explanation.

"Okay don't get upset." Peter spoke calmly. Holding his hand out and gesturing towards the superheroes infront of you, who had the same impressed expression on their fanciable faces.

"This is the life changing thing I was talking about," He paused with a smile. "You're joining the Avengers!"

"What?" You were officially bamboozled, with everything. One minute you were simply tidying your shop and next, half of the avengers are occupying your shop. Quarreling and interfering with your stuff.

And not to ignore the fact that your best friend just blurted out four questionable words to you.

"You're going to be an Avenger, Rapunzel." Tony repeated, strutting to you with short steps. "If you want to of course, sidey here told us your hair power thingy and though I was a little iffy about it at the beginning, it looks like your power is truly powerful." Tony patted your shoulder. Looking over at Rocket, who was being assisted by Drax.

"As much as I would like to say it's an honor to be in your presence," You said. Controlling your hair to grow back at mid-thigh. "Why?" You faced Peter, inquiring him with the plain word.

Peter shrugged, giving you a bashful look. "Fury asked if we knew anyone who could be recruited, and without thought I suggested you." He sighed, feeling completely awful for the situation he put you in.

"And I know, I should've asked you first but I know how much you adore helping others and the money here isn't enough for your college tuition Y/N." Peter ignored the awkward silence in the room that was loud seconds ago before continuing. "I thought this would be a way to assist you."

You physically softened at his words. He was too kind and caring for his own good. You could never be upset with this idiot boy.

"I'm sorry-"

Peter didn't finish. His apology was muffled by your lips pressed deeply to his frowny pink ones. He was slighty awestruck, the feeling of your lips were breathtaking. He swore he could kiss you forever. His hands found your waist pulling you in closer, even including a little tongue movement inside your mouth.

As if reality kicked in, a teasing 'ohhh' sound came from a few avengers. Causing you to shyly pull away from Peter, who loudly groaned at the lost contact of your plump lips.

"Looks like Spidey is getting a little too handsy." Sam quipped, chuckling when Peter told him to shut it and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

"So is this a yes?" Peter hopefully asked.

You feigned ponder. "Yes."

Peter pecked your lips, mumbling a short 'yay' attempting to deepen the kiss.

"That's enough smooching spiderling." Steve uttered, obviously not enjoying the PDA.

A beeping sound came from Tony's watch altering the team about an upcoming mission.

"Looks like we gotta go," Tony spoke with a serious voice before turning to you. "Glad to have you on the team Rapunzel."

"It's Y/N." You corrected.

"Okay, I'll send some people by tomorrow to pick up your stuff. See ya soon, Rapunzel." Tony winked, exiting your tailor shop.

"He's not gonna give that up." Peter laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I oddly don't mind." You responded, waving bye to the others. "Thank you Pete."

Peter grinned. "I didn't quite hear that, say it a little louder baby."

"Thank you mister Parker." You kissed his lips, playfully rolling your eyes. But you weren't that distracted to miss Thor stealthily trying to leave your shop.

"Hey hammer God! Don't forget to fix my lock."

"I will have Stark right on it Lady Rapunzel!"

[burgerpocalypse]

I've been trying to run through some free games I got from the Epic game store, specifically Grand Theft Auto V, Creature in the Well, and most recently Night in the Woods. I quit GTAV about 60% of the way because it sucked, and I can't beat the last area of Creature, so that leaves me to talk a little about NitW and the emotional turmoil it gave me.

Upfront, I'm not interested in games with heavy emphasis on story, least of all visual novels or whatever you want to call this game. However, I've heard mostly positive things about Night in the Woods here and there for the better part of the previous decade. That and the fact I got it for $0 convinced me to finally try it out.

Night in the Woods is an adventure focused on exploration and character drama. Mae Borowski, the protagonist, is a college dropout that just moved back to her Rust Belt hometown for mysterious reasons, and becomes entangled in suspicious happenings. The player will traverse the aged suburban sprawl and rural outskirts of Possum Springs, conversing with family, friends, strangers, and everyone else, uncovering secrets and opening wounds along the way.

Seeing as how Night in the Woods is primarily a story, I'll mostly be discussing that, so look out for spoilers, yo.

After spending two years away, Mae attempts to reconnect with her previously closest friends Bea (an idealist goth whomst had considerable familial and financial responsibility thrust upon her at a young age), Gregg (an anarchist punk with bipolar tendencies), and Angus (an incredibly nice man). Mae pushes the story forward by hanging out with Bea and Gregg, and sometimes Angus. This will often involve going to social outings, running errands, committing crimes, and so on.

Other than her friends, Mae will also have opportunities to interact with her parents, various citizens, and vagrants. whom provide flavor and history to the world while also bringing some of Mae's muddled past to light. The player will traverse environments through walking and jumping around, with the occasional platforming feat required to progress or access certain areas. Occasionally, you'll be presented with small minigames, like a Guitar Hero-clone or red light/green light shoplifting, and a game-within-a-game dungeon crawler that pissed me off to no end. While most activities in the town are benign, certain important events will move the day along and lock you out of further exploration.

Early on, Mae's group stumbles upon a discarded arm and some cryptic dialogue from a few characters. After each day, Mae experiences strange dream sequences that involve platforming segments and surreal representations of her friends and the town. Several hours of gameplay later, Mae witnesses a kidnapping on Halloween by what appears to be a ghost.

In the midst of all this, Mae hangs out with her friends and discovers what they've been up to in her absence. Bea runs the family business for her father, who broke down after her mom died, putting them in dire financial straits and preventing Bea from leaving Possum Springs; she bears resentment towards Mae, since she dropped out of college and came home for no apparent reason while also not maturing at all. Gregg is aimless, sporadic, and uninhibited, while his boyfriend Angus is neat, tidy, and overly helpful. Their relationship appears strong, and they are planning to move to a new city together, though Bea is convinced it won't last.

Mae does her best to strengthen bonds while suffering from a variety of stressors, like her family's money troubles, her self-destructive tendencies and dissociative episodes, and ominous celestial beings invading her mind. This sometimes leads to inadvertent and painful social situations, especially with Bea.

Mae attempts to investigate the supposedly supernatural happenings with the help of Bea, Gregg, and Angus, while her mental health steadily declines. Eventually, the group travels deep into the woods (at night) and stumble into a cult, after which Mae suffers a great fall and enters a coma. After waking up, Mae then attempts to confront the cult head-on, though her friends arrive to help. They enter a cave, find the cult again, discover the eldritch horror they serve and explore her personal connection to it, accidentally cause a cave-in and trap the cultists, escape the cave, and try to make sense of what happened after the fact.

Now, don't get me wrong. I rather enjoyed Night in the Wood's story. I really liked all the characters. I loved the dialogue. Even the platforming and various minigames were fine, if simplistic and occasionally annoying. The structure of this paragraph seems as though it's leading towards a big 'but'. I just wanted to say that I really liked the game, even though I don't generally enjoy video game stories, and especially not video games primarily about a story. Though I'm not from a run-down midwestern town, and obviously don't have the same sort of personal relationships she does, Mae's emotional strife and insecurities really resonated with me. Her personal thoughts and reactions often made me just stop and think about the many mistakes I've made with the people I care about and all the relationships I've ruined.

However, if the plot wanted to spend so much time on Mae and her friends, it should have been about Mae and her friends. Conversely, if it wanted to be about a spooky cult in a small town, it should have spent much more time on a spooky cult in a small town. The plot is torn between two diametrically opposed focuses, those being Mae's struggles to maintain relationships and her dealing with suspicious supernatural occurrences in Possum Springs. So much time passes before anything really happens with the cult and cosmic horror that I feel some people might even forget there is a cult and cosmic horror, and Mae isn't just experiencing a psychotic break for no reason.

In the end, the cult goes unresolved, and it's unclear what the relationship is with the residents of Possum Springs, or what its powers even are. I don't need the game to explain every aspect in detail, but no one appears to be affected by the existence of the cult and its god other than Mae. My brain was going into overdrive looking for clues, making patterns, identifying red herrings, anything that might help me understand the mystery, when in reality there was no mystery to understand.

There is also a severe lack of actual choice or decision making in terms of dialogue, and a distinct absence of any real challenge in gameplay. I definitely felt that this story could have been more efficiently told if it were in a book, usually after spending a few minutes walking around trying to find something important and

It doesn't help that I sometimes accidentally skipped certain segments, since it's not always explicitly clear if an action will push the day forward and lock me in. I even completely missed a third of the investigations since I chose to check out the historical society building with Gregg second when the game expected me to do it last. This sort of problem led to me giving up completely on other story-focus games like Kentucky Route Zero since I constantly skipped and missed chunks of stuff or did things out of the intended order and ruined the flow of events.

Now this has obviously gotten a little too long, so I'll just wrap it up by saying that Night in the Woods is great and I recommend it. It made me feel feelings, deep feelings, like I was moments away from crying on more than one occasion.

Thanks for reading. I have a lot on my mind because of this game, so I hope it was worth your time.

[occult-castiel]

The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

[fanficshiddles]

Stitching The Wounds, Chapter 9

It was an hour later and Loki returned home first. He grinned when he walked into the living room and found Leona watching TV, eating some popcorn and wearing his hoodie.

‘Hello my little omega.’ He purred and walked over to her.

She smiled at him as he sat down next to her, pulling her into a hug which surprised her a little. But she liked it.

He then cupped her chin and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, lingering for a moment which took her breath away. Her cheeks reddening.

‘Hi.’ She squeaked out.

‘You’re wearing my hoodie.’ Loki grinned, looking down at said hoodie.

‘Oh… Yeah, I forgot I still had it on. It’s really comfy.’ She said sheepishly and was about to take it off, but Loki stopped her.

‘You suit green. Don’t worry, you can wear my clothes whenever you wish.’ He winked at her and settled next to her, his arm around her. ‘What’s mine is yours, doll.’

She took a moment but then she leaned into him and relaxed under his arm, her head against his chest.

‘Have you had a good day?’ He asked quietly, rubbing her upper arm softly.

‘Mmmhmm. How was school?’

‘It was fine.’ Loki shrugged.

She turned her head to look at him, grinning. ‘I bet you’re a really strict teacher, right?’

Loki threw his head back, laughing.

‘Some would say that. But I am fair. There has to be a balance, it’s not just about teaching but connecting with them too. I think a lot of teachers forget that every student is a human being, all with their own problems and issues out with school. All with their own personality. Which can affect their work and way of learning. It’s about finding what works for each individual student. Being strict constantly isn’t the best way to teach, unless of course someone is just taking the piss, that’s when I can get stricter.’ Loki explained softly.

‘Mmm… That makes sense.’ She nodded. ‘I uh, was having a look around and I saw the box you have of gifts from students. It seems that you really made an impression with so many, so you must be a good teacher.’

‘Oh you were being nosey, were you?’ Loki raised an eyebrow but he smirked, giving her arm a squeeze.

‘I wanted to see what else I could find out about the two Alphas I’m living with.’ She said innocently, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Loki chuckled. ‘I have had some wonderful students over the years.’

‘What age do you teach now? I noticed there was a bit of a mix by the looks of it.’ She asked.

‘Right now, ages around sixteen. So for some, it’s their last year of education. Others want to go on to College or University. Or stay on for another year or two. I did teach primary school pupils for a few years a while ago, they were around six and seven. A lot of fun, but incredibly hard work.’ He smiled fondly.

‘Were they scared of you?’ Leona asked with a smirk.

‘At first, they were terrified. But by the end of the first day they loved me and were all hugging me before leaving.’ He chuckled.

‘You do seem to have that vibe… You and Kilgrave both do, actually.’

‘What, scary?’ Loki raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah. You are both Alphas and quite intimidating at first.’ Leona said honestly. ‘But I think you’re both just big softies really.’

Loki slid his hand down from her arm to her side, giving her a slight tickle, making her laugh. ‘Don’t tell other people that, it will ruin our reputation.’ He teased.

While Leona had meant what she said, she still knew they had a mean swing. And had proof of that. She didn’t doubt they would be able to keep her in line and give her a good challenge. But she knew she was safe with them. And that meant absolutely everything.

Kilgrave arrived home later when Loki and Leona were eating dinner. He greeted them, kissing Leona, then went upstairs to get changed.

Suddenly Loki and Leona both heard a loud wail come from upstairs. Leona couldn’t help herself from laughing. Loki looked across the table at her, an eyebrow up.

‘What did you do?’ He asked firmly.

She covered her mouth and tried to contain her laughter. ‘Me? Nothing...’ She said innocently, but Loki could tell she was far from innocent.

‘Stay here.’ He growled at her before heading upstairs to see what Kilgrave was so distraught over.

When he walked into Kilgrave’s room, he had to cover up his own laughter as he put his hand over his mouth.

Kilgrave had his drawers open and they were a mess. His hair was a mess too as he’d ran his hand through it so many times in the last minute in despair at the sight on front of him.

‘She is SO in trouble.’ Kilgrave snarled as he started re-organising the drawers.

‘Mate… I know this is a big deal for you.’ Loki started as he sat down on the end of his bed and watched. ‘But she doesn’t know, you can’t give her into trouble for pulling what she thought was a funny prank... And it kind of is.’ He grinned.

Kilgrave sighed in irritation and he took a few deep breaths before turning to face Loki, who quickly tried to put on a serious face. Kilgrave glared at him and clenched his jaw. He turned back to continue tidying first his boxers back into a neat order.

Loki couldn’t control himself while Kilgrave kept muttering under his breath, taking his time to organise everything and folding his socks together. Loki was almost pissing himself laughing at the situation. Kilgrave kept glaring at him over his shoulder.

‘We need to tell her.’ Loki said once he was able to calm himself down from laughing.

Kilgrave sighed and ran his hand through his hair again.

‘I was hoping we wouldn’t have to.’

‘Once you claim her, you know it’s only going to become more difficult. You’ve always been expecting this. If she knows, it will be for the best. Trust me.’ Loki said as he stood and patted him on the shoulder.

‘Fine… I’ll be down soon.’ He sighed.

Loki gave Leona a look and a smirk when he went back downstairs. She just giggled and put her plate away in the sink.

‘When Kilgrave comes down we need to talk to you.’ Loki said as he finished his dinner.

‘Oh? What about?’ Leona asked.

‘I think you know what about.’ Loki drawled.

Leona felt her ass tightening at the thought of possibly getting another spanking already.

But she knew it was something else, something serious, when Kilgrave came down and they all went into the living room to talk. Loki turned the TV off too.

Kilgrave narrowed his eyes at her briefly and shook his head. ‘That was quite the prank you pulled on me, pet.’ He growled. ‘It’s a good job you’re cute, or you’d be in serious trouble for doing that.’

Leona smirked but continued to try and look innocent. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ She teased. ‘So what is it you need to talk to me about?’  

Kilgrave sighed and ran a hand down his face. ‘When I was younger, I really struggled with control issues. I used to struggle with not being in full control of everything and everyone. I received help with it when I was younger, which helped a lot. In a way, being a bit of a control freak helps with my job, but at the same time it can affect personal relationships and friendships. I am much better at controlling it than I used to be, but there are still times I struggle. We have suspected for a long time that when I get an omega it would become a bit more difficult to manage. Which is why Loki and I decided it was best to tell you.’

Leona was slightly stunned, she hadn’t expected that. But it did make sense. And she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach now for doing what she did to his drawers.

‘I… I’m sorry, for doing that. I wouldn’t have done it if I had known.’ She said and looked down at her hands in her lap, feeling genuinely bad.

‘No, it’s ok. Loki got a right kick out of it anyway.’ Kilgrave growled slightly and glared over at Loki, who started laughing again. Kilgrave leaned over and put his hand over Leona’s hands. ‘I’m not a bad person, I wouldn’t ever hurt you. I want you to know that. But there might be times where I seem like I am being too bossy or strict, but I can’t completely help it sometimes.’

‘If you ever feel like he is being unfair, such as this morning with not wanting you to go out alone, you can call him out on it.’ Loki said.

‘Yes, just tell me you think I am being unfair. And we can talk about it. Sometimes I just need someone to reason with me a little bit to see that I am overreacting.’ Kilgrave nodded.

‘And at least I am here too, which I think will help. As I will be able to keep him in line a little if he is being ridiculous. Or keep you in line if you are trying it on and being naughty.’ Loki winked at Leona, making her laugh a little.

‘I know you’d never hurt me. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.’ She smiled at Kilgrave. ‘I guess having me as your omega isn’t going to make things easy in regards to your control issues though.’

‘Don’t start with any of that, Leona.’ Loki growled in warning, knowing where she was going with it. ‘We don’t want to hear it.’

‘Loki’s right, we don’t want to hear it.’ Kilgrave said, giving her a look.

‘Alphas have a level of control over their omegas as it is, I’m hopeful that once we all settle in together everything will fall into place. But as we’ve said, if you feel Kilgrave is being unfair then just say something.’ Loki said.

‘I won’t be offended, as I know it’s an issue that might rear its ugly head at times.’ Kilgrave said honestly. ‘But I have never been violent… well, only to Alphas that deserve it… But I would never lay a finger on you in that way. I promise you that.’

‘I know you won’t.’ Leona said. ‘But uhm… am I going to be spanked for messing up your drawers?’

Loki and Kilgrave looked at one another then they both smirked.

‘No, you’re not.’ Kilgrave chuckled.

Leona tried to hide the fact she was slightly disappointed…

‘You didn’t know. And it was a damn good prank.’ Loki grinned. ‘One that I have thought about doing many times myself, but I know I’d get my head ripped off if I even dared to try it.’

‘You’re not cute like Leona is, so you most definitely wouldn’t get away with pulling a stunt like that.’ Kilgrave said as he glared at Loki, making Leona giggle.

‘I guess maybe having an omega might help.’ Leona said as she fiddled with her fingers. ‘As you will be able to focus on me. Maybe having some control over me, which you do, might help. As an outlet, in a way?’ She suggested.

Kilgrave and Loki smiled, realising she was right. It might be the opposite to what they originally thought and might help Kilgrave instead.

After their talk, the three of them snuggled on the sofa together. With Leona on Kilgrave’s lap and her legs draped over Loki’s. Kilgrave felt calmer now, and he was glad they told Leona about his issues. She didn’t seem worried at all, which relieved him.

Leona felt closer to them after today. It was weird, in a way. She felt like it made Kilgrave more human in a sense. That perhaps the two Alphas weren’t as perfect as they first seemed to be. Which actually made her even more comfortable. As she felt like she didn’t need to be perfect to impress them.

She could hopefully just be herself.

[ahkaahshi]

lil things that bring them joy + lil things that annoy the crap outta them [hcs]

characters: sakusa kiyoomi, kuroo tetsurou, iwaizumi hajime

genre: fluff

warning(s): one suggestive comment. what would my work be without one?

notes: I promise I do work for other characters aside from sakusa on this blog but I can’t contain my desire to write him and I'm not sorry. so here he is. again!

lil things that bring him joy

crawling into a freshly made bed. just loves how crisp the sheets feel n the smell of fresh linens. makes him feel very safe.

getting all his laundry done + his clothes folded. loves putting everything in its designated place all neat and tidy.

coming home to a clean house. if you clean just for him before he comes home from traveling for a game, he’s another step closer to getting on his knee. (it’s only fair considering how many times you’ve probs gotten on yours for him... just sayin)

symmetry and congruence. loves when things line up, whether it’s furniture in the house fitting perfectly in corners/the center of the walls or slices of cake being evenly shaped and cut with precision

having the exact change needed. or, better: when the total comes out to a whole number.

not having the seat next to him on the bus/train/bench taken. if anyone sits next to him when there’s open seats elsewhere, he’s movin 🏃🏻‍♂️  

finding a brand new bottle of hand sanitizer that he forgot he had (#just omi things)

lil things that annoy the crap outta him

the sound of someone chewing with their mouth open! it’s taking all his strength not to stab them with his chopsticks!!

realizing that his water bottle’s empty n there’s no place nearby to refill it. where’s his brita when he needs it??

random messes in the house. clutter is okay, but having stuff just lying around, totally out of place drives him a lil nuts. don’t let the dishes pile up in the sink or else he’s coming for you with the dish gloves and soap!!

people who stand too close to him in line! will glare at them until they step off!

when his clothing gets wet/stained. he’s in the laundry room with that arm and hammer cranking out whatever spilled on him asap

when the clocks in the house aren’t set to the same time. is the type of person who says “it’s 11:28″ instead of rounding up to 11:30.

unfinished conversations. don't leave him on read in the middle of one over text, even if you’re mad; it’ll drive him nuts. if you’re busy, tell him that beforehand and say you will continue the convo when you’re free to give him peace of mind!

lil things that bring him joy

seeing animal couples hangin out together/bein cute/playing. reminds him that love isn’t dead n makes him think of you.

weighted blankets. makes him feel like he’s bein hugged. will only sleep under a weighted blanket when you’re away 🥺

the smell of freshly baked cookies. makes him feel nostalgic.

when the train arrives right when he gets to the platform

when the last line of his problem/formula ends right on the last line of the page. he hates having empty lines at the bottom of a page bc he feels guilty for not using them but he also doesn’t wanna flip back n forth to check his work!!

seeing his friends succeed at something, no matter how small! a supportive king!

listening to you talk about something that makes you so happy that he can see your eyes practically sparkling

lil things that annoy the crap outta him

getting tailgated on the freeway! if the dude driving behind him is so close kuroo can practically see the pimple on his chin in his rearview mirror, he’s getting heated. esp if he’s not even in the fast lane.

when rain wasn’t forecasted and it rains. and he didn’t bring an umbrella. and he steps in a puddle.

getting aggressively barked at by dogs (inuoka?) when he walks down the sidewalk, past people’s houses. he didn’t do anything! leave him alone!

shoes that are just that little bit too small and slightly crush his tootsies but are also too big on him when he tries going up a size

when people bump into him and don’t apologize/acknowledge that it happened. own up to it!

pilling on the inside of his favorite sweaters (pilling is when fibers become separated thru washing and bunch up at the surface, causing those uncomfortable, unsightly, little "pills” on fabric)

getting a pebble/piece of gravel stuck in the bottom of his sneakers that he literally has to pry out bc it doesn’t come out on its own when he does a lil stomp 😤

lil things that bring him joy

lil love notes/texts from you. he loves seeing your handwriting/face at the top of his messages :)

catching a sunset at its most vibrant moment. it’s a simple thing, but it reminds him to slow down and take a breath.

when someone else’s dog strains against its leash bc it wants to visit him for a pet. he will pet!

finding what he needs in his backpack without having to do any digging around. loves being organized!

getting in that really good stretch after a long day of work/class/training. buy a matching foam roller and roll out with him!

bumping into an old friend/teammate/classmate out of the blue.

seeing that his actions, in some way, have positively affected another person, no matter who they are. ex: seeing a mom struggling to handle her kid/s and her groceries breathe out a sigh of relief when he offers to help carry her stuff to her car. brb on my way to buy a ring

lil things that annoy the crap outta him

when the walk sign turns red before he’s even halfway across the street. the pressure he feels to run the rest of the way is intense.

buying a new brand of product to save money and finding out it’s not as good as what he usually gets.

waking up in the morning to find his phone didn’t charge at all. that’s when he knows the day is gonna suck.

not being able to find something that he remembers telling himself to move bc he knew he would forget where it was

burning his mouth on a hot drink and having that scratchy sensation on his tongue for the rest of the day

being called iwa-chan by literally anyone other than oikawa. barely tolerates it from him anyway. is fuming (internally) if oikawa’s fangirls refer to him by that name.

having to make a struggle meal bc he forgot to get groceries n he’s too burnt out to go to the store, or it’s closed

[theboredwritertm]

hi if you write smut.... maybe mando being the reader’s first time?? if not, ignore this :))

Innuendo 

A/N: I’m going to admit this was the first request I received (ever) for The Mandalorian and it’s been gathering dust for the past couple of weeks (because I’m a simp for Cobb Vanth apparently??) Anyway, so sorry it’s taken this long, anon. I haven’t written this kind of thing before, but always love the chance to try new subject matter. Thanks for sending it through! I’ll admit this piece felt kind of clunky as I was writing it, but since I’m (sorta) sticking to a posting schedule now, I just wanted to get it done. And apparently, I can’t write something without backstory, so it got a little long!

Rating: 18+ for adult situations

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: Awful jokes and innuendos, awkwardness, a clueless Din, probably swearing, consensual sex, loss of virginity

Word Count: 5930 (Once again, consider the first 3000 words terrible foreplay)

Summary: After putting up with months of your supposedly-unintentional innuendos, Din finally takes charge…only to find out things aren’t quite what he expected.  

He’d picked you up like a Bantha tick and hadn’t been able to shake you since.

You’d managed to argue your way into a semi-permanent position onboard the Crest after what he would call a rescue, but what you still stubbornly referred to as an ‘assisted retreat’, and it didn’t look like you planned on leaving any time soon. 

So, he was stuck with you. At least that’s how he liked to think of the situation.

Never mind that it was nice to have someone to come back to after a long mission that could actually talk back to him. Or that you kept the ship neat and tidy. Or that you were practically a live-in babysitter for the little one at this point. Not to mention the way you always managed to throw together decent meals for the three of you that didn’t always come out of a pack – and that you seemed to enjoy doing so. 

And never mind that he liked listening to your soft, happy hums as you stirred together whatever ingredients you had managed to pull together, and that he’d stand in the doorway, silent as a shadow as he took this in, thinking to himself that if a Bantha was half as lucky to pick up a tick like you, it could do much worse for itself.

But what really got to him were the jokes.

You weren’t what he would consider shy, not since you seemed to have no problem at all talking back to him when he had grown so used to others shrinking back at the mere sight of him – still, he hadn’t been expecting the first comment that had just sort of slipped out of you after a few weeks of being in each other’s company. By that point you were comfortable enough to throw the odd sarcastic quip around at each other without having to worry about someone getting offended, so that’s what he had decided to take it as: a joke. At least, the first time. 

Since the Crest was prone to the odd malfunction, given its age and what he guessed to be a few too many battles before it was decommissioned, it hadn’t surprised him to walk into a cockpit full of smoke one day. What had surprised him was the way you had stepped into the room, taken one look around as you waved the smoke from your face, and said, “Is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

He’d taken it as he thought he should. A bad joke. You were prone to them as he had come to find, and there’d been plenty of times that he’d heard you use the same kind of lines on people you needed something from. In his case, he guessed that something was shelter and a place to lay low for a while. And he had obliged.  

The second time wasn’t as bad. It was worse. Terrible, even. He had no idea what you’d been going for, but as he’d approached the ship after a particularly grueling job and found you standing on the ramp, one foot balanced on a crate and look of mock-seduction, you’d cocked an eyebrow and greeted him with, “Hey, handsome. Looking for a ride?” 

His response? A semi-confused, completely weary, “It’s my ship,” as he’d passed you by.

The third time he thought maybe he’d just taken it the wrong way.

You’d been discussing his work, how long it had been between jobs, and how you were both getting a little light on credits. You’d shaken your head, lounging sideways in the co-pilot seat in a way that always looked uncomfortable to him, but seemed just fine to you, when you’d said, “I don’t get it. There’s got to be work out there somewhere.” Then you’d paused for a moment before adding, “If I looked hard enough, I’m sure I could find a few openings for you to fill.” He had frowned and glanced over, certain he’d caught the passing ghost of a smirk on your lips before you resumed looking completely innocent, as if you were simply pondering the tricky predicament you found yourselves in. 

Then there was the touching.

At first, he’d found excuses to move out of your reach, an attempt to make his knee-jerk reaction to shrug you off look less obvious. Then one day he’d exercised some restraint as you’d popped a warm, friendly hand on his thigh before getting up from the co-pilot’s seat, announcing you were ready for bed, and he’d realized…he kind of liked it. What, to you, (he was sure) was just fleeting, friendly touches – something ordinary and human he had been deprived of growing up – started to become something he would linger on for hours, sometimes days afterwards. There was something frustrating in the way you could make something that felt so intimate to him look so casual to you. 

Another time, more recently, was probably the worst of the lot – but only because of the effect it’d had on him.

During the last stop-off, you’d both been standing in the holding bay surveying the handful of acquisitions he had stored in carbonite. Work had finally picked up, and you’d proven surprisingly helpful in acquiring them, but in that particular instance, there had been a slight problem – two of them were destined for the same planet, but the cities were in complete opposite directions. The timeframes to meet the employers would never have allowed him to make both trips. So, you’d stepped up, placing a hand on his arm as you’d surveyed the captives and said, “Look, I’ve never been much of a delivery person, but I’m more than happy to handle your package for you, just this once.” He’d stared at you, glancing down briefly at the hand on his armor, then up at your smile. “What do you say?” you’d asked, eyes never leaving his visor.

It had taken a troubling amount of self-control not to close up the ramp and show you just how okay with that proposition he was. Because it had been a long time since he’d last gotten the chance. He’d blame the dry spell on the kid, on new responsibilities that hadn’t been there before, but it had been like this for well-over a year, way before the Child had even come into his life. Gone were the days of his youth where he could pick someone out of a bustling cantina crowd and lead them off silently to some grimy bathroom or backroom for a quick fuck – them, for the thrill of being with one of his kind, and him, out of sheer physical need. He’d made peace with the fact that those days were behind him (and considering the state of some of those bathrooms – and some of the partners – it was probably for the best). But that didn’t mean that the need went away. And then there was you.

You, with your perfect skin and the glow of youth still about you. Your long, shiny hair that always made his fingers twitch with need to reach out and run them through it. Your (cute) annoying laugh, and the way you would crinkle up your nose as you found something he’d said particularly funny for some reason he could never figure out (him, fumbling with switches from the pilot’s seat as he attempted to focus, ignoring the smile prickling at his own mouth as the sweet sound of your giggling flipped the doofus switch in his brain). You with the form-fitting pants you sometimes wore when a mission called for something you could move easily in, ones that made his own pants feel a little more form fitting when he stared for long enough to let his mind wander. 

You and your damn jokes.

In the end, much to his surprise, it wasn’t a joke that had finally sent him over the edge. It was a simple word, and this time you actually had context to back you up, to assure him that it wasn’t you just fucking with him. Given the situation, it absolutely shouldn’t have had the effect on him that it did. But it had triggered something in him that even he didn’t know he was into.

The kid had been seated in his usual spot, in the seat behind Din’s, when you’d walked in and spotted his big eyes beginning to droop. You had developed a routine with him now – dinner, a bit of bonding time with Din in the cockpit, then bed – and so far, it had seemed to work well for the little guy. You were new to the whole childcare thing, but it made it easier for you to know where punishment and reward was warranted – especially since you were terrible at telling him off. One look at his little face and all wrongdoings were forgotten, something Din never seemed particularly impressed with (even if he was just as guilty of it as you were).

You approached the seat, reaching down to scoop up the sleepy bundle, and pulled him close.

“Come on, little one. Let’s leave daddy to his thing. Time for bed.”

As you turned and headed for the steps leading down to his cot, you failed to notice the way Din had stiffened in his seat. He turned his head to watch you go, eyes dropping down to linger on your ass as the word replayed in his mind. Then he turned back to the flight console, hand lingering over it in a split-moment of indecision, before he flicked on auto-pilot and got to his feet.

Enough was enough. 

*

You had absolutely been fucking with him.  

The first time it had just sort of slipped out, you’ll admit. After years of dealing with the Guild, which what was honestly a bit of a boys’ club, you’d developed the shitty flirting as a reflex to seem more at ease with whoever you were working with (and, okay, sometimes it got you better jobs, too. So what?) But after catching Din’s initial reaction (back when you knew him solely as the strong, silent Mando) you knew it was a thread you had to tug at. And tug at it, you had, just to see the man unravel. 

You knew the risks, knew the Mandalorian’s reputation, but part of you had wondered how far you could take it…how far you wanted it to go. 

You were about to find out.

As you pressed the button to close up the baby’s metal capsule, smiling as you caught one last glimpse of his sleeping form, you turned to find yourself face-to-helmet with the man himself. Even without seeing his face, there was still an intensity to the way he was looking at you, how he leaned in until you have no choice but to back yourself up against the cold steel of the wall. 

“This needs to stop,” he says, tone full of warning. Though you could have sworn there was a touch of something else to his voice. You want to say it sounds like desperation, but that feels a little self-indulgent, even for you.

“I’m sorry. Did you want to put the kid to bed? I just thought—”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

His hand comes up to rest beside you on the wall, as he leans in closer, effectively boxing you in. 

Oh, boy. 

You wonder if this is the same technique he uses on people he’s trying to get information from and if it should be having this effect on you. You’re almost certain it’s fear that you should be feeling, not, uh, this. You clear your throat and look up at him, wracking your brain for what you’ve done or said in the last ten minutes to warrant this kind of reaction from him, especially given the more obvious attempts to rile him up over the past couple of months. You’d picked up the kid, same as you did every other night. Maybe it was the way you’d bent over to do it. You glance down briefly at your clothes, but it’s not a particularly revealing outfit. You’d worn much less in front of him before with far less reaction. Maybe it was something you’d said?

Come on, little one. Let’s leave daddy to-

Oh. 

Oh.

The word leaves your mouth as a soft question intended mainly for yourself, a thought given voice. Din stiffens immediately, across from you. You look up at him, realizing at the same time he does that you’ve caught on.

“Wait, really? Is that what this abou—?”

His other hand comes up towards your throat, and for a moment you think he’s going to choke you (and you’re a little concerned that the feeling you get from that thought still isn’t fear) but his touch is gentle. His hand comes to rest on the side of your neck, thumb against your cheek as he looks at you for a moment before his voice comes through once more. 

“Say it again.”

You keep your gaze trained on his visor, where you’re sure his eyes are currently burning into you, and feel heat flooding in opposite directions in your body; up to your face, and down between your legs. And you feel ridiculous. You had never been into that kind of thing before, and you feel silly saying it; but if there’s one thing you are into, it’s the big guy in front of you – the one telling you to say this one little word, just for him – and having him this close talking to you like this, well it might just be worth the humiliation. Hell, maybe that’s something you’re into, as well.

“Daddy?”

The hand on the wall next to you pulls back as he growls, and slams forward fast enough to make you jump, smacking against the light switch, bathing you both in sudden darkness. You feel him lean in closer, certain that if you were to move your head even slightly forward it would come into contact with the cold beskar of his helmet.

“Do you want this?” his voice, gravelly with lust, sounds through the modulator, as the hand on your neck begins to slide downwards.

Shit.

Even if you had wanted to say no before – you hadn’t – you’re sure the low rumble in his tone would have changed your mind. You’d never heard him keyed up like this before. He always had a way of keeping it together, of staying in control, but you’d been messing with him for so long, teasing, casually throwing your innuendos around, knowing exactly what you were doing to him. You don’t know why you feel so surprised that it’s finally come down to this. It was kind of like a daydream, a fantasy finally coming true, and you feel completely unprepared.

“I do, Din, seriously, but, uh, there’s just—”

“What is it?”

You wonder how you’re going to break it to him. Honestly, you feel like a fucking fraud after everything you’ve put him through. You feel like you’ve been leading him on. You sigh and duck your head as you make your confession.

“I’ve never done this before.”

You don’t know how to explain it, but you feel him suddenly deflate, as if the tension in the room has been replaced with something akin to disappointment. 

“You’re joking?” And for once, you’re not.

He doesn’t mean for the words to come out the way they do, and even though he can’t say he’s any less turned on by this revelation he knows there are implications there that can’t be ignored if he wants to keep going. Only, right now, he’s not feeling very patient. 

You wince at the level of exasperation in his tone. “No.”

There’s silence for a moment and you have to reach out to feel that he’s still there, your hand landing on his chest plate. His hand comes up to rest on top of yours, and you think that maybe its to pull it away, that the lights will come back on at any moment and this opportunity will disappear forever, but he holds it there, thinking things over. 

“How much experience do you have? Any?”

There’s a change to his tone, now. He sounds curious.

“Yeah, I mean I’ve…”

Why does this feel so fucking awkward suddenly? You’ve spent the last six months in this man’s daily company, and while that might not seem like a lot of time in terms of getting to know a person, a majority of that was spent in the confined space of the Crest. You know each other’s routines now; all the little habits and pet peeves you can only pick up on when living in close quarters with someone else. You know he likes silence at meal times, but that he’s more open to conversation after time away on a job, and you’ve come to be able to tell just from his posture if that job had gone well. You know some of each other’s history – him mostly learning yours, since you’re by far the chattier person – yet, still, your face is hot with embarrassment as you recall the handful of experiences you’ve had. You’d never talked about this kind of stuff. You’d only ever joked about it.

“You know, like, mouth stuff.”

“Mouth stuff?” he repeats, and you swear there’s laughter in his voice when he says it.

Your face is beginning to feel unbearably hot, and you’re sure that if he decided to read your heat signature right now your skin would look like you’d just spent a week straight wandering the Tatooine desert. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Hm,” he replies thoughtfully, like he does and that maybe he’s picturing it, “What else?”

“Hand—”

“Hand stuff?” he cuts you off, undeniably making fun of you now. 

You smack him in the chest plate, only managing to send a sting through your hand in the process, then push forward as if to move past him, like you think you could make your way anywhere in this darkness. “You know what? Maybe I don’t want this, after all.”

It’s a blatant lie, but you’re starting to think maybe humiliation’s not your thing after all.

He stops you and you don’t resist. You’d been wanting this pretty much from day one, back when he’d assisted with your retreat after a hunt had gone sideways – from the moment you’d watched him swagger into the cantina and stand calmly between you and the half-dozen armed men who were protecting their wanted leader. Back when you’d been just a young, fellow hunter in need of aid.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks you now.

You think about it for all of two seconds. “I want y—This. I want this.” You stumble over what is almost too much of a confession. It feels too soon to tell heavy truths like that, so you settle for what you already know he’s offering. “Just…go easy.”

There’s a silence that seems to drag out in the darkness, then a hiss as he removes his helmet. You feel his body move closer to yours, and you swear that’s his hair brushing your cheek as he leans in and says, “I can do that.”

He scoops you up without warning, reminding of how quick and strong he can be even when he’s weighed down by all that armor, and you find you can’t help yourself as you say: 

“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

Without the helmet, his sigh meets your skin as a warm huff across your face.

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” you reply without hesitation, feeling him still beneath you.

“No more jokes. Please.”

You laugh at the exasperation in his voice and find yourself caught completely off guard when you hear a huff of breath escape him that might have passed for laughter, too, but before you can say anything you find yourself being whisked away towards what you assume is the small space of his sleeping quarters. He seems to know his way well enough to not bump into anything along the way, but even so you hug yourself in tight to avoid any knocks to the head. You look up as a door rasps open in front of you and you can only barely make out the outline of the bed. Din is quick to place you down on it before he drops his helmet to the floor and starts tugging off his armor, placing it somewhere nearby. You sit on the edge of the mattress staring awkwardly into the darkness, knowing you should probably start undressing, too, but suddenly feeling self-conscious despite the pitch darkness that surrounds you. 

“Do you want me to undress you?” Din asks, and his tone is gentle enough for it to be a serious question. 

You shake your head in response after thinking it over for a minute before remembering he can’t see you. 

“You’ll have to use your words,” he says, “The lights need to stay off.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Is that okay?”

You know it’s not him asking if you’re expecting him to betray his creed in order for this to happen; it’s him asking if you’re okay with not being able to see anything for your first time. 

Your first time.

Urgh. It sounds so juvenile when you think about it that way, but so far, it’s living up to the adolescent kind of awkwardness you had expected, back when you had actually been an adolescent. You were past that now, and if you’re being honest with yourself that’s part of what’s making you feel self-conscious about this whole thing. You feel like this should have happened a long time ago. You wonder if Din thinks it odd that you’ve left it for this long.

“That’s fine,” you tell him quickly. Though you wish you could see him, not only to know what you’ll be working with, but also because doing it this way adds a layer of anonymity you didn’t necessarily want to associate with your first time. You’d always pictured it being with someone you felt close to – as cliché as it sounded, someone who was special to you. And even though that was true in this case, not being able to see that certain someone was detracting from the whole experience. 

You feel movement in front of you and a large, warm hand finds your knee, running it over the fabric that still covers your body.

“We don’t have to do this if you’ve changed your mind,” Din tells you. His voice is different without the helmet; softer, gentler. Or maybe it’s just the circumstances that has him talking to you this way. You’d heard him use this kind of tone on the Child, and you had always admired the level of patience he always managed to show the kid, but you’d never found yourself on the receiving end of it like this before. It’s comforting.

Comforting enough to confirm your decision.

His hand moves away as he feels you start to shimmy out of your clothes. Your top goes first, up and over your head, joining his pile on the floor, then you reach down for the button on the front of your pants. You pause, realizing how exposed you’ll be, even with the cool air meeting your already-exposed nipples. This is a different kind of exposed, you think; more intimate. You give yourself a moment. 

“May I?” he asks, and you’re surprised enough by his politeness that you nod, forgetting again he can’t see you, and breath out, “Yeah.”

You move your hand and let him take over, feeling his deft fingers make quick work of your button and zipper before he starts to tug the fabric down your legs, taking your pants and underwear all in one go. His hands find your knees and you sigh at the skin-on-skin contact, never expecting the man to feel this warm. You hear him drop down to his knees and suddenly feel warm breath between your legs. You make to close your legs at the unexpected sensation, unsure about having him this close to that area, but his hands come up to pull them back apart.

“What are you doing?” you ask, only to distract you both, because your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest at how fast this is moving.

“Mouth stuff,” he replies simply.

It’s simple, dry humor, but you swear he never makes you laugh more than when he catches you off guard with stuff like that. You don’t think anyone else would believe you if you tried to tell them how funny he can be without even trying. The joke manages to diffuse some of your anxiety and you relax back onto the bed, trusting him with whatever he’s about to do. Still, you gasp when his mouth meets your core, and he hums happily against you. You’ve done this with someone once before, but the memory feels clumsy compared to what Din is doing now; his grip tight around your waist and tongue immediately finding the right places. You try not to think about where he’s had the practice, focusing instead on the sensation he’s creating with a simple flick of his tongue.

You start to make noises you don’t think have ever come from you before, unable to help yourself with the sudden assault on your sensitive nerve endings. He pauses from what he’s doing as if struck by a sudden thought, smiling at the way you whimper at the sudden loss of contact.

“Have you ever cum before?” he asks.

“I think so,” you reply, but if you were being completely honest, you’re not sure. And least, not with another person. You’re pretty sure you’ve gotten there on your own. You think. You feel like that’s something you should know for sure.

“You think so?” he repeats, sounding unconvinced. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve had, you know, urges, I took care of them, then they were gone.”

He makes a thoughtful sound and ones of his thumbs finds your clit, rubbing a couple of circles before he dips it down to your center to scoop up some of the wetness there to bring back up again. 

“You don’t sound very sure,” he says casually, like he’s not driving you crazy right now with a simple touch. Feeling slightly pathetic, you can only whine, your brain feeling scrambled as his assault on your clit empties it of all coherent thought. “Next time I ask you, I want you to be a little more certain,” he tells you, and without warning dives back in, his tongue taking over from his thumb at a much faster pace. Your back arches off the bed and he slips his free arm across your hips, holding you in place. 

You soon feel pressure at your entrance as he presses a finger carefully against it and in your frenzied state you push forward onto it, forgetting in a moment of desperate need your body’s inexperience with something like that. You’re wet enough that it doesn’t hurt, but it’s still a foreign feeling having something inside of you, and you realize that’s only one finger. Before you can start to imagine how something larger is going to feel, he presses the finger upwards inside of you and hits a spot you’ve never felt before. You cry out, caught completely off guard as the tight feeling in your lower belly breaks and you cum hard against him, hips bucking uncontrollably against his face. He growls against you, but doesn’t stop moving until your hips do. 

“Fuck,” you whine, still panting as he slides his finger out of you and gives you one last lick. Still sensitive, you yelp and jerk back from the sensation, making him chuckle.

“Now you can say you’ve cum,” he tells you, and hell if he doesn’t sound proud of himself for giving you that. 

“Yeah,” you agree, still barely able to form a proper thought. Then one comes to you. You sit up. He’s getting to his feet in front of you and it’s put him at the perfect height for what you have in mind. 

He’s not expecting it when your hand finds his length, giving away his surprise with a sharp intake of breath. You take a moment to guess at his size, thinking once again how it’s going to feel once he’s inside of you, but any thought of pain is completely overridden by the very idea of having him inside you at all.  But one thing at a time – you want to explore a few things first.

“Do you mind if I return the favor?” you ask him. You’re feeling different after your orgasm – feeling a sudden, renewed confidence – and the way his breath hitches as you start to pump him up and down sends a thrill through your body. He doesn’t reply, answering instead with a simple touch as his hands find your head, brushing your hair back from your face. You’ve done this before, too, but unlike your partner’s attempt on you at the time, yours had proven more successful.

You bob your head forward to find him, lips meeting the head of his cock and parting to let it enter. As your tongue laps at its underside, Din drops his head back with a moan that only encourages you further. You take as much of him inside your mouth as you can, letting the salty taste of him hit as close to the back of your throat as you’re comfortable with, and his grip tightens on your head as he fights the urge to buck forward. You’d said to go easy, and he’s mindful of that, but picturing what you must look like right now, face pink and glowing from your orgasm, mouth stuffed with his cock, he wishes he could flick the light on for a second just to see it. You guide your head back and forth, taking in all the sounds he’s making for you, testing particular places just to see what else you can make him do. All the while he continues to stroke your hair, murmuring praise that sounds strained as tries to force the words out, things like, ‘Good girl’ and ‘Yeah, just like that’.

All the praise starts to go to your head though, it seems, as you forget your earlier feelings of humiliation and whisper back, “You like that, daddy?” Then you pick up your pace and have him moaning to the point where he has to stop you. He gently grabs your head, pulling his hips back and plucking himself from your mouth with a slick ‘pop’.

“We’re going to have to stop there, sweet girl, or your going to make me cum.”

You simply look up to where his voice is coming from and make a sad little hum, any self-conscious thoughts or anxiety long gone at the sound of his half-ruined tone, and you find yourself eagerly awaiting the next step, your body begging for further touch. He chuckles at your reaction and leans down to find your lips, capturing them in a searing kiss, both of you groaning as you taste each other. It’s the first kiss you’ve shared with him, and as he moves forward and forces you back onto the bed, you find your legs come up automatically to wrap around him. That’s when you feel him, hard and pressing into your thigh. 

“How do you want to do this?” he asks, as he grabs his length and rubs his tip between your folds to coat himself with your wetness. You moan when he passes over your clit and give yourself a moment to bask in the sensation as he continues to rub over that area. 

“Just go slow,” you tell him, then you feel his cock move down from your clit to your entrance, now that you’ve finally given him permission. He only applies the slightest pressure, letting you get used to each new sensation as he introduces it, but you’re so slick down there that he begins to slip in. You tense, waiting for the sharp sensation you’re sure is coming.

“Relax.” Din’s hips have stilled, and he reaches up in the darkness to run his thumb across your cheek, soothing you. “Deep breaths, okay? I’ll make it feel good for you.”

You nod, and this time he feels the movement against his hand and doesn’t ask you to voice it, instead taking it as his cue to continue on. There’s a momentary sharp, burning sensation deep inside as you feel everything stretch, but as he slowly begins to move his hips, you find it fades more and more with each thrust, your wetness coating him and amplifying your pleasure. You’ve never felt this full before, not in this way, but he’s big enough to be hitting all your best spots at the same time. You’ve never felt this close to cumming this quickly.

“Shit.”

Hearing that single word, he starts to pick up speed and you clutch at whatever part of him you can reach, giving yourself up to the sensation as you feel that electric, tightening sensation starting again in your lower belly.

“Do you think you’re close?” he pants, because he knows he is – dangerously so – but he wants to keep true to his word. He wants to make this experience just as good for you. 

You fail to answer, unable to stop the harsh cries leaving your mouth instead, and you don’t have time to tell him before the feeling breaks inside of you again and you’re pulsing around him. You cry out, louder than before, and this is enough to send him over the edge, too. He slips out at the last moment, and you feel warm bursts of liquid squirt across your stomach.

“Sorry,” he pants, grunting as he braces himself on one hand and then shivers through a couple of aftershocks, “I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, voice just as breathless. And it is fine. You couldn’t care less about it. Your entire body feels more relaxed than it has in months. You feel spent in the best possible way and right now you’d be fine to just fall into a pile on the sheets and sleep.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body close to yours in the small space, warm and sweaty, and you’re surprised when he slips an arm underneath you to bring you closer. “So, was that okay? Do you feel okay? Sore?”

“Yeah. I mean, no, I’m okay.” The words come out as a few huffs of breath and, still high on endorphins, the noise makes you laugh. 

Din gives you a squeeze at the familiar sound, smiling to himself in the darkness. Then he makes a thoughtful noise.

“What?” you ask.

“It’s nothing. It’s just…You’ve never been in here before.”

“So?” You gaze around in the darkness, thinking it is a little cramped compared to the space you’d made for yourself in the much larger cargo hold, and realize maybe that’s what he’s hinting at.

“I think you should cum here more often.”

“Did you just…?” You sit up to look at him the darkness, never in a million years expecting such a horrible, so very like-you joke to be uttered by the man and he yanks you back down and pulls you close, ignoring the sticky mess he’s made of you.

Then you hear a sound you’re not familiar with, and feel his warm breath against you as he laughs. 

“Din Djarin, that joke was terrible.”

He presses a kiss to the side of your head and heaves a sigh that suggests fast approaching sleep. “I learned from the best.” 

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Notes

The Pool | The Difference | Masterlist Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ only Warnings: Excessive fluff and explicit sexual content - oral sex, vaginal sex. Notes: On today’s episode of This Accidentally Became a Series! So anyway I’ve already completed a part to be posted some time this week after this and started writing another because I’m a Mess™? So. Summary: The first time you saw it, Borracho's neat handwriting had taken you aback a bit.

You're the last two in the office - for now. You know that Zapata will be by in a bit to finish up some paperwork that he's been swearing up and down that he'll get done but just keeps putting off.  You're not in a crazy rush or anything. Your computer's system is updating, you've got nothing else you really can do right now, so you let your eyes... Wander. Borracho is hunched over a legal pad, scribbling something. His eyes will dart to his screen every few seconds, and then he's back down again, hair slicked back and shining in the fluorescent overheads. 

Your computer screen lights up, progress bar at 100, then the monitor shuts itself down. You can't really dawdle much more, so you get up.  "You goin'?" You glance over when you hear him ask it, and smile when you see him still scribbling away.  "Uh huh," You confirm, grabbing your jacket and tugging it on, "You gonna be here long?" "A while."  You pick up your bag before walking over to his desk. You see his lips twitch as you get closer, but he doesn't look away from his work. "What're you doing, sweetness?" He murmurs as you lean over his shoulder.  "Looking at your notes," Is your innocent answer.  The first time you saw it, Borracho's neat handwriting had taken you aback a bit. You'd asked for info on a case they'd been working, and he'd come over, legal pad in hand. You'd blinked down at it, and he'd asked you what was wrong.  "No, nothing. Your handwriting is, like, freaky legible. Like it could be uploaded and turned into its own font."  Borracho had just raised an eyebrow at you, but the guys had taken that for a ride - jokes about Borracho Bold, Borracho Italic, Times New Borracho in 12 point font. You'd considered calling out sick for the rest of the month.  "Still 'freaky legible'?" Borracho asks you now, and you groan as he chuckles. "Shut up," You mutter. You watch him write for a few moments, listen to the steady scratch of pen on paper.  "Don't stay here too late," You say finally.  "Yes ma'am," he murmurs. You glance at the door before you turn your head, pecking his cheek. It's the most action the two of you have ever gotten in the office. He smiles up at you, and you shoot him a wink before heading out.  -- Since you and Borracho have started dating, not just turning up at one another's apartment for Mutual Support Snuggle Sessions, it's been pretty rare that there's a night that you're not with one another. But for almost two weeks now, you've been on opposite schedules. And it's... driving you a little crazy. Connors took a bad fall during their last op and got a concussion, so he's on desk duty. The guys cover where they can, which keeps Borracho out of the office and away from you when you’re in. The two of you still text when you have a free moment, and you know he's alright, and that he's just as tired of this schedule as you are. Thing is, you've also been finding notes around your desk. The handwriting is unmistakable.  He started leaving them a couple of days into your odd new schedule. You found a post-it stuck to your monitor that said, 'Forgot to turn this off. -B.'  You'd pouted. You could've sworn you-- well, whatever. He'd shut it off for you. You'd shot him a thank-you text, and were about to throw the post out before you found yourself tucking it into the front cover of your notebook.  The next one had been stuck on the full water bottle you'd left on your desk the day before that said, 'Drink me'. You'd snorted. You almost always forgot to drink water when you got caught up at work. Now and again throughout the day, you'd catch sight of the post-it and take a drink. At the end of the day, you tucked that one into the front cover of your notebook, too.  You found a new one every day - on your monitor, in your notebook, on your desk, stuck to your spare bottle of hot sauce that you keep in the bottom drawer of your desk.  They’re, ‘$5 says Henderson fails his piss test’, and, 'Don't forget to take a break, sweetness', and, ‘Missed your voice today’, and, ‘New bottle in my desk for when you run out, behind the Pepto’. You’ve got a tidy stack of fifteen notes from him by the time Connors is cleared for field duty and put back in the rotation. Borracho’s got the day off, so you know you’re not going to see him when you go in that morning. When you open your laptop, you smile at the note you find left stuck to your screen: ‘My place tonight?’ -- Maybe it’s because it’s been two weeks since you’ve been with him, but his hands feel so big. You lean up into his kisses as he presses you back against the door; he’s cupping your face and smoothing his thumbs over your cheekbones. You’ve always liked Borracho’s hands. You remember how calming they felt that night at Sutton’s apartment, when you were terrified, steering you through the throng, but keeping you close; the way his fingertips would always skim over your shoulder when you would first curl up on the couch - not a teasing touch, but just a light skim, almost like he was making sure you were still there, still solid, still real. And now, as one slides from your face to smooth over your throat and the other slips over your hip -- you press into his hands and sigh into his mouth, “Touch me.” You’ve missed him. You can’t remember the last time you felt this desperate for anyone. Another time, Borracho might tease you a little bit, but the way that his hand tightens around your hip tells you that he wants you just as badly. Borracho never says no to you. -- It’s not that he’s careful with you. It’s that he’s deliberate as he smooths his hands over your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. His lips follow his fingertips, soft and after his slightly rough touch. He takes his time, curling his hands around your hips as he eats your pussy. When you slip your hands down to settle over his, he takes hold of your wrists, and he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches when he does. When you’re on his knees for him, he runs his hands over your cheeks, over your neck. He still doesn’t talk much in bed. You didn’t expect that to change, but you can read him better now than you could the first time you were together. You still revel in the throaty moans and sighs that you can pull from him. But tonight, even as you’re mouthing his hip bone, and suckling the head of his cock, and taking him in your mouth, Borracho seems more determined to see what sounds he can pull from you. And when he’s fucking into you, he catches hold of your hands with his. He intertwines his fingers with yours, and he grins into your neck as you make the sweetest little whining noise, tightening up around him. And when his thrusts get a little harsher and he asks you so sweetly to cum for him, how could you possibly deny him? You never tell Borracho no. -- Borracho’s fingers massage your neck gently as you curl up against his side. You’ve taken hold of his other hand and you’re tracing your finger along the lines on his palm. “...Is it weird that I missed you?” You ask. He chuckles, thumb smoothing over your nape. “Not weird,” He promises, “I missed you, too. Missed seeing you in the office,” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “Missed waking up with you.” His hand slides down to your shoulder and he squeezes it gently. You tip your chin up and kiss his jaw. “The notes helped,” You admit softly. “Yeah?” You open your mouth a little wider and lightly bite at the hinge of his jaw before you hum, pressing kisses to the same spot. Borracho lets out a quiet growl, tightening his hand on the back of your neck. “Gotta give me a few more minutes,” he murmurs. But what he says and what he does are two very different things, because Borracho is pressing you onto your back again. He’s settling between your thighs and mouthing an already darkening mark on your collarbone. His hands slip up under your shoulders, and you smile, cuddling up against him. You run your fingers through his hair, tipping your head to the side and looking down at him. Borracho peers up at you from under his lashes and you smile at him. “Sweetness?” He murmurs against your skin. “Mm?” “What is it with you and my hands today, huh?” You tip your head back and laugh, but you’re embarrassed. “I don’t know! They’re all...Big and rough, and...I don’t know, it’s hot, fuckin’ sue me.” He raises a brow. One of his hands slides out from under your shoulders. He skims his fingers along your cheekbone, then over your lips. You kiss the pad of each one. Borracho’s eyes drift to your lips as you part them, letting your tongue tease over the pad of his fore and middle fingers. He dips them in and out of your mouth gently, presses them down against your tongue, groans when you slip your tongue between them to tease over the ridges of his knuckles and down to the vee between his fingers. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and teases the wetness over one of your pebbled nipples. Before you can sink into the feeling, the touch is trailed further down -- his fingers slick deftly over your clit and you groan, spreading your thighs a bit more as if that’ll hurry him along. It never does. It does earn you a throaty chuckle and a nip to your inner thigh as he ducks his head down. You’re going to be a babbling mess for him in a matter of minutes and it’s all because of those damn hands. -- When morning comes, you’re tired as hell, and you’re the best kind of sore. Borracho’s left your collarbone and chest mottled with hickeys that you’ll think about all day. He’s out of bed before you are - you both have work, but he’s got to be in earlier than you have. You drift into the kitchen, following the sounds of him puttering around and the smell of brewing coffee. You cuddle up against him at the counter, resting your head between his shoulder blades. “Sorry, sweetness, forgot your mug in the cabinet.” His voice is still a little gruff with disuse. You can’t even be mad; you’re not usually out of bed this early, but his side of the bed was cold. You grumble as you step over to the cabinet and open the door. You frown when you see something stuck to your usual mug. “Hey, babe, there’s something--...” You trail off as you un-stick the post-it. You read it over a couple of times before turning to look at Borracho. He’s watching you, calm, curious, taking a sip from his coffee. You hold the post-it up, raising a brow. “Really?” You ask softly. He nods. “If you want,” He murmurs. A grin breaks out across your face and you rush back across the kitchen to wrap your arms around Borracho - he’s set his mug aside as soon as he’s seen you coming - so you can cover his face with kisses as you mumble, “Yes, yes, yes.” He laughs, wrapping his arms around you and keeping you pressed against his chest. You lean away to get a good look at him. “You realize that this means you’ll have to start keeping food in the house.” “I think I can adjust,” He teases. You lean up, catching his lips in a gentle kiss. The post-it is still in your hand, the tacky line of adhesive clinging to your fingers - Borracho’s neat lettering spelling out, Move in with me?

[palimpsessed]

Steel Yourself

That morning in Las Vegas when Simon gets his hair cut has been in the back of my mind for over a year, and the recent Wayward Son anniversary reread and lots of talk about hair in the server, brought it front and center. So I decided I had some thoughts and I wanted to get them out.

I asked myself a lot why Simon did this one thing at this one moment. He's let his hair grow out for a long time, probably since the summer before eighth year, or at least the summer after Watford. He's even told us: "I haven't cared enough to get a haircut."

But when Simon does cut his hair, he's still in the same bad place mentally. He still doesn't see himself in a positive light. So why the change? And why this change?

For me, it all comes down to the timing. Timing is very important in terms of Simon's hair. Throughout Simon's life, you could tell the time of year by the length of his hair. At the start of every summer, he shaved his head, and the rest of the year, he grew it out. When Simon starts at Watford, his hair is still fairly short from the previous summer: "A Trojan 11-year-old with baggy jeans and a shaved head." (This is also the look sported by the Insidious Humdrum, which Simon created shortly before being "discovered" by the Mage and taken to Watford.)

Why does the length of his hair matter? Because the shorter it is, the more vulnerable Simon is. (And I don't mean like Samson losing all his strength when his hair was cut off.)

Simon spends months completely unprotected and cut off from all contact every summer. Those summer months in the care homes, exiled from the World of Mages, and the first 11 years of his life, Simon is at his most vulnerable. He doesn't have a family or access to his friends when he's in care. He can't really use or practice his magic. And he's left open to attack from pretty much any magickal or dark creature who feels like trying their luck. (See: fit goblin cabbie and suspected bonety hunter/pervert from the beginning of Carry On.) (Simon has more than one price on his head by the time he's eighteen. And the Humdrum could attack anytime. And the Mage's enemies could hunt him down to get their revenge on the Mage.)

The only person Simon is able to contact during the summers is the Mage, and I think we can all agree that makes him significantly less safe than if he was completely cut off.

Simon is most vulnerable in summer and that's when his hair is the shortest. The drastic change, the rude awakening of being thrust back into the Normal world alone at the end of each school year is perfectly signified by Simon cutting off all of his hair. (Also, undercuts: half-shaved, half-grown. Simon, composed of halves: Normal world/World of Mages; Chosen One/Insidious Humdrum; limitless wells of magic/inability to Speak; dragon/human.)

Once Simon is back at Watford, his hair grows in; the longer he's there, the longer it gets. The more months he spends back at Watford--the only true home he's ever had, surrounded by the only people who love him--the more security he has, and the less vulnerable he becomes.

Are the summer haircuts a necessity of living in a group home "with seven other discards"? Or just something Simon does on his own? It's not really made clear, but Simon does say "I shave it", which implies some degree of agency. I don't think it's uncommon to want to change one's hair (style or color) when life gets overwhelming. (2020, anyone?) It's a great and safe way to exert control over life and self when other things feel out of control. The thing about Simon is that he has never had control over his life; that's part of what makes him so vulnerable the years he spent in care, the years he was the Mage's personal boy soldier, the years he was groomed as Baz's enemy and the Chosen One born to take down the Insidious Humdrum. The length of Simon's hair seems to be the one thing he has control over.

When Simon is most vulnerable, he cuts his hair. In his case, it's an act of defiance, of agency. Cutting his hair is a way for him to be strong, to take control.

Let's move forward in time now to Wayward Son.

Even though he's left Watford and childhood and defeated "the big baddie[s]", Simon is still struggling through a life out of his control. He has wings, a tail, and no magic. He has no direction because he thinks he was born to die. He's burdened with years and years and years of trauma that he can't find a way to avoid or properly confront and he's decided to just stop trying to do either one.

Simon starts the book at his lowest point. And his hair seems to be at its longest, even though he's also at his most vulnerable. How does this tie into the point I'm trying to make?

Simon is not taking agency in his life; he's "lying on the sofa". Life is out of control again, but Simon hasn't shaved his head this time because he's given up trying to fight back.

I think subconsciously, Simon is now trying to use his longer hair as a kind of emotional armor. Short hair has been associated throughout his life with his most vulnerable state (and the Humdrum). Simon is essentially trying to build up a sort of physical barrier to the trauma that's constantly pushing in on him; trauma that he is trying his best to run from, to not face (including quitting therapy and telling his therapist that he prefers to have his brain close "off painful corridors"). Simon tells us that he hasn't "cared enough to get a haircut", but the implications seem to be much deeper than a lack of care.

We first see the hair-as-armor technique with Baz. Baz uses most aspects of his appearance as a way to craft his careful image of control. It's a skill he intentionally adopted from Malcolm. Baz practices his facial expressions and posture in the mirror to make sure that he's able to hide his emotions from the outside world. He cares about fashion, and puts on an expensive suit when he's going into a dangerous situation the way others would put on armor. Up until Simon kisses Baz in the woods, Baz's hair is kept carefully slicked back like a "gangster...or a black-and-white movie vampire". That scene in the woods is incredibly pivotal, but not just from a SnowBaz perspective. That's the moment that Baz hits his lowest point. He's convinced he's failed at finding his mother's murderer (and we all know Baz top-of-the-class Pitch doesn't handle failure well), and he's confronted, and been taunted by, the very monsters that he's been trying his whole life to deny he's one of. He doesn't care that Simon is there to witness his breakdown; he runs off into the woods and sets the fire he hopes will kill him.

That moment in the woods is one of just a few times that Baz allows himself to be vulnerable in front of Simon. And Simon is sure to comment on the state of Baz's hair when it's not neat and tidy. (Simon is very helpful.) There's the moment Baz finds out how Natasha really died ("His hair is in his eyes"), then after sharing magic out on the lawn with the dragon ("His hair falls forward"), which leads to them sharing magic on Baz's bed later that same day. These are incredibly integral steps along the way to Simon and Baz's truce and romance. Baz has to let down his guard so that Simon can see his humanity, his vulnerability, and recognize his own feelings, feelings that he's kept buried down deep because he's believed that Baz hates him and wants to kill him (and we all know what Simon does with painful thoughts). Each instance leads up to that kiss in the woods, after which Simon talks about the way Baz's "hair falls in a lazy wave over his forehead". Simon and Baz spend that night kissing and sleeping in each other's arms; they talk for the first time ever about their feelings for each other. Baz's hair is loose and wavy and not slicked back because he's let his guard down, he's let Simon in, he's let himself be vulnerable. And one of the first things Simon does when he kisses Baz is slide his hand into Baz's hair and mess it up; after kissing, this seems to be top of his list "of all the things [he's] always wanted to do to Baz".

And what does Baz do later on Christmas Eve, when he's getting ready for dinner after Simon leaves with Penny and Agatha? He slicks his hair back. It doesn't evade Simon's notice, either. (Nothing about Baz evades Simon's notice.) He "wish[es]" Baz wouldn't slick his hair back, because "it looks better when it's loose and falling around his face". Simon wants Baz to be vulnerable around him, and Baz was trying to put his armor back up when he was convinced that Simon wouldn’t come back.

Baz has more hair in Wayward Son. (I'm not even going to touch the body hair thing, so calm yourselves.) His hair is longer than it was at Watford, and he's able to grow a beard. Simon sees Baz's new, softer look as illustrative of Baz's maturity, self-assurance, and attractiveness, reasons that Baz is too good for him. ("He's coming into himself. And I'm coming apart.") But what Simon fails to recognize is that, as in Carry On, Baz's softer hair is actually illustrative of his emotional vulnerability.

Between Carry On and Wayward Son, Baz, like Simon, has grown out his hair, and he seems to prefer wearing it loose. He isn't the same boy he was in school; he has everything he ever wanted (Simon), so he can let down his guard. They're supposed to be living the happy ending neither one of them ever thought they'd get to have. He doesn't need to protect himself anymore, because he isn't living with the constant fear of being outed one way or another in a boarding school without escape. (He does still have to live with the fear of being outed as a vampire, but that concern has to be much less immediate now that he's outside of the only place that mages live together. He's under far less scrutiny in London and at university and far less likely to be discovered.)

And yet, Baz isn't happy, he isn't secure. He thinks he's going to lose Simon, that maybe he's already lost him. Baz now struggles to get his hair back under control (just like Christmas Eve), and their ill-fated road trip conspires against him at every turn. Baz's hair gets blown to hell when the convertible top breaks; Simon compares him to Mozart, then Baz compares himself to a member of a "hair metal band"; he can't use magic to tidy his hair, and even wetting it only gets him to a Bucks Fizz or Wham! equivalent; his hair gets "bushy and matted" in their fight with Jeff Arnold and his posse; Simon tells Baz not to ride in the back of Shepard’s truck because of “what the wind does to [his] hair”. (Remember the scene in the back of the truck? Yeah. Very emotional.) Baz's emotional turmoil is reflected in his diminishing physical condition throughout their trip. He finally lands on using his mother's scarf as a means of keeping his hair under control. He's trying to reclaim some of his emotional armor, because, as he tells us: "Simon Snow, it hurts to look at you when you're this happy. And it hurts to look at you when you're depressed. There's no safe time for me to see you. Nothing about you that doesn't tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body."

Baz is in pain. He's trying to hold himself together and his hair is the perfect metaphor for this. The fact that he uses his mother's scarf to keep it under control harkens back to his method of aping Malcolm in Carry On. He turns to his parents for the means of bolstering his armor in the face of vulnerability (which we see play out much more overtly when Baz later contemplates calling Malcolm, and calling Fiona, for help with the NowNext).

(Side note about Baz's family. Want to talk about hair showing emotional vulnerability? How about Malcolm going white after Natasha died? The man is broken by his first wife's death and he never recovers emotionally, even though he's remarried and had four more children. He still can't express any emotion toward Natasha's son. Also, Fiona. With her natural white streak dead center in the front of her hair? Fiona is an absolute wreck of a human. She's volatile and self-destructive and vindictive and was also shattered by Natasha's death and before that, Nico's Turning. Both Malcolm and Fiona are permanently marked with signs of their emotional trauma with their white hair.)

I think post-Humdrum Simon has taken a page out of Baz's book, having always seen him as self-assured and completely in control in a way Simon never was. He's internalized the hair-as-armor technique as a misguided way to insulate himself from his pain, growing it out instead of cutting it off (with his "new length" being a physical representation of the barrier he's trying to make around all of the painful things in his head).

This obviously doesn't work. Simon isn't fooling anyone, not even himself.

In Carry On, Simon shaves his hair to exert control, and Baz slicks back his hair to project control. In Wayward Son, Simon uses his longer hair as a kind of shield against looking vulnerable, and Baz's longer hair reflects his vulnerability.

Wayward Son ends with Simon still in a very vulnerable state. If Simon thinks of short hair as being linked with vulnerability, and long hair like armor, then why did he decide to cut his hair in Vegas?

Because he did care enough to get a haircut; he cared enough to make himself vulnerable.

Why?

Because he's in love with Baz and he can't tell him, so he cuts his hair to show him.

Simon is being brave. He's taking a step and he's exposing himself in a way he's been too scared to do for a long time. Which is the crux of all of this: allowing himself to be vulnerable is actually a kind of strength.

The night before Simon gets his hair cut, Baz meets Lamb. Simon listens to Lamb flirt with Baz, and Baz sort of flirt back with Lamb, for hours, and can't do anything about it. When he does finally intervene, he sees them together, and he thinks Baz and Lamb are going to kiss. He thinks Baz wants someone else. He thinks Baz wants to break up with him. (He already did think so, yes, but at this point of the book, Simon has started to convince himself that they're "getting by".)

The night culminates in one of Baz's lowest points, drunk and draining birds in the hotel bath, bloodstained and forced to face the brutal reality that is his life as a vampire with three witnesses, one of whom is the love of his life. Baz doesn't ever want Simon to see him drink. He has to tell Simon more than once to leave the bathroom to try to maintain some part of his dignity and to keep Simon from continuing to watch (because Simon wants to watch).

This is Baz at his most vulnerable, and Simon is there for all of it. Again. And he wants so badly to be with Baz. But Simon is a mess and can't articulate his feelings. So he goes out and gets an expensive haircut to show Baz that he does care. He finally cares enough to get a haircut (to exercise agency over himself and his life). This is his way of trying to fight for Baz. It's completely off the mark (use your words, Simon) but it's sweet and it's well-intentioned. And it's brave.

Simon has two things in life that he's clinging to with all the power he has left in him: Baz and Penny. And that morning in Vegas, he's probably contemplating the possibility that he's going to lose Baz. (And, unless they get a break, Agatha.--Again.)

TL;DR: Simon cuts his hair, to try to get some control over his out-of-control life, to make an effort for his boyfriend, to try to bring back the part of himself from Watford who was a hero who could take on anything with his undercut ("and a belly full of magic"). It's vulnerability, but it's also strength.

Shaved or tousled, Simon Snow, I hope you get your well-deserved happy ending with Baz, and Penny, and Agatha, and Shepard. And therapy. Please, please, please therapy.

[luna-spacedoodles]

Spoiler: Rules Were Broken

A Dream Smp x Ever After High AU

Word count: 1,599

Chapter 1 A Royal Tale

Tommy hauled his wagon full of luggage up to the school as Tubbo

walked alongside him with his hands in his pockets.

Tommy grunted to a stop, “Dude why, why can’t you like, help me? Where even is your stuff?”

“All in here, boss man.” Tubbo tipped his comically tiny top hat and Tommy heard a small quack come from inside.

“I- okay can you help me then please?” Tubbo grabbed the handle alongside him and they pulled it together all the way to their dorm.

Tommy bust open the doors and threw a suitcase on his bed quickly following it and flopping in defeat. Tubbo didn’t even make it to his bed before Tommy heard a thud behind him. He didn’t know how long they’d stayed like that until he heard Tubbo placing down his things. Tommy lifted his head to see all his furniture was already there, that was one thing he didn’t have to set up at least.

Tommy opened up his suitcase and started messily throwing the clothes inside to his right, not all of them made it on the bed. Most of them fell onto the floor or got caught on the banister.

“Oh stop dude you’re making a mess.” Tubbo told him after he got a face full of shirt.

“Shut up man, you’re wrong you’re so wrong, I’m being so neat and tidy and shit!” Tommy retaliated only to throw another shirt.

“You literally just missed the bed so far.” Tubbo let out a small laugh at the end and kicked some shorts off his hammock.

Tommy groaned and went to pick up his failed attempts, “Well don’t just sit there if you’re going to groan about it, come help me man!”

“You don’t need my help, you're just shit. Besides I already finished setting up my stuff so that just makes you look even more shit at this.”

“But that’s not fair you got here earlier than me! And it’s not even true, there’s still a whole other half of the room and you’ve just invaded into my space!”

Just as he finished the two boys heard the door open and someone step inside, they both turned to look at someone Tommy had never seen before. He was quite tall and looked funny, his skin was black and white split down the middle of his face, same with his hair but flipped around. He had wide open red and green eyes that seemed fake, like they were made of glass, open far too wide and he didn’t seem to ever blink, yet it seemed the boy was doing everything he could to avoid making eye contact with either of them. Maybe that was a good thing, they didn’t seem like eyes that’d be pleasant to stare at. He had tall horns atop his head and two tails as well, one black and the other white.

“What the fuck??” Tommy shouted raspily in confusion over the unexpected guest.

“Uhm, hi.” The boy managed to spit out as he tightened his grip on his luggage.

“I think you have the wrong room.” Tommy crossed his arms and lent against the bed, he slipped a bit trying to balance himself.

“No he’s got the right room.” Tubbo butted in, he adjusted himself to sit on the edge of the hammock so his feet dangled over the floor.

“What?” The boy and Tommy asked in unison.

“Yeah, something about a student miscalculation or whatever, not enough dorms so we all have to share.”

Tommy looked at the new guy, this wasn’t what he wanted or planned for but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

—

Tommy woke up to a sudden heavy weight on his stomach. Tommy lifted his head and rubbed his eyes to see a blond raccoon with a red handkerchief tied around its neck laid out flat on his stomach, it’s little arms and legs stretched out.

“Oh, hello!” Tommy cooed at the raccoon, giving it some scratches and pats as it chuckled and rolled around in delight. He looked out the window, it was still dark out but he could spot the sun’s light barely reaching over the horizon. Tommy wondered if it was too early to sneak out his dorm and go walk in the forest before breakfast, wasn’t much to do and he didn’t really feel like going back to sleep so taking a quick walk wouldn’t be that bad.

He got dressed and slipped on a white cloak and a small brown backpack as well. Tommy quietly snuck out the window and climbed down the vines on the side of the wall, before he could lift his head up the raccoon had already jumped and landed flat on his face.

“Clementine, I told you to wait.” Tommy groaned muffled under Clementine, she only replied with some chittering that sounded close to laughter as Tommy pulled her off his face. He looked at her and couldn’t bring himself to scold her anymore than that, how could he stay mad at that face. He let her scuttle over him and sit in the open backpack as they walked off into the forest.

On their walk they saw many different creatures and plants, they even stopped by the pond on their way back. By the time they’d gotten back into the dorm the sun was rising and Tommy’s pockets were full of small flowers, pebbles and anything else he could fit inside, even Clementine had a large hoard of berries she’d picked for her breakfast.

Before Ranboo or Tubbo had the chance to wake up Tommy and Clementine were already out the door and on their way to the castleteria, leaving the cloak and bag stuffed back inside the wardrobe. Dashing down the stairs and through the halls he skidded to a stop in front of the castleteria doors, rocking and bouncing back and forth waiting for the doors to open. A bell chimed, the doors opened and Tommy ran up to get his breakfast.

The lunch lady gave him a stack of pancakes with a side of eggs and sausage, he ran off with his tray and sped towards a lone table tucked in a corner. Despite running here full of energy he ate surprisingly slow, Clementine stuffed her face into her berry pile next to him. Students soon flooded into the castleteria including Tubbo and their new roommate, they walked up the stairs to his table and sat down with him.

“Hey Tommy!” Tubbo set down his tray and immediately started eating.

“Hi Tubbo,” Tommy looked up from his food and started at Ranboo, “…Hi Ranboo…”

“Hi.” The boy replied awkwardly, he didn’t seem like he wanted to make any conversation but Tommy didn’t want to talk to him anyway.

Clementine stopped her feasting and hissed in at Ranboo, running onto Tommy’s back and peaking at the stranger over his shoulder. Or maybe it was the gross looking fish soup she was eyeing, Ranboo slid the small bowl over as an offering and Clementine jumped for it, adding it to her stash. Tommy made a funny look at the soup before he went back to his own breakfast.

“ATTENTION STUDENTS!” The castleteria fell silent as everyone turned to look at Headmaster Grimm standing on the balcony, “As Legacy Day is coming very soon, today we’ll be practicing for it! During one of your classes you’ll be led out to practice pledging to follow your destiny and signing the Storybook of Legends! Thank you for your time, please continue your breakfast.”

—

Tommy walked out with the rest of the class to the stage, the place was white and regal, two large staircases either side of the stage and a pedestal at the front. They all lined up in alphabetical order of their last name and took turns practicing.

“Next!” Grimm called Ranboo up. Tommy watched him take the key and walk up to the pedestal.

“Uhm. I, Ranboo Queen, pledge to follow my destiny to be the next Evil… Queen? King?” Ranboo turned to look at Grimm, “Did I do that right?”

“It’s uh, it’ll do.” Grimm replied, taking back the key.

Tommy zoned out for a bit — That was Ranboo Queen? That’s the guy that was gonna poison him? He’d heard lots of mean things about how his destiny goes. He stared at the ground reconsidering how he felt about this guy.

“Next!” Grimm yelled, Tommy looked up and realized he was calling him up. He walked up to him and silently took the key.

“I! Uhm..” Tommy turned around to Grimm, “I have a question?”

“Yes?” Grimm sighed.

“It’s just, what if I don’t want to follow my destiny? Like, what if I want to do my own thing?” Everyone gasped loudly, Grimm looked shocked and angry, he strode over to him and Tommy backed up against the pedestal.

“Now listen here, if you don’t sign that book, your story will go poof. You will go poof.” Grimm stepped back and Tommy inhaled deeply only now realizing he’d been holding his breath, “Now I recommend we move on and continue.”

Tommy turned around and looked out on the crowd, everyone was staring at him judgingly, he looked down at the key in his hand. He threw it harshly onto the ground and started running as fast as he could from there, Clementine jumped off a chair she’d been watching from and scampered after him. Tommy grabbed his cloak from the dorm and ran into a place he knew no one would find him.

[oftenderweapons]

Love talk - Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 10k words

Genre: fluff, smut

Rating: 18+

Hello bunnies! I know you’ve been streaming Dynamite (I’m doing so as I revise and edit). I decided to postpone publishing the piece, so that we can focus on streaming and then as soon as the 24h are over and you’re well-rested you’re hopefully all ready for this 😏

Basically, I’ll do a quick recap of Yoongi and Kitten’s sliver of backstory. They’ve been dating for a couple months on again off again (he’s quite busy with schedule) and have been on several dates, however the situation escalates when the two start playing a steamy late-night after-date 20 questions game.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Consumption of alcohol. Swearing. This is smutty, especially in the end. This is intended for an adult public. Some of the themes are only discussed by the characters. Strong language, alcohol consumption, masturbation both male and female receiving, same for oral (feat. face riding). Mild voyeurism/exhibitionism, quite detailed description of sexual positions and fantasies, discussion on STDs, mentions of previous relationships and past traumas (abusive boyfriend and one very sorry fuck). Choking, breast worship, mentions of restrictions, sensation play and switch Yoongi. This should be all. Also, watch Kitten thirst for Yoongi’s hands (and tongue. and lips. and all the rest of Yoongi) for 10k words. (On a second note, watch Yoongi drool -- only metaphorically, much to his dismay -- over Kitten’s tits).

Yeah, it’s date 10 and these two haven’t kissed yet, I somehow think that Yoongi is the kind of guy who would wait till he’s dying and then just pounce. Also these two just want to jump each other’s bones and I can’t wait for you to see them in Illicit Affairs (definitely my 2nd favourite couple -- ‘cause Joon will be A Lot™)

Wordcount is around 10k.

Since I need to start planning next scenarios, I need you to help me choose the theme, you can vote at the link in my bio!

Here is my masterlist, enjoy 💜

“God, what’s with the weather tonight?”

“Man, this is a nightmare, get in quick.” The arm around your shoulder loosened a little as he let you move quickly from under his umbrella to the passenger seat of his car. As you got comfortable and tried to fix your hair and makeup a little, he walked around the car, opening the driver’s door, sliding in quickly and, with a sleight of hand, shaking the umbrella, closing it and smashing the door shut as fast as possible.

“Damn it.” He moved the soaked object at the foot of the backseat, stretching in the process with a groan.

You set with your hands pressed together, shoved innocently between your thighs.

This was your tenth date with Yoongi and you were smitten over him. Also, horny, but that’s for another moment. You’d been dating without commitment for about two months, the timing absolutely awful – he was in the middle of promotion with the group – but he had been too hung up on you to wait. He had wanted to do things properly, but after two weeks of stalking your profiles on social networks and making a fool of himself anytime you accidentally met, he decided he needed to act, and quickly so.

You went for a coffee once, then he brought you lunch, then you started with your sneaky dates at the cinema, walks at Han river late at night and dark and discreet bars dominating the rooftops of Seoul.

But the cinema was your most recurrent. You were just back from one of your dates at your go-to theatre, at two a.m, the late night show allowing him enough privacy to sneak around and protect you from any prying eyes.

He started the car and asked if you needed the AC on. “You have goosebumps on your arms.” He commented.

He is attentive. And caring. Which really makes you want to jump him. But again, digressing.

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” You replied kindly.

“Okay.” Moving out of the parking lot he started driving to your house, stopping at a couple traffic lights, looking at you as he waited. You looked back at him, smiling affectionately. He took your hand, holding it and warming it up in between his.

“Who would believe it’s September, it feels at least November out there.” You commented, feeling extremely dumb in discussing the weather, but too afraid of letting your mind delve in more mature or appropriate topics.  

“Sure you’re okay?” He asked, as he placed your hand back, the lights turning green.

“Yeah.” You risked evaporation, looking at his focused expression as he drove. Could you believe he hadn’t kissed you yet? No. Could you imagine why he hadn’t done that yet? Hell, no. You had squeezed your brains trying to imagine why he hadn’t kissed you while at the same time keeping on asking you out, date after date.

The night lights reflected beautifully on his delicate features, on his cute nose and his round and soft cheekbones, on his pouty, blatantly soft, deliriously pink, wildly wanted lips, on his flashy silver watch, on his sparkly, delicate necklace, on his small and sober earrings. You wanted him. Your heart skipped a beat at the way your body and mind aligned in that statement. The pressure you felt within you was a living, beating, ravenous thing, enlarging its size like a bird puffing its feathers.

His hands on the wheel were extraordinarily pale and sturdy, skeletrical but also undoubtedly strong. You wanted them on you, grabbing and groping your flesh. And the way he seemed to chew on his lower lip, opening and closing his mouth in that gesture which is so his, as if he were tasting wine or coffee.

You didn’t even realise you had arrived at your place, since you were so caught in staring at him. “A picture will last longer, Kitten.” He teased.

You blushed, turning quickly to look out your window.

“Oh, you’re shy now...” He smirked. “Go figure, I had a proposition for you.” He commented, almost with disinterest, his mouth speaking through a fake pout, the corners of it turned downward.

“I’m curious.” You said, turning to him.

“I don’t wanna let go of you yet.” He admitted, catching your hand again. “I’ll be away for ten days. With the guys. We’re leaving tomorrow evening.” He explained. “Tonight is my last available moment with you and I know it’s two in the morning and all the rest, but I want to spend more time with you.”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised. “Do you mean…?” You hoped he had somehow sensed your longing. He seemed to have a direct line to your brain, reading you in a way that scared you too often.

He grinned. “I mean, whatever comes from this. Just talking. Just watching you as we talk. It’s not the same over the phone.” He said with a frown.

You nodded. “Do you wanna talk here? Would you like to come upstairs?” You asked, trying to feel the mood.

He bit his lip and laced his fingers together, placing them between his knees and hunching his back. “You see, I kinda wanted to take this to my place. But I promise you I won’t make a move. It’s really just talking.”

Please, do make a move. You silently begged – although you were too shy to actually speak.

“Yeah, nice. Okay.” You replied with a happy smile.

“It’s okay if you want to stay here. Or go upstairs. It’s just that I really wanted to see you at home.”

The tenderness of his domesticity killed that hunger rumbling in your insides and made your head float up high, with cute pink clouds and angels singing and stars glimmering.

This is a crush.

“Show me your crib, kitty cat.” You joked. He laughed adorably at that. He looked radiant.

As he started driving to his place you got back to your thirsting over him, this time openly oogling at his confident charm, at the way he looked so used to all of this. The way he lead you out of the car in the underground parking lot of the residence, the way he locked the car and punched in his passcode to the apartment.

“Here’s the crib, kitty cat.” He taunted right back.

The place looked immaculate. Spot on. Tidy. Neat. A bit cold but his. And it smelled so good. Like cinnamon and fir. Like a cosy, winter cabin. You wanted a blanket and a hot chocolate and a Christmas tree. You wanted him in an ugly turtleneck jumper and flannel sweats and furry slippers.

You wanted home.

“It feels very nice in here, Yoongi.” You couldn’t stop looking around, drinking in every small detail. You understood why he had wanted you here. He wanted to see if you could fit here.

He noticed you did.

“I got these, for you.” He said, offering you a pair of slippers, gesturing for you to take off your shoes as he did the same. He didn’t need to ask twice.

He led you through a quick tour of the house, moving quickly away from his most private places – the bedroom and the studio. You understood his reserve on those, giving his hand a quick squeeze in understanding.

“Finally, the living room.” He explained as he switched on the lights illuminating a large space with a thick cream carpet covering the cold white marble, the room completely dominated by a black leather couch. It looked very traditional and “grandpa”. It really resembled him. “Might as well settle in, we’re gonna be here for a while. Want to drink something?” He asked.

You. “What do you have in mind?” You asked, shutting up your inner slut.

“Well, I was thinking I wanted to do that ‘get-to-know-each-other’ kind of thing.” He said, opening a cabinet in the console under the gigantic tv. In the meantime ha started a slow rap playlist from his phone. “I know this will sound like usual fuckboy who’s trying to make a move, but I have no intention of getting you drunk. I’ll drink, and I promise I’ll be perfectly responsible for my actions, but you don’t have to drink or do anything you don’t want to.” He said, putting some whisky on the coffee table together with two tumblers.

However, you opened the bottle and poured some alcohol first in his glass and then in yours. “Now it’s me the one with a proposition, mr. Min.” You cocked your head playfully. “We play twenty questions. In turns we will ask twenty questions to each other. If you don’t want to answer you pass and drink.” You explained quickly.

“Okay. Let’s get it, Kitten.” He said with a smirk, as both of you sat down at the two sides of the L-shaped sofa, near the corner. “You start, ____.”

“Warm up round, yeah?” You asked.

“Play your advantage carefully.” He suggested.

You nodded, quickly leaving aside dumb and obvious questions, but still going for an innocent one. “How many exes do you have?”

“Okay, nice. Well. I’ve “officially” had three girlfriends and two flings. All the relationships ended because of my job and lifestyle.” He offered you a free piece of information. He didn’t mind anyway. “My turn?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m satisfied.” You replied. “For now.”

He grinned devilishly. “What about your exes?”

You nodded as if expecting the question. “Officially one. It was a long, painful relationship. I’ve had flings though. Maybe eight or nine occasional partners.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay. I really didn’t expect that but it’s cool to me.” He said. He really didn’t mind. You’re a woman in her midtwenties, and you have the freedom to do what you want with your body. “Next.”

You looked down and toyed with your fingers, then looked up with a curious smile and gleaming mischief in your eyes. “I’ve gotta ask. When was your first time?”

He smiled. “I was nineteen. I had been dating this girl for a few months. We did it on my birthday. She was two years older than me, showed me the ropes. But even if I really liked her, it all got to hell when we debuted. She was only in it for the fact that I was an idol, she wanted an in, I think. Changed her mind when she realised I was sort of a loser.”

“Well, look at that loser now.” You said, looking him up and down and licking your lip.

He laughed embarrassed.

“I won’t do that mistake.” You promised, this time with a serious expression.

“We’ll see.” He commented, looking you up and down himself. God, he was getting flirty. A pleasured shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t the cold. “My turn. When did you do it for the first time?”

Again you nodded. “I was with a childhood friend. It wasn’t a relationship. Just, we thought it was a good idea to do that together, because we knew each other and we trusted each other. It was nice. It felt nice. It was the summer after our senior year in high school. He moved out for university afterwards and we lost each other. But it’s a good memory, I must say.” You reminisced fondly. “No unrequited feelings, though.” You clarified, afraid that he would misunderstand.

“Okay. I’m glad it’s a good memory. I was afraid that the painful ex had been your first.” He commented, leaning towards you slightly.

“No, thank fuck.” You muttered. “Let’s move on, yeah?”

He nodded.

“I kinda have to ask this one, out of curiosity and for personal reasons. Have you ever been tested for STDs?”

He blinked and crossed his legs. “I have. It’s part of my medical check-ins. Of course the tests are more for... completeness, so to say, rather than actual need. My sex life is not that active, and when it is, I always use protection. I’m quite obsessed with it, to be honest.” He explained, his defensive stance opening up. He answered thoroughly, not even thinking of how much he was offering freely. “Do you mind me asking the same question?”

“Not at all. I also got tested. After my relationship I had to. My ex wasn’t very faithful.” You replied, blushing. “During all my flings I’ve always used protection except once. I was a bit dumb back then.” You admitted, wincing painfully. “And after my last one I got tested. He didn’t make me feel like a condom was safe enough. Thank God, everything is absolutely fine and I’m clean.”

“Oh, yeah, same here.” He offered back, with a shy laugh. “Ready for question three?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to ask one last question, for my peace of mind. Do you expect monogamy from me?” You asked.

“Do you?” He deflected.

You smiled “I asked you, Yoongi. Do you want me to date you exclusively?”

“Well I do. Do you? Want to date just me? I mean.” He asked.

“Yes, I will date you exclusively if you’re dating me exclusively.” You replied, matter-of-factly.

He shook his head, incredulous. “Of course I’m dating only you.” He murmured with a pout. “Why would I be seeing someone else?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged.

“Well, I’m strictly monogamous, ____. I’m giving you my undivided attention and all my spare time. Don’t you ever doubt my commitment. I don’t cheat.” He seemed almost too serious for a moment.

“I needed to know.”

“It’s okay. But just because you got burned once, that doesn’t mean that everyone wants to burn you, okay? That’s a bastard’s move. I promise you I won’t.” He said. And for the first time you felt like believing in it.

You took a deep breath, then smiled. “Well, anyway, you already asked your question. So it’s my turn again.” You said, cheekily.

He huffed, offended, but let you go on.

“Time to start drinking, Yoongles.” You chanted in a sing-song voice.

He laughed silently. “We’ll see.”

“What’s your favourite position in bed?” You asked, trying to peek into his private life.

“Should I drink? At this? You have to seriously one-up your game, kitten.” He stared at you intently. He was desperately trying to keep a poker face to hide how much he wanted to climb over your body and hide in the crook of your neck, inhale your sweet scent, which was enhanced by the rain that had hit you earlier.

“I’m quite traditional. I like anything that allows me to see the face of my partner. So missionary, cowgirl and lotus. When I’m a bit angsty I go for doggy. Spoons is another one I like – and also an awfully underrated one. My past lovers all said that the angle is amazing. It’s very rewarding.” Again, he gave you more than what you asked for. He wanted you to know these random things about him. He was telling you everything he wanted you to know. Who cares about vulnerability and offering too much? His aim was to earn your trust. And for you to repay his prodigality in kind. He wanted you to open up and overshare things about yourself. He wanted to know what to imagine when he thought about kissing you. When he thought of you while touching himself. He wanted to understand what he could ask, what you could possibly like, what scared you, what you needed comfort in.

At this point you were imagining him behind you, a hand at your waist, the other on your breast, his low moans caressing your ear, eyes closed, lost in bliss. Snap out of it, slut. “Wide choice.” You commented with an awkward chuckle, still trying to get back from your fantasy.

“It really depends on my partner, though. Whatever works for them.” He shrugged, his arms leaning forward, palms up. “My turn, right?” He waited for your confirmation.

“Off you go.”

“What’s your most frequent fantasy?” He muttered, shy but also sultry, his voice a low rumble.

You inhaled deeply, noticing how close he had got to what you were thinking a few seconds ago. “Dammit, I might drink.” You looked at the glass, almost lunging for it. But it was a feint. ”Actually lately I’ve been thinking a lot about having sex in the kitchen.”

Fuck. He was out. He licked his lip. He almost thought you were done with your confession, but you went on.

“Being pushed up against the counter and bent over. Or being lifted up and sat on the counter. Having someone tease me while I’m spread on the table. Or having to keep a straight face while someone is toying with me underneath the table.” You scratched your cheek, “You pick.” You whispered slightly embarrassed, laying your hands on your cheekbones in an attempt to calm down your blush.

He lifted the glass. He needed to calm down.

When you noticed his gesture you sucked your lips in, trying to hide a smug grin.

“Are you proud of getting under my skin, Kitten?” He asked.

“Yes, of course.” You replied immediately.

“Well done, ____.” The way he almost moaned your name made your blood soar to your ear. “Your turn, kitty.”

“Are you more on the dominant or submissive side?” You asked. You honestly couldn’t figure this out. He showed small signs leaning towards both sides. He was traditionally courteous, giving you attention and taking care of you, paying for food and using his body language to show you were taken, that you weren’t hanging out with a friend or a relative, but a possible love interest. At the same time, he never initiated openly intimate contact, rather he waited for you to initiate. And he had never kissed you, nor shown any interest in doing so.

“I’m leaning dom. But it’s a slight preference. It has a lot to do with my partner’s preferences. I’ve both dommed and subbed in the past. I like the protective, possessive side of domming, but I also like the receiving, caring side of subbing. Still I enjoy the control that comes from being more dominant. I would say it’s 65 to 35 for domming.”

You nodded. That sounded good. “That’s nice. I’m also a bit in the middle. Leaning sub, though.” It felt natural replying. It felt like he should know.

“Thank you for giving that up.” He smiled, warming up to you, trying to associate a positive outcome to your sharing personal information about yourself. “Now, about my question.” He fumbled a bit in his head, trying to go for something intimate, but not openly sexual. “Okay, if you could kiss any part of your significant other but their face, what would it be?”

You smiled at the cute question. Because you honestly didn’t think of the sexual side of it. “Well, you said no face. Let me think... I think I really like giving hand kisses. They’re old school, but also so meaningful. They’re apparently platonic and innocent, but they have that side of worship and adoration that just makes me weak.” You hugged yourself, growing smitten at the thought.

He cocked his head to the side, looking at you with a curious and endeared expression.

“I also like kissing on the chest, like the breastbone, like the very center of the chest. Another not openly sexual spot, but I think it’s so tender. There’s the heart there, so it’s an especially fond spot. It sort of implies that the other person is hugging you, and that you’re laying your head on their chest.” You gushed, turning absolutely tender at the thought.

“What about the face?” He asked. He wanted your hand kisses. He wanted his fingers in your mouth, but that was not the point of the question at all and you were there smitten and cute and he should stop sexualising your cuteness outburst.

“Isn’t that another question?” You smirked, brow creasing.

“I should have asked for ‘anywhere but mouth’. Dumb me.” He huffed out and sulked.

“Then, forehead kisses. Underrated. Affectionate. Platonic but so tender. They go to a whole other level of intimacy.” You murmured, anything to stop his sulking, which was making your heart twist in your chest.

He grinned “Thank you.” He said, sinking his head between his shoulders.

“Well, pay up for it with question six. Thoughts on being vocal during sexy time?” You asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate one second. “Tendentially I’m not very verbal, and I try to keep it quiet. After such a long time with roommates, that’s kind of ingrained in me. Since I moved out, I kinda got more vocal, still not very verbal, but don’t expect pornographic feats.” He laughed, trying to relax the mood. “For my partner, any sound is a nice sound, as long as it’s not fake porn screaming. Subtle moaning and heavy breathing get me going quickly. Sensitive ears and stuff.” He scratched his neck. He was getting worked up again. Deep breath, boy. He scolded himself. “Anything else?”

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks. Come on, shoot it.”

“It’s my number six?”

“Yes, champ. Go get it.” You teased cheekily.

He took in a big breath, licking his lips.

God, any more lip game and you’d throw yourself at him.

“Quick reminder: you have your drink there, just in case.” He offered. “Have you ever had a sex dream?”

Yes, about you and your dirty mouth and naughty hands. Wait, do dirty daydreams count?

He misunderstood your pause for a sign of reluctance. “Your drink is there, ____, waiting for you.” He reminded you.

You took your glass.

He nodded with little movements of his head, his expression neutral. That’s how much is too much, he though.

“I’ve dreamt of a classmate performing oral on me, once during that relationship I mentioned.” You admitted after taking a sip. Indeed, liquid courage. “I felt awful when I woke up. But it was an epiphany of sorts. It really made me understand how fucked up it all was. I don’t usually have those dreams.” You admitted. “Although I have dreamt random stuff about being naked and sexual feelings related to non-sexual contexts. Like once I dreamt I was canoeing on a rough river and I had this complicated torso bondage thing going on.” You laughed awkwardly.

Breast bondage. He was salivating. Maybe he was overthinking it but his mind had reserved a special spot for your breasts and maybe you didn’t even like nipple play that much and he was just making it up in his head. He closed his eyes to avoid checking your chest. He knew it would kill him. He was already dealing with a semi, elbows propped on his knees to hide it, hoping that the angle and the dim lights would help him. In a part of his brain he started building a folder about your previous relationship, saving there all the useful information. He sort of assumed, because of the dream you had recollected, that oral was some sort of hot topic during that time.

“Thank you, Kitten. I was afraid I had gone too far.”

“It’s okay. It’s just… I do wanna open up to you, but there’s hurtful stuff in the process.” You admitted. “I’m a bit fucked up.”

“We all are, sweetheart.” He reassured you, wanting nothing but to hold your hand, bring it to his heart, to his face, to his lips.

“My turn!” You smiled excitedly. “Sleeping habits: pjs, underwear or naked?”

“My sleeping habits or my preferences for my significant other?” He asked, trying to understand the answer you expected.

“Well, since you asked, both? For the kisses question earlier.” You reminded him.

“Nice, okay. I often sleep in pjs, especially when it gets colder. Naked feels nice too, I guess. Usually in the summer. When I’m on vacation.” He thought about the other one. How would he want you to sleep next to him? “I think I like my partner in very loose clothing. Oversized t-shirt and panties.” No bra, of course. He wants his hands to move there freely. “Naked sounds nice, but I don’t expect it. Some people feel vulnerable like that. My ex did.” He explained.

You understood, people are different, et cetera, but at the same time you asked yourself who wouldn’t want to sleep naked next to him. Feel him waking up, his warm skin enveloping you, his hands and mouth having free access to anything he craved, being completely laid bare for his whims and wants.

He noticed you were distracted and asked you his question right away.

When you noticed him staring you moved your head forward, waiting for him to speak.

“I’ve already asked, but maybe you were distracted, Kitten. How would you rate your sex drive from one to ten?” He asked. “To understand your needs, you see.”

You settled back against the back of the sofa, smiling and thinking. “I’d say around seven? Maybe eight? Like, usually I fool around about two or three times a week. Maybe four if I’m feeling very spoiled and needy.” You explained, fumbling around with the words. Yeah, you have toys and use them. Yeah, you masturbate and have an healthy sex life. Getting laid helps you deal with stress and mood swings, and endorphins help you keep your mood up, what’s wrong with that?

“Reasonable.” He didn’t comment on your fooling around. He might as well try to figure that out with the next question.

“What about you?” You asked.

“Is that your question, Kitten?” He waited for your confirmation. At your lively nod, he smiled. “I think I’m also around seven. As you said, I fool around about three to four times a week, when I’m quite relaxed. Sometimes I might get too tired and just avoid it entirely. Sometimes I’m tired but nervous and just do it more often but take shorter sessions. My question now.” He wanted to speed things up a little. It was around three now and he was afraid you wanted to bail on him.

“Go.” You said, already expecting this one to be bad.

“Do you use any sex toys?”

You laughed. “Yes. I do.”

“That’s it?” He asked, impatient to know more.

“When did this conversation become so explicit?” You asked.

“It was you who started it. But since I’m interested in knowing what you like and what you need, I realised I could use it to my advantage. I want to build intimacy with you before I start actually messing with you. I want our first time to feel right. I want to be able to laugh it out, were things to get messy. I want to know how to make you lose your mind beforehand.”

“If you say so…” You smiled suspicious but also curious. “I have a vibrator. A simple, practical one. Very old school, a bullet number. I also have a double density dildo. Expensive ordeal, but most definitely worth the money. And nipple suction cups. They’re still new. It’s a gift from myself I did a few months ago after a tough time at work.”

Fuck, he wanted to shove his head in a frozen lake. Could you? For real? He dragged his hands down his face.

“I wish I could see what’s going on in your head right now.” You wondered, faking aloofness. You were most likely ready to spread yourself on the coffee table and ask him to feast on you. “Now, about my question.” You followed your intuition. “What’s the body part that turns you on the most?”

He took a sip.

Don’t leave me hanging, Yoongi, please. “I like eye contact. Makes me understand the mood of my partner. It really turns me on when my partner maintains eye contact during sex. And I’m a breasts man. A hopeless one at that.” Again he shrugged in an “I can’t help it” kind of way.

You laid your head back against the sofa, looking at him with a knowing glance from under your lashes. “Interesting.” How long would it take to convince him to rip your shirt, slip the cups of your bra under your tits and suck your nipples until you orgasmed a couple times and fell asleep?

He took another sip. He was blushing. You liked your nipples sucked. And he liked sucking them. How convenient. “What’s a blatantly nonsexual thing that turns you on?” He asked, putting down the glass.

You did consider drinking. Could you handle him knowing such a sensitive piece of information? To hell with reason. “If you cup my face I’ll go smitten. Pair that up with a term of endearment or a little praise and I’m ready to drop to my knees.” You admitted.

“Praise kink?” He asked.

“No. I just get soft when someone cups my cheek. It makes me want to please them.” You admit.

“You know I’ll use this against you the moment you allow me to, right?” He states openly.

“Yes. I don’t mind.”

“Ask your question. It’s number ten baby.” He looked at his watch. “It’s late. Tell me when you want to go. I’ll understand.”

“I want to keep going.” You said. In more ways than one. “What’s something you want to try in bed?”

He stared off in the distance. “Oh. Let me think.” He started bouncing his leg. “Specifically in bed?”

“Yes.”

“I’m pretty sensitive. Maybe I would try something with blindfolds and restraints and sensation play? Like a feather or silk or something along that line.” He blushed and his his eyes in his hands.

“That sounds interesting. You want to try that on someone else or on yourself?” You asked for clarification.

“Myself. But I’m not opposed to doing that to someone else. Okay, let’s go on, I’m suffering here.” Inhale. Exhale. “Do you want to take it down a notch or keep going?”

“Keep going.” You murmured, afraid of what would come next, but also excited.

“Kitten, what makes you wet in seconds?” He whispered.

“You want to use this against me too?” You suspected.

“Only in your best interests.”

“Do you mean sexual things that turn me on innocent ones?” You pushed your head behind your ear.

“Do your thing, kitten.”

“On a more innocent level, I’m really sensitive to voices. I must say that yours unsettles me a little.” You confessed on a small note, with a tiny voice. “On a sexual level, I’m a mess for anything around my chest and neck. It makes me weak at the knees, it really drives me wild.”

“Touching, kissing, biting, sucking, licking…?” He suggested, fixing his posture.

“Yes to all.” You whispered, stretching to get the glass.

“Yeah.” He took a sip himself.

You gulped and put down the tumbler. “Do you ever willingly deepen your voice?”

“Yes. I did it for you, when we met. I saw you shiver when I did it accidentally, the first time we met at the office. So I did it again. I wanted you to notice me, I wanted to get you flustered.” He admitted shyly.

You sucked you lip. “You did. I was squeezing my legs so bad. You know when you stood up and said goodbye?”

“You were holding the edge of the table.” He remembered, nodding.

“My knees were wobbly. I don’t think my legs could hold me up.” You confessed, shaking your head timidly.

“Poor Kitten.” He said, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “Can I ask you a tricky question, sweetheart?”

As you nodded he huffed out a question, scared to ask. “Oral: giving or receiving.”

“Giving. Receiving is a difficult matter. My ex didn’t really… enjoy that.” You spoke vaguely.

He did a double take. “He didn’t eat you out?”

You shook your head gingerly.

“He was shit.” He muttered, pouring himself another shot. You were eleven questions in and he’d drunk only sips. And it was not because he didn’t answer but rather because he needed to calm his nerves before he jumped you.

“I guess so.” You giggled embarrassedly.

“Never?” he asked again, shocked. “Never in 3 years?”

“Never.” You confirmed. “He said the taste made him gross.”

“Gross… And he wanted you to suck him, quite obviously.”

“I didn’t mind. I like the view”. You admitted with a playful gleam in your eyes.

He saved that for later, but at the moment he was too busy handling the matter of your ex. “Fucker.” He replied and took a sip. “But are you opposed to it?” Yoongi asked, curious and honestly worried. He would give anything to convince you to let him change your mind.

You blushed. “I’ve done it a couple times with a few flings, but just like you and noise-making, my mind is kind of set on giving rather than receiving. Still, I think I could give it a try.” You announced.

“I’m glad you’re not letting that fucker take that from you.” He admitted, keeping the glass in his hand and holding onto it like it were his sanity.

“If I’m being honest, after that time we went to the park– you remember the ice cream right?”

Yeah, he remembered. Most importantly he remembered the huge boner he’d got as he watched you eating it, his body losing it like a teenager. He nodded.

“I think I’ve started to think about… Your head. There.” You were getting loose-lipped.

You were going to make him sin. He swore under his breath, downing the shot. Again you laughed, enjoying how you were affecting him. “Gonna show you how good it is.” He teased.

“Hope you’ll show me many, many things.” You joked cheekily.

“Trust me, I’m keeping a list, sweetheart.” And the final smirk made you want to rip your own panties and offer yourself to his pink, wet tongue. “Are you okay, Kitten?” He asked, reaching for your knee.

If he touches me, I’ll fucking explode. And there was his hand. On your knee. “Have you ever had sexual fantasies about a man?” The words left your mouth quickly.

He let his fingertips caress your clothed skin. He wished you were wearing a skirt. “I consider myself attracted to people regardless of their gender identity. I had a very brief fling with a man once, but nothing truly ever happened. We just kissed a couple times, but we weren’t right for each other, emotionally. He was too reserved for me. And he was incredibly untrusting.”

“So trust is the dealbraker? Trust?” You asked, immediately interested in something that had changed his relationship so dramatically.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“Moving on. What are your thoughts on the last time you had sex?” He kept spurring you on, going deeper and deeper under your skin, getting closer and closer to your soul, trying to discover the very heart of you, and most importantly if he had any chance to settle there.

“Oh God.” You laughed. “It was almost eight months ago. It was traumatic.” Again you laughed.

“Is that an exasperated laugh?” He asked, worried but also interested in your ironic reaction.

“I’m laughing to hold back tears. Last time I had sex, the dude had a dick too big for his own good and didn’t know how to use it. I definitely faked the second one because he kept poking me with his fingers. I asked to change positions so I could touch myself and cum. It was awful.” You laughed some more. “When I went back home I just had to take care of myself.”

“Promise you won’t fake with me.” He almost begged. “Promise me you won’t go home and take care of yourself.”

“I can promise you the first.” You bit your lip. And drank. Don’t ask me the second, please don’t. Please.

“I’ll need the other one too, you know.” He said, pressing you in the matter.

You have no idea, Yoongi. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” He murmured, frowning.

Because I did that so many times already coming home from dates with you, every time silently begging you to kiss me, to touch me, to ruin me. “I’ll try to from now on.”

“I’m sorry if I sent you home frustrated before. But I honestly needed to take my time.” He shoved his hands in his hair, combing it back. “I tend to rush. Once I let go.” He confessed exhaling loudly. He looked at you with a lustful glance. “But I promise I’ll take care of you. Completely.” He was getting flirtier.

“Quickies or long session?”

“Is that your question, kitten? Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Answer me, Yoongi.” You laid back, opening your legs just lightly. Anything to lessen the discomfort lodged in your crotch.

He looked amused. “I can do both. But long sessions for the win. The devil’s in the details and the sex is in the foreplay.” He also leaned back and parted his legs, mirroring you perfectly. “What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“A guy I was dating on-again-off-again, before I met my ex. I was twenty. I let him go because I was starting to fall for my ex. He showed me half the stuff I like. The other half I picked up myself.”

He wanted to know more. He wanted to know what you liked, what he owed some horny teenager and what you had discovered yourself. How you had discovered it. Most importantly, he wanted to excel in everything you liked. He wanted to please you again and again, till you were drunk in bliss and his taste, your skin glistening in a gross and divine mixture of his sweat and drool and your own perspiration. He wanted messy and loud and obliterating.

He wanted…

“Have you ever touched yourself while thinking of me?” You asked, bold, spitting the question out of your tongue like ripping off a band aid.

He threw his head back, groaning in something that looked like pain. It wasn’t arousal. You were quite sure.

He was burgundy with shame and effort. He grabbed the glass and downed the alcohol in one go. “Yes.”

You rolled your neck and exhaled, moaning.

“Almost every day.” He went on. “I can’t get you out of my head and I need it to stop for just. One. Second.”

You gulped, then took a big breath through you mouth. “I have too. Thought of you, that is.”

“I assumed so.” He whispered. “I’ve thought of things I’m not proud of, Kitten. I’m a grown, respectful man, but you’ve made such a sorry mess of me.”

“I am so sorry, Yoongi.” No, you’re not.

“You’re truly sadistic, aren’t you?” He asks.

“Is that your question?”

“No.” He pauses. “What’s your favourite body part on yourself and on me?”

Your heartbeat felt like a joke. You closed your legs. No need to try and play it cool. You were drenched, and you were afraid that by now it was actually starting to show. “I think I like my hands? Or maybe… I don’t really know. I think my hands are nice.”

“They are beautiful, ____, really.” So were your tits, but it didn’t feel quite right to point that out in that precise moments.

“Thank you.” You took a long break, biting your lip before going on with your answer. “On you... I’ve been thinking about those hands a lot”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You deadpanned. The background music shifted to something sultry and so slow you felt like desire was spiraling in your loins with that cool, rich drawl.

“What about them?” He continued.

You took a sip of your drink, looking at him from under your lashes. “Around my throat.”

Yoongi sat back, undoing one button of his shirt. “Keep going.”

“One around my throat, the other in my hair as you kiss me, drawing me in. Keeping me still.”

“Keep going.” He said, closing his eyes and rolling his shoulders.

“Maybe I’ve been thinking of your hand on my chest. Your fingers pinching my nipples.”

“God bless you, Kitten. What else did my naughty hands do in those dreams of yours.”

Your voice got breathy and shy. “Maybe… Just maybe they got between my legs.”

“And how did that make you feel.” He was going to lose it.

“Horny.”

His heavy breathing stopped for a second. “Did you touch yourself?” His eyes opened to look at your reaction.

You nodded slowly, trying to get some saliva in your awfully dry mouth. The whisky helped. “I needed it.”

“Good girl.” He praised your honesty, again trying to work on that association between your openness and a positive outcome. He thought it was over. Your confession.

“But to be honest what really made me cum was thinking of your pretty pout on my breasts, licking my tits and biting into the soft skin there.”

He growled, pushing the balls of his hands against his eyes. “Kitten, I think I just came in my pants.”

You laughed wildly at his honesty, rolling your head back and teasing him, showing the expanse of your neck and chest.

“Cruel, ain’t you?”

“I’m also sweet.”

“I don’t care, I’ll lick you up anyway.” He teased downing his glass. His second.

You both did a refill. You were tipsy and his eyes had a gleam that wasn’t there at the beginning of the evening.

“You won’t be able to drive me home.” You murmured.

“Do you really want me to?” He asked.

“No.” You answered.

“Remember, I promised not to fuck you tonight, Kitten.” He reminded you.

“Not even foreplay?” You pouted. “Not even making out? A small peck on the lips?”

“I’m hungry for you. That shit just ain’t it.” He growled. You knew he had deepened his voice for you.

You crossed your legs. “Do you like massage?”

“What number is that?” He asked, referring to how many questions you’ve gone through.

“Fifteen. Do you?” You pressed him, trying to get him to talk.

“I mentioned being sensitive. I do like that when I’m in a stressed mood. I like it after a warm bath, with warm lotion or massage oil. It really makes me weak. An ex introduced me to it and I think I got a bit addicted to it, whenever I feel like I need to be taken care of.”

“It sounds nice.” It felt like a nice pause from the kinkfest that had been going on until five minutes ago.

“Have you ever cried while you were in bed with someone?” He asked, his voice delicate as he reached for another intimate, although innocent side of you.

“The first time I hooked up after my ex. It was so liberating I cried. The guy beside me freaked out a little, but he understood. He was kind, just very emotionally dumb, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that. It sounds like he scarred you so much.” Yoongi commented, his boiling desire subduing at your vulnerable, tender side. A silly, egotistic part of him wanted to heal you. Try as hard as he might.

“It’s cool.” Your mouth quirked to the side. “Let’s move on to brighter themes, yeah? What’s your favourite thing to do, sexually speaking?”

He looked at you with doubt in his eyes. You knew the past scars conversation wasn’t over. Still, he smiled bright and replied. “I want to suck your nipples. Bite your soft, round tits, leave hickies all over them.” He leaned over, feeling bold as he let his hand catch yours. He scooted closer to you, his voice so deep he sounded like Hades, god of the Underworld. “That’s one of my favourite things in bed. And not just there, honestly.”

Could a person die from arousal? Because you felt your heart burst at that moment, explode like a match and light up your bonfire body. “Yoongi.” You murmured as he let the back of his fingers travel along the outer side of your thigh in a phantom touch.

“You wanna know what else I really, really like doing in bed? Another fantasy of mine?” He asked, his tone patronising but his posture all the opposite, respectful and tender, like a man talking to his woman. He leaned down, close to your ear. “I want you to sit on my face, Kitten. I wanna lick you up like you’re dripping in cream. I want my face covered in jour taste. I want to choke between your legs. Will you give me that?” He asked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and placing a soft kiss on your temple. “Will you give me that, Kitten?”

You had gone completely still, afraid that even your smallest move could break the spell. “Take it now, please, Yoongi.” You begged. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m so wet. I’m so tired of needing you all the time!” You whined, grabbing his hand and placing it between your clothed thighs, where your wetness had started to diffuse.

“I can’t, Kitten. You know our promises. But what about my question, uh? Have you ever had a threesome, sweetheart?”

“Once. After leaving my ex I had some wild times. A couple of university friends asked me to join them. I sort of liked it.” You admitted, as your hips tried to grind against his barely-there fingers.

“Liked doing it with a girl?” He asked, gripping your thigh and pressing you down, stopping your attempt at release.

“I liked eating her out.”

“Kitty girl likes using her tongue. Good for her.” He murmured, trying to stop the image of you doing that. He needed to try. Needed to see. Fuck monogamy, he could try this before you became too his to share.

By now he was sitting at your side and you were doing everything, everything in your power to stop yourself from straddling his lap and shoving his head between your breasts. You took your glass and took a sip, his nose drawing a thin line following the outline of your throat while swallowing. You almost choked. “What’s your favorite part of sex?”

“Foreplay. But it was already clear, wasn’t it?” He taunted. “You need to focus, Kitten. Ask the right questions. Mirror sex?” He queried.

“Yes.” You replied. Alcohol spurred you on. “Honestly, I want to try giving a man a hand job while stading behind him, in front of a mirror. I’d like to feel the power of that.” You shrugged.

“That sounds nice.” He played it cool, the erection in his trousers now too blatant to even bother covering.

You almost wanted to ask him if he had a full-length mirror nearby so you could get started right there and then. But you didn’t like how cool and unaffected he seemed. You wanted him to get flustered and drink and undo another button. You wanted him to throw his head back so you could lick a stripe up his neck. “And I would whisper dirty stuff in your ear. Don’t think I didn’t notice how flustered you were during our gallery visit.”

“Darling, that was an exercise in restraint. I almost smashed you against the closest painting at least three times.”

“Only three times?” You lifted your eyebrows dramatically.

“I’m almost offended, Min Yoongi.”

“Careful there, Kitten.” He warned.

“Unless?” You provoked him.

“I’ve promised I won’t fuck you tonight.” He murmured.

“Such a coquettish tease you are.” You huffed, looking away.

“I want you to ruin me, Kitten. We can’t do that until promotion is over and you can leave marks all over me as much as you want.” His deepened voice made you squirm on your seat, legs crossing in desperate need to ease the pulsing under your panties.

“It’s almost four a.m. Are you sure you want to finish this?”

I want you to finish me. “Question...”

“Eighteen, babe.”

“Mh, nice. If your partner ever caught you touching yourself, would you keep going?”

“Depends, but yeah, I think so.” Pause. “I would put up a nice show for you.” He palmed his erection through the fabric, trying to get more comfortable.

Yes, you noticed. No, you did not comment. Self combustion is not your current goal, after all. “That’s all you’re gonna offer me?” You asked piqued, dragging your fingernail from his knee to his hipbone slowly. He didn’t manage to hold back a shiver.

You chuckled lowly. “Sensitive little thing.”

“My turn, little devil. What of masturbating while dirty talking?” He asked, his arm moving behind your back and climbing up, snaking around your shoulder, his hand grabbing your chin to shift your gaze from his lap to his face.

“Want to know a secret, baby?” You lured him in, carefully.

“Everything.”

“I’ve touched myself while listening to you.” You whispered at his ear, goosebumps raising everywhere, his whole body growing too sensitive as your hand moved to his inner thigh.

“Really?” Yoongi asks, trying to push his crotch in your palm.

You retreated your hand, offering only the tip of your index finger, which started lazily tracing the outline of his hard on. “I’m sorry. Does it bother you?”

He winced. He would really come in his pants like a teenager. Was your question about your hand or about using his voice to get yourself off? He didn’t mind, both. “I’m perfectly good with it, Kitten. I’m just surprised. What was I talking about.” His voice was neutral, but his eyes were closing, mouth hanging open.

You neared your mouth to his ear and started explaining. “It was a voice note. You were discussing a beat, describing the vibe of the piece you had just finished, murmuring stuff about the bass and not being sure of the tempo, maybe slowing it down.”

“And you came to that?” He asked, opening his eyes and meeting yours.

You were stroking him through his clothes and you hadn’t even kissed him yet. I told you. A slut. That’s what you are. You reprimanded yourself. “I came to the sound of your voice. The pattern of stresses. It was so relaxing. The way your voice resonated.” You kissed his jaw, taking courage.

He smiled. “Next time I’ll send you something more... stimulating, then.” He cocked his head to the side, showing you the soft skin below his chin.

You kissed there too. “I’ll look forward to it.” Another kiss. “Final question.” Another. “if you could do anything to me right now, what would you do?” You placed another kiss on his neck as he moaned, his hips moving shamelessly.

You offered him your palm.

He groaned when he started answering. “Tear your clothes off. Suck your panties clean ‘cause they must be soaked.”

You squeezed your hand around his shape. He was rock hard, the curve following the waistband of his pants. He didn’t feel excessively big, but still his thickness felt nice on your palm. You just wished you could see him naked. He emitted a low whine, his hand dropping from your chin and hitting your chest. “Keep going, Yoongi.” You encouraged him, needing to know what he wanted to do to you.

“I would lick you clean. Fuck you on the sofa, you on top of me. Riding me while I suck on those gorgeous tits.” His hand reached lower, holding your breast and rolling it expertly in his gentle grip. “I’d cum in your cunt while I’m balls deep inside you. And when we’re done I would fuck my cum back inside with my tongue.” He growled like a vicious beast and you just couldn’t help it, you needed your hand between your thighs. You obeyed to your need.

“You’re a filthy, greedy boy, Yoongi, aren’t you?” You asked, giving him more, rewarding for the glorious image he’d just gifted you.

“It’s with you. Just you.” He called out, his voice broken, his mouth desperate. “My final question. Why haven’t you kissed my lips yet?”

“I was waiting for you.” You murmured, bringing your lips upwards, against his throat. He was completely immobilised as you lingered a hairsbreadth from his plush pout. “Yes?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

That’s when you lowered yourself on him, once hopeless, starved and now finally hopeful and nourished.

He feeded you milk and honey, his assault sweet and rich, a balm to your tarnished soul. His lips latched onto your lower lip, sucking and sucking in a way that made you want to offer him every inch of your body. Yes, you would still wait for this. You would keep waiting. For this moment to come back, for this feeling to bloom and fill you over and over again, anytime he kissed you, from now to the rest of eternity. You murmured his name on his mouth and he spoke yours, with alarm over his features.

“Too much, too much, Kitten, please.” He whispered, pressing harder against your hand. “Want you. Please. Touch yourself. I wanna cum with you.”

He was lost and desperate, grinding against you like a fool.

You undid your zipper and put your hands on your sodden folds. You delivered a peck on his lips. “How close?” You asked.

“Very.” He replied, wetting your lips with the tip of his tongue, making you open your mouth and licking you up, flirting with your own tongue.

You pulled away to bite his jaw gently. “I’ve never been this wet, Yoongi. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Gimme...” You studied the geography of his lap, finding his tip and focusing there. “Yes.” He murmured, before intensifying his pushes. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Please, ____, let me hear you.”

You let out an embarrassed, tentative whine, then, trying to properly assist him, you started getting carried away, losing your damper, clenching your inner muscles and whispering his name. “Yoongi, I’m close.” You murmured. “Need you to…”

“Yes, Kitten, baby, please… I–” With a groan, he hid his head in the crook of your neck, biting on the skin, not too harshly.

It was all it took. “Yoongi!” You screamed, pushing into your own hand and collapsing against the back of the couch, dragging him with you.

When you regained conscience, he was already out of his high, looking flustered and sleepy and glowing. Beautiful.

“Can I?” He uttered quietly.

You nodded, barely coherent.

He helped your hand out of your waistband, careful not to stain your clothes. And granting you a fine view, he brought your hands to his mouth and licked them clean.

His tongue delved into every angle and plane, making sure he got every drop. Licking his lips, he stared into your soul and murmured deeply. “The fucking sweetest.”

And then he held you close. “There’s a spare bathroom, at the end of the hall. It has everything you need.” He explained. “I’ll get cleaned myself. Will you sleep in my bed?” He asked, his voice so vulnerable it shattered your heart.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

[imagine-loki]

Stitching The Wounds, Chapter 9

TITLE: Stitching The Wounds CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 9 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki and Kilgrave are Alphas and feel a spark with the same omega. RATING: M

It was an hour later and Loki returned home first. He grinned when he walked into the living room and found Leona watching TV, eating some popcorn and wearing his hoodie.

‘Hello my little omega.’ He purred and walked over to her.

She smiled at him as he sat down next to her, pulling her into a hug which surprised her a little. But she liked it.

He then cupped her chin and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, lingering for a moment which took her breath away. Her cheeks reddening.

‘Hi.’ She squeaked out.

‘You’re wearing my hoodie.’ Loki grinned, looking down at said hoodie.

‘Oh… Yeah, I forgot I still had it on. It’s really comfy.’ She said sheepishly and was about to take it off, but Loki stopped her.

‘You suit green. Don’t worry, you can wear my clothes whenever you wish.’ He winked at her and settled next to her, his arm around her. ‘What’s mine is yours, doll.’

She took a moment but then she leaned into him and relaxed under his arm, her head against his chest.

‘Have you had a good day?’ He asked quietly, rubbing her upper arm softly.

‘Mmmhmm. How was school?’

‘It was fine.’ Loki shrugged.

She turned her head to look at him, grinning. ‘I bet you’re a really strict teacher, right?’

Loki threw his head back, laughing.

‘Some would say that. But I am fair. There has to be a balance, it’s not just about teaching but connecting with them too. I think a lot of teachers forget that every student is a human being, all with their own problems and issues out with school. All with their own personality. Which can affect their work and way of learning. It’s about finding what works for each individual student. Being strict constantly isn’t the best way to teach, unless of course someone is just taking the piss, that’s when I can get stricter.’ Loki explained softly.

‘Mmm… That makes sense.’ She nodded. ‘I uh, was having a look around and I saw the box you have of gifts from students. It seems that you really made an impression with so many, so you must be a good teacher.’

‘Oh you were being nosey, were you?’ Loki raised an eyebrow but he smirked, giving her arm a squeeze.

‘I wanted to see what else I could find out about the two Alphas I’m living with.’ She said innocently, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Loki chuckled. ‘I have had some wonderful students over the years.’

‘What age do you teach now? I noticed there was a bit of a mix by the looks of it.’ She asked.

‘Right now, ages around sixteen. So for some, it’s their last year of education. Others want to go on to College or University. Or stay on for another year or two. I did teach primary school pupils for a few years a while ago, they were around six and seven. A lot of fun, but incredibly hard work.’ He smiled fondly.

‘Were they scared of you?’ Leona asked with a smirk.

‘At first, they were terrified. But by the end of the first day they loved me and were all hugging me before leaving.’ He chuckled.

‘You do seem to have that vibe… You and Kilgrave both do, actually.’

‘What, scary?’ Loki raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah. You are both Alphas and quite intimidating at first.’ Leona said honestly. ‘But I think you’re both just big softies really.’

Loki slid his hand down from her arm to her side, giving her a slight tickle, making her laugh. ‘Don’t tell other people that, it will ruin our reputation.’ He teased.

While Leona had meant what she said, she still knew they had a mean swing. And had proof of that. She didn’t doubt they would be able to keep her in line and give her a good challenge. But she knew she was safe with them. And that meant absolutely everything.

Kilgrave arrived home later when Loki and Leona were eating dinner. He greeted them, kissing Leona, then went upstairs to get changed.

Suddenly Loki and Leona both heard a loud wail come from upstairs. Leona couldn’t help herself from laughing. Loki looked across the table at her, an eyebrow up.

‘What did you do?’ He asked firmly.

She covered her mouth and tried to contain her laughter. ‘Me? Nothing…’ She said innocently, but Loki could tell she was far from innocent.

‘Stay here.’ He growled at her before heading upstairs to see what Kilgrave was so distraught over.

When he walked into Kilgrave’s room, he had to cover up his own laughter as he put his hand over his mouth.

Kilgrave had his drawers open and they were a mess. His hair was a mess too as he’d ran his hand through it so many times in the last minute in despair at the sight on front of him.

‘She is SO in trouble.’ Kilgrave snarled as he started re-organising the drawers.

‘Mate… I know this is a big deal for you.’ Loki started as he sat down on the end of his bed and watched. ‘But she doesn’t know, you can’t give her into trouble for pulling what she thought was a funny prank… And it kind of is.’ He grinned.

Kilgrave sighed in irritation and he took a few deep breaths before turning to face Loki, who quickly tried to put on a serious face. Kilgrave glared at him and clenched his jaw. He turned back to continue tidying first his boxers back into a neat order.

Loki couldn’t control himself while Kilgrave kept muttering under his breath, taking his time to organise everything and folding his socks together. Loki was almost pissing himself laughing at the situation. Kilgrave kept glaring at him over his shoulder.

‘We need to tell her.’ Loki said once he was able to calm himself down from laughing.

Kilgrave sighed and ran his hand through his hair again.

‘I was hoping we wouldn’t have to.’

‘Once you claim her, you know it’s only going to become more difficult. You’ve always been expecting this. If she knows, it will be for the best. Trust me.’ Loki said as he stood and patted him on the shoulder.

‘Fine… I’ll be down soon.’ He sighed.

Loki gave Leona a look and a smirk when he went back downstairs. She just giggled and put her plate away in the sink.

‘When Kilgrave comes down we need to talk to you.’ Loki said as he finished his dinner.

‘Oh? What about?’ Leona asked.

‘I think you know what about.’ Loki drawled.

Leona felt her ass tightening at the thought of possibly getting another spanking already.

But she knew it was something else, something serious, when Kilgrave came down and they all went into the living room to talk. Loki turned the TV off too.

Kilgrave narrowed his eyes at her briefly and shook his head. ‘That was quite the prank you pulled on me, pet.’ He growled. ‘It’s a good job you’re cute, or you’d be in serious trouble for doing that.’

Leona smirked but continued to try and look innocent. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ She teased. ‘So what is it you need to talk to me about?’  

Kilgrave sighed and ran a hand down his face. ‘When I was younger, I really struggled with control issues. I used to struggle with not being in full control of everything and everyone. I received help with it when I was younger, which helped a lot. In a way, being a bit of a control freak helps with my job, but at the same time it can affect personal relationships and friendships. I am much better at controlling it than I used to be, but there are still times I struggle. We have suspected for a long time that when I get an omega it would become a bit more difficult to manage. Which is why Loki and I decided it was best to tell you.’

Leona was slightly stunned, she hadn’t expected that. But it did make sense. And she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach now for doing what she did to his drawers.

‘I… I’m sorry, for doing that. I wouldn’t have done it if I had known.’ She said and looked down at her hands in her lap, feeling genuinely bad.

‘No, it’s ok. Loki got a right kick out of it anyway.’ Kilgrave growled slightly and glared over at Loki, who started laughing again. Kilgrave leaned over and put his hand over Leona’s hands. ‘I’m not a bad person, I wouldn’t ever hurt you. I want you to know that. But there might be times where I seem like I am being too bossy or strict, but I can’t completely help it sometimes.’

‘If you ever feel like he is being unfair, such as this morning with not wanting you to go out alone, you can call him out on it.’ Loki said.

‘Yes, just tell me you think I am being unfair. And we can talk about it. Sometimes I just need someone to reason with me a little bit to see that I am overreacting.’ Kilgrave nodded.

‘And at least I am here too, which I think will help. As I will be able to keep him in line a little if he is being ridiculous. Or keep you in line if you are trying it on and being naughty.’ Loki winked at Leona, making her laugh a little.

‘I know you’d never hurt me. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.’ She smiled at Kilgrave. ‘I guess having me as your omega isn’t going to make things easy in regards to your control issues though.’

‘Don’t start with any of that, Leona.’ Loki growled in warning, knowing where she was going with it. ‘We don’t want to hear it.’

‘Loki’s right, we don’t want to hear it.’ Kilgrave said, giving her a look.

‘Alphas have a level of control over their omegas as it is, I’m hopeful that once we all settle in together everything will fall into place. But as we’ve said, if you feel Kilgrave is being unfair then just say something.’ Loki said.

‘I won’t be offended, as I know it’s an issue that might rear its ugly head at times.’ Kilgrave said honestly. ‘But I have never been violent… well, only to Alphas that deserve it… But I would never lay a finger on you in that way. I promise you that.’

‘I know you won’t.’ Leona said. ‘But uhm… am I going to be spanked for messing up your drawers?’

Loki and Kilgrave looked at one another then they both smirked.

‘No, you’re not.’ Kilgrave chuckled.

Leona tried to hide the fact she was slightly disappointed…

‘You didn’t know. And it was a damn good prank.’ Loki grinned. ‘One that I have thought about doing many times myself, but I know I’d get my head ripped off if I even dared to try it.’

‘You’re not cute like Leona is, so you most definitely wouldn’t get away with pulling a stunt like that.’ Kilgrave said as he glared at Loki, making Leona giggle.

‘I guess maybe having an omega might help.’ Leona said as she fiddled with her fingers. ‘As you will be able to focus on me. Maybe having some control over me, which you do, might help. As an outlet, in a way?’ She suggested.

Kilgrave and Loki smiled, realising she was right. It might be the opposite to what they originally thought and might help Kilgrave instead.

After their talk, the three of them snuggled on the sofa together. With Leona on Kilgrave’s lap and her legs draped over Loki’s. Kilgrave felt calmer now, and he was glad they told Leona about his issues. She didn’t seem worried at all, which relieved him.

Leona felt closer to them after today. It was weird, in a way. She felt like it made Kilgrave more human in a sense. That perhaps the two Alphas weren’t as perfect as they first seemed to be. Which actually made her even more comfortable. As she felt like she didn’t need to be perfect to impress them.

She could hopefully just be herself.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Old Haunt Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

References are made to the birthday R&S, so please read that first!

[ PROLOGUE ] 

MC: Is this the place?

Gavin: According to the map, it should be.

Gavin and I have stopped outside an old house, carrying a cake.

The reason we’re here today has to do with the phone call Gavin received a few days ago...

~ Memory begins ~

Gavin: You are?

Ever since receiving the call from a foreign number, Gavin has been frowning slightly, as though recalling something.

After hanging up, he looks deep in thought. 

MC: Gavin, has something happened? 

Looking at his expression, I can’t help but ask.

Gavin: It’s nothing. It was a call from my grandmother’s neighbour. They are about to pave the pathway, so they informed me that they’d have to use the yard.

MC: Your grandmother’s house? You’ve never mentioned it before.

Gavin: My grandmother lived on the outskirts of the city, and has a house with a courtyard. I used to go there occasionally during vacations. After my grandmother passed away, I’ve haven’t gone back. 

MC: I'm sorry, I didn’t know...

Gavin: It’s okay. Although her condition wasn’t great, she had a serene passing. She had quite a long life. I don't have a deep impression of the old house. Only after getting the call did I remember the large patch of dandelions there. It looks very beautiful in Summer.

Hearing his words, my heart stirs.

Over the past few days, I’ve been anxious about where to celebrate Gavin’s birthday, and haven’t been satisfied with all sorts of places. 

Perhaps the old house isn’t a bad choice.

MC: Since we have this chance, want to go back and have a look? I’m even thinking of celebrating your birthday there. How does that sound?

After thinking for a while, Gavin nods.

Gavin: Also good. Let’s go back and have a look.

~ Memory ends ~

Therefore, on Gavin’s birthday, we returned to this old house that Gavin can’t remember much of.

The house no one has lived in for a long time stands quietly. The yard has not been tended, and only wild weeds and dandelions grow.

Near the windows, the wind chime, with its tubes missing, is also silent. 

It seems to have been waiting for an opportunity to tell of the past that has been forgotten with time.

~

[ ACTUAL DATE ] 

The noon sun spreads across the green leaves of the dandelions, and a few clouds occasionally drift across the blue sky. 

The old house in front of me seems to sleep quietly in amber. Since a particular day, it has become unchanged. 

Only wild grass in the yard grows, hinting that over a decade has gone by.

MC: Do you still remember the last time you were here? 

Gavin shakes his head, pushing the iron gate open.

Gavin: The dandelions look almost the same as I remember though. Come to think of it, my grandmother used to directly pluck dandelion leaves from the yard to include in her dishes. 

MC: Were they delicious?

Gavin: They were really bitter. I didn’t particularly like them. However, my grandmother always said that good medicine tastes bitter, so she gave me even more. 

I laugh while looking at Gavin’s tiny pout. 

I can’t help but wonder if the Gavin of back then was just as he is now, eating vegetables he doesn’t really fancy.

Suddenly, I realise something important. It’s something that I haven’t confirmed even till now.

MC: Gavin, did you bring the keys to this place? 

He shakes his head and calmly admits it.

Gavin: I don’t have the keys to this house. 

MC: Are you...

Seeing me cast worried glances at the door, which does not look as sturdy as it once used to be, he taps on my forehead lightly.

Gavin: What are you thinking? Here. 

Holding onto my wrist, Gavin brings me to the side of the old house. 

He shifts some vases to the side, then squats down and knocks on the wall, as though searching for something. 

After a while, the corners of his lips lift, and he laughs lightly. 

Gavin: Looks like I didn’t remember wrongly. It’s here. 

As he speaks, he pulls out a loose brick and retrieves a slightly rusty key from the hole in the wall. 

MC: A spare key? 

Gavin: Mm. Back then, my grandfather would go fishing and forget to bring his keys. He simply left a set here. When I was young, I would sneak out with my grandfather without my grandmother knowing. We’d rely on this key to get back in.

With a flick of his thumb, the key gets tossed into the air. After circling a few rounds, it falls back into his hand. 

Gavin: Let’s go. 

~

The door creaks as it opens, like an off-key welcome. 

I follow behind Gavin, slowly entering this house, which has not been disturbed by anyone for far too long.

The dim light and the air, which is several degrees lower than outside the house, causes me to draw nearer to Gavin. 

Only after my eyes gradually acclimatise to the light in the room do I have a proper look at this old house, which is covered in dust. 

The house is empty, apart from a sofa and a coffee table which are covered with a thick layer of dust, and a few cabinets which are inconvenient to move. 

I’m guessing the other items have been moved away a long time ago. 

People used to place fresh flowers and tea cups here, and spend a leisurely late afternoon with family. 

On the low cabinet next to the stairs, there would have been pictures, telling visitors about the warmth in this household. 

It’s a pity that after many years of remaining idle, this place has become completely desolate.

Even the traces of small furniture and decorative items have been buried in dust. 

Gavin: I’m back.

Gavin says this in a soft voice. I’m unsure if he is saying it to the old house, or to himself. 

Gavin stretches out his hand to brush the wall of the corridor lightly, then silently twists away the dust on his fingertips. 

Gavin: It doesn’t seem very appropriate to celebrate a birthday here. Want to go somewhere else?

Gavin lowers his eyes, his tone normal, as though he’s talking about something trivial. 

MC: Mm... we really can’t do it in such a place.

Making a decision, I stride towards the windows. With a single movement, I draw the heavy curtains and push the window open. 

Sunlight rushes into the house, and a cool breeze carries in the scent of grass. The dust and quiet in the house are stirred up by the flow of air. 

MC: Which is why we’re going to do a thorough house cleaning!

I say this loudly, flashing a grin at Gavin. 

He probably didn’t expect that I’d do such a thing. After freezing for a moment, he lets out a light huff. 

Gavin: All right. 

~

Even though I said that we’d be cleaning, I have absolutely no idea where to begin when I look at the dust-covered house. 

MC: Mm... should we do it from top to bottom, or from inside to outside...

Gavin: No need for such trouble. 

MC: Do you know some secret to cleaning up? 

Gavin doesn’t speak. The corners of his lips are tugged upwards into a smile, and he pulls me to his side. 

A gust of wind blows through the house, going through every corner, rounding up the dust and bringing them outside the house. 

From where we are standing, we aren’t disturbed by the dust at all.

MC: This... this is playing foul!

Looking at the house, which has become much cleaner in just an instant, leaves me feeling shocked and delighted. 

MC: So there’s actually this method!

Gavin: In the past, my mom would use this method of cleaning when she felt lazy. Seems like the result isn’t bad.

Gavin’s smile widens, and his eyes have a faint sense of longing within them. 

Gavin: MC, I’ll mop the floor, and you wipe the tables?

MC: Mm! With this division of labour, work wouldn’t be tiring~

The sounds of the slightly rusty faucet turning, followed by the rush of water, signal that our house cleaning project has officially begun. 

MC: Honestly speaking, I like cleaning up. 

I wipe the table earnestly, looking at how the old wooden table exudes a soft halo under the sunlight. 

MC: Sometimes when I’m not in a good mood, I’ll tidy up my room, and clean up. By doing so, my heart’s grievances are also cleaned up.

Gavin: Yes.

Gavin looks at the interior of the house, and agrees. 

Gavin: Many things require a proper cleaning up. 

The dirt is gradually removed, and the glass is polished. Gavin and I chat while sweeping. 

Sparks slowly return to this old house. 

Gavin: Hm? 

MC: Did you find something? 

Hearing a sound, I turn towards Gavin. 

There is an empty bookshelf taking up the space of a full wall. In the corner of the lowest shelf, there is an old tin box. 

MC: What is this...

Gavin: Open it and we’ll know.

Without hesitation, Gavin takes up the box and gently opens it. 

Several guesses flash across his mind. The moment the box is opened, he receives an answer. 

A bracelet made of small beads, an old but well-preserved doll, a transparent sweet wrapper...

A collection of items that girls would like. 

Did this box belong to Gavin’s grandmother? After thinking again, I find that the box doesn’t look that ancient.

While I’m still identifying the items in the box and speculating who its owner is, Gavin takes out a pair of small, incomplete knee pads.

MC: So cute... are those knee pads for little kids? Although it’s only half complete, a lot of heart was put into it. 

Gavin: Really? How can you tell? 

I take the knee pad from Gavin’s hand and turn it over carefully for him to see. 

MC: Look, the needlework is very delicate, and the edges are neat. If only my fingers were that nimble... it’s a pity that the embroidered small plane at the side is slightly out of shape. It’s probably the reason why it wasn't complete. 

Gavin: It is a little crooked. 

I return the knee pads to Gavin, and can’t help but voice my speculation. 

MC: Perhaps it was meant to be given to someone? I’m not sure if it was a success in the end...

Gavin: It was a success. It looked very good at the end, and was a very precious birthday present. The boy who received it liked it a lot. He even won several basketball matches while wearing those knee pads. 

MC: Gavin...

I suddenly realise something, and draw nearer to Gavin, looking at the pair of knee pads together with him.

MC: The boy who received this present is definitely very blessed. 

Gavin: Mm. 

Gavin nods, answering in a tender and soft voice. 

MC: Are we bringing it back with us later? 

He places the knee pads back into the box preciously.

Gavin: Since it has always been stored here, this is its most appropriate place. Let’s continue cleaning up.

~

I’m standing in the living room after cleaning the final area, and do a big stretch.

With our collaborative effort, the old house is finally thoroughly cleaned. 

The sense of melancholy earlier has been removed along with the dirt. Although the house still feels empty, one can see the warmth from its past. 

The wind chime has also been fixed, and it once again rings with crisp sounds.

MC: Once we wash the sheets and curtains, it’d be a complete success!

Unfortunately, when we press the power button, the washing machine produces a strange sound. It stops operating after a series of tremors. 

MC: Is it broken?

I look at the washing machine and give it a knock, refusing to give up.

Gavin: Possibly. This washing machine is a very old model, and it has always been idle, so it’s not strange that it’d malfunction. Let me try fixing it. 

I pull on Gavin’s arm before he leaves to get the toolbox, then point at the big basin at the side. 

MC: It’s not a bad idea to do things manually sometimes, right? 

Upon hearing this, Gavin turns his head to look at the warm weather outside the window. 

Gavin: It’s not bad. 

~

Clouds drift across the blue sky leisurely, and an occasional breeze causes the dandelions to fly along with it.

In the yard, Gavin and I hold each other to maintain our balance as we take turns to step on the sheets in the basin. 

As the cool water flows over our toes, the sheets gradually become clean, slowly returning to their former whiteness. 

Along with our repeated actions, foam bubbles fly everywhere, floating towards the grass. 

MC: It’s a pity that I didn’t bring any decorative items. If there were things like colourful ribbons and balloons to decorate this place, there would more of a birthday atmosphere. Right now, I keep thinking about how empty the house is.

While washing, I look at the old house before me and purse my lips, feeling regrettable towards the gaps in my plans. 

Gavin: It’s already very good now.

Gavin responds matter-of-factly, adding a little more washing powder into the basin.

Gavin: If we hang decorations, we would have to take them all down before leaving. There’s no need for such trouble.

His reaction is not unexpected. I smile and ask him.

MC: When it comes to my birthday, would you do up decorations?

Gavin: Of course.

He answers seriously, tightening his hold on my hand. 

Gavin: But you’re here right now, and even baked a cake yourself. To me, this is already the best birthday. Your plan is perfect. 

MC: [blushing] ...

Meeting his direct and candid eyes, I feel my cheeks flush. I lower my head and continue stepping on the sheets in the basin.

MC: Even if it’s not decorations, you could bring some small pieces of furniture to add a touch of home to the atmosphere if you come back again next time. It’s such a beautiful house, and we spent so much effort cleaning it. We can’t just neglect it again.

Gavin: All right. We can take a look at the furniture mall together anytime. I’m not good at choosing these things, so I’ll leave it to you.

MC: I might end up buying the things I like though...

Gavin: That’s not bad. 

MC: No no, this is still your house.

Saying this, I am suddenly curious. 

MC: Gavin, have you ever considered what your “ideal home” looks like? 

Gavin: The place I'm currently staying at is pretty good. 

MC: I’m not referring to that... it’s more...

I pause my actions, thinking of how to best illustrate it. 

MC: It’s a more emotional kind of “home”.

Gavin: In that case, I haven’t given it much thought... MC, come out for a while. I’ll change the water. 

As he speaks, he pulls me out of the basin. After pouring the dirty water into a bucket nearby, he takes the hose. 

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and a few foam bubbles are on his sculpted forearms, scattering specks of colourful light. 

MC: Want to think about it now? 

I dip the sheets into the clean water. Under the warm sunlight, the old house seems to be cast in a layer of gold. 

MC: For example, there’s a soft cushion in the living room, and there’s a shelf for flowers in the balcony. 

Gavin: Mm, that sounds good. With a shelf for flowers, Pearly can live more comfortably too.

Gavin smiles at my serious expression, and considers the topic I brought up.

Gavin: As for other things... a telescope? 

MC: Being able to look at the stars at night sounds romantic. 

Gavin: Do I continue?

He raises his chin from the sheets and stretches his hand towards me. 

Gavin: Be careful not to slip.

MC: I have you, don’t I? 

I stand in the basin, exerting a bit of force, wanting to pull Gavin closer to me. 

The bottom of the basin is too slippery, and I lose my balance. 

Before I can steady myself, Gavin fishes for my waist, and I fall into his arms. 

Gavin: Be careful not to slip.

He repeats himself again, but his voice carries a smile this time. His low voice drifts to my ears. 

Because of the earlier movement, some water has ended up outside the basin, creating small puddles. It’s as though pieces of the sky are embedded into the ground. 

Gavin: The house must also have a good quality washing machine. 

Gavin leans down, helping me wipe water off my skirt. 

MC: Makes sense. 

Looking at his drenched shirt, I let out a laugh and second his remark.

When we start to coordinate with each other’s steps again, I start to imagine the house belonging to Gavin - the house he’s looking forward to. 

MC: What about the bookshelf? Would you have a huge bookshelf?

Gavin: Mm. That way, it’d be very convenient to work from home. 

MC: As expected of our dedicated Commander Gavin! What else? 

For some reason, I keep sensing his gaze trailing to the old house, and that he’s looking at something very afar off. 

Gavin: There’s a yard to put Sparky in. 

MC: The carport really needs to be built well. We can’t leave Sparky exposed to the wind and sun. 

Gavin: It’d be best to have a small basketball court...

Saying this, Gavin pauses, as though he just thought of something. 

Gavin: The house must also have a piano.

Gavin smiles and glances at me, the hidden meaning in his words self-evident. 

My face heats up, and I step on the sheets with force, creating more bubbles. 

MC: [blushing] Then, I want to grow ginkgo trees in the yard!

The bigger movements make me draw closer to Gavin in order maintain my balance. 

MC: There’ll be a swing, and also a dog which is as intelligent and cute as Flyer.

Gavin smiles as he reaches out to hold my upper arm.  

He looks into my eyes solemnly and opens his mouth slowly. 

Gavin: All right. Whatever we want, they will all be there. 

~

The sheets flutter under the sun, and we can finally rest for a while. 

Even though Gavin says that he doesn’t mind it, I still want to make this old house have more of a birthday atmosphere. 

I look at the big patch of dandelions, and am struck with an idea.

MC: There aren’t any colourful ribbons, but there are dandelions. I can form them into a “birthday crown”.

Thinking about the expression on Gavin’s face when he saw the flower garland, I am filled with motivation. 

Watching me head outside hurriedly, Gavin thinks of helping while looking confused. I stop him at the door. 

MC: You’re not allowed to peep. Have a good rest. This is an “order”.

Knowing that he can’t bend my stubbornness, he smiles and raises both hands in an “I surrender” posture.

Gavin: I promise to complete my mission.

Before I close the door, I suddenly see something stuck behind the cabinet at the entrance. 

MC: What’s this? 

Curious, I take a look and try to pick it up. Unfortunately, it remains stuck.

Gavin: Let me see.

I take a step back and Gavin shifts the cabinet slightly.

It’s a photo frame, and within it is a picture of a harmonious family of five. 

In the middle sits a couple who have experienced life. Life has brought steadiness and wisdom, but has not taken away their spirit. 

Behind them stands a couple, who look to be around twenty or thirty years old.

The man is muscular and handsome, and is unsmiling. 

The woman, on the other hand, is smiling. Her hair is draped over her shoulders. She is carrying a baby in her arms preciously, as though it is the entire world.

Somewhat familiar facial features enable me to quickly recognise who these people are. 

Gavin takes the photo frame from me wordlessly. The faint smile he always had has disappeared. 

MC: Gavin? 

Gavin remains silent for a while. Finally, he releases a sigh, using his thumb to brush the picture.

Gavin: You mentioned earlier that when you’re cleaning up, the grievances in your heart would be cleaned up as well. What should be cleaned up will have to be cleaned. 

His faint voice is the same as always, but is more solemn than usual.

Gavin: MC, there are some things I want to tell you. Are you willing to listen? 

MC: Mm. No matter what it is, I’m willing. I want to understand everything about you.

Gavin seems to be thinking about where to start. After a moment of silence, he purses his lips and begins. 

Gavin: My father is an outstanding soldier. I won’t deny that point, but it doesn’t mean that I agree with what he does. 

Gavin: As for my mother... she was very tender, and stronger than anyone else.

I look at Gavin’s side profile. Not much expression is on his face, but when he mentions this, there is warmth in his eyes.

Leaving his father when choosing between righteousness and family, a mother who was always tender, childhood struggles, a postponed birthday...

And the fire that severely burned him.

He spoke simply, carrying me across decades of the past in the span of a few minutes. Yet, my heart feels a wave of sorrow.

Gavin: These are just things that happened in the past. They’re over now. 

Gavin says this at the end, and places the photo frame on the table carelessly.

Gavin: Let’s check on the sheets outside. The weather has been hot recently, so they should dry quickly. 

I pull on Gavin before he stands up, and look at him seriously.

MC: No matter how heavy the topic is, you always say it so lightly. It’s as though you’ve never been affected by it. But... Gavin, whether it’s the scars from the past or right now, I hope to help you bandage them. 

I try to tidy my messy thoughts and grasp the words I truly want to say to him.

MC: Just like how we cleaned up this old house together, we will place new decorations and furniture together next time. We can turn this place into a house you can rest in.

Gavin lets out a sigh and rubs my head gently. 

Gavin: Only when I say a proper farewell will it count as leaving it behind, right?

I nod my head vigorously and give him a smile. 

MC: Want to tidy this up properly? 

Gavin: Mm.

Gavin finally returns a relieved smile. He brings me into his arms gently, and presses his forehead to mine. 

Gavin: Give me some time. 

MC: Mm. 

I close my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck.

No matter how heavy the past is, he will take it all away. He will move forward without confusion, and will no longer be bogged down.

As for those burdens that follow the wind, I can share them with him.

The wind chime on the windowsill produces a crisp sound. The low tone sounds like a farewell, and also the announcement of a new journey.

~

I stand on my tiptoes to retrieve Gavin’s dry shirt from the rack.

Along with my movements, the occasional dandelion blows past, floating and spreading in the air. 

After Gavin ended that long embrace, we hung the photo frame on the wall together, and I felt at ease.

This place shall be the start of our journey to the future. 

At this moment, the most important thing is to keep the clean clothes, and then hold a complete birthday celebration with him. 

MC: Should I make up for this another time when there’s more of a birthday atmosphere?

I retrieve Gavin’s dry shirt from the rack. The faint scent of sunlight lingers on it, as well as the washing powder. 

MC: Come to think of it, I wonder if Gavin would find this year’s cake a little too sweet...

Gavin: What about me? 

Before I can turn around, I am tightly encased in a familiar scent and warmth. 

MC: Gavin!

Gavin: I’ve tried a bit of the cake. The flavour is just right. 

MC: Why did you steal a bite?

 Gavin: It was just one bite, so it doesn’t count as stealing.

I pretend to be angry and turn my head to the side, wanting to say a few more things. My face meets Gavin’s cheek.

From this angle, his long eyelashes are clearly visible, and his amber eyes are even more clear and flawless. 

The slightly humid air circulates around us. In the span of a breath, all my senses are overtaken by him.

A wind blows past, carrying dandelions far away.

MC: Gavin, happy birthday.

With a curl of his lips, Gavin smiles. He holds me by the waist and lifts me up, spinning me around in a circle.

MC: Ah?!

Slightly startled, I laugh while pounding his shoulder lightly. 

He spins me around again, then changes his position to hold me in his arms. 

Gavin: We can keep the sheets later. Let’s have cake first. 

MC: It’s still in the afternoon though. We should keep the cake for tonight, after you’ve made a wish.

Gavin: It’s my birthday, so I have the final say.

Gavin doesn’t care about my small retort, nor does he care about the fluttering sheets. Still carrying me, we enter the house. 

The braided corollas hang at the end of the clothes pole, the golden flower petals stretching warmly under the sunlight. 

A gust of wind sweeps past, closing the door of the old house. 

On the windowsill, the tubes of the wind chime are also swept by the wind, hitting the glass, producing a crisp and long sound.

Clanging under the bright blue sky. 

🎐

Gavin’s Birthday Collection:

ASMR: Regaining the Old Days (takes place during the date)

Moments and Texts

Phone call

Video call

[dreamer213]

Broken machines: Lights the dark

Chapter 2 Beautiful Night

In dark quiet room a young man sits atop his bed waiting. The room itself is opulent and pristine, a queen size bed with silk sheets, oak wood floor, a gorgeous antique armoire full of designer clothing, a full length mirror, silver trend curtains, an ornately detailed desk, bookshelf filled with materials on business, culture, and the arts and even a bath en-suite. Truly a scene ripped straight from a magazine with it’s presentation and uniform coloring. Nothing but dark blues, grays, and whites as far as the eye could see, it gives off a very chic and vintage feel but such a cold color scheme leaves little room for light to enter. With darkness of night sky peeking through the window It is as though the room itself becomes like snow, beautiful and magnificent in appearance but cold and devoid of life. The same can be said for the boy, smooth white hair set neat and tidy in a simple but elegant cut, a long and slender figure with good posture and a gorgeous face with high cheek bones, full lips, a perfect jaw line, long lashes, and beautiful deep blue eyes. But behind those beautiful eyes lays a cold and empty stare, no youthful joy or warmth to speak of, just the cold stare of empty soul. If not for his breathing and movements he could be mistaken for a porcelain doll, left in it’s display never to be moved or play with but to be held up and admired. But that is not important right now. No, what matters right now is if Weiss’s found the back doors they left open for her and made her escape yet.

It’s been a while she should be long gone by now, if she hasn’t left yet it won’t be long before Father finds her then Gods know what he’ll will do. I mean getting caught trying to escape the city after nearly killing a defenseless woman at a public event over some unkind remarks. Cleaning up this mess is going to be hell on its own but if Father finds her trying to run away He’ll-

Whitley tenses up and grips his biceps through his sleeves, there’s a dazed look in his eyes. He closes his eyes, takes some deep breath, and calms himself.

No, I can’t think like that now. I have to believe that she followed through, that she ran away pre her usually sanctimonious behavior. I mean what did she think she was going to achieve by acting like that. Did she think that was going to change their minds? Did she really think that screaming like a child and losing control of her powers was going to do anything but cause chaos. If General Ironwood hadn’t been there we all could been killed by that monster. But no, even after fighting Grimm and seeing how terrifying they are first hand, she still never once gave a thought to what the consequences of her actions would be for anyone but herself. But then again that just might be who she is now. Doesn’t matter if she to her if she’s right or wrong, if she feels attacked she’ll just lash out either physical or verbal. With all her talk of restoring our family name I never thought she would do something like this. I never thought she would go this far but then again I never thought she’d treat me like an enemy. I try my best to engage with her whenever I could and she accuses me of wanting to her get disinherited and acts like I’ve stolen her role away from her. Really? She thought I would want the life both she and Winter ran away from the first chance they could. Seriously? What do I gain from her failure, living at home with a drunk for mother, a tyrant father, and a staff of people traumatized from working with them. Having my every move monitored and commanded by a man who cares more about money than human life. The enormous amount of work that comes with preparing to take over a company of such great magnitude and whatever grunt work Father doesn’t feel like doing. OH! Let’s not forget the fact that you’ll never truly be in charge as Father will surely keep you trapped under his heel until the day he dies! A life as puppet to a man whose dragged our family name through the dirt trapped in a house colder than the coldest of blizzard. Yes Weiss, I so desperately wanted you to run away to live your dreams so I could live your nightmare.

“WHERE IS SHE!!!” “WHERE DID THAT WORTHLESS BRAT GO!”

Whitley hears his father screaming down the hall, the screaming continues for almost an hour until it’s becomes clear that Weiss has escaped. For moment everything’s quite as though the entire manor has become frozen in time. But not long after the silence there’s a crash then another and another. The commotion grows louder and louder with every passing second until the shirks of manor staff become just loud as the havoc Jacques Schnee is wreaking.

Whitley: Looks like it’s time to clean up the mess.

Whitley gets up and walks out of his room towards the commotion. As he gets closer and closer as follows his father’s path of destruction. Broken glass, fallen paintings, and décor pieces smashed and scattered across the floor the halls are in shambles. When he finally reaches his father the situation is much worse than he expected. Jacques has completely lost his composure, he’s throwing things, screaming wildly, his face is beet red and his eyes are bulging. The servants are trying their best to calm down while trying to avoid getting hit. They try and try but nothing they do seems to calms him. As this struggle continues Whitley approaches them, he quietly walks up behind them. He stands there waiting for an opportunity to grab his father’s attention.

Jacques: AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR THAT UNGRATEFUL BITCH SHE DARED TO DEFY ME LIKE THIS!

Whitley: Father please, you need to calm down the stress isn’t good for—

Before he can get another word out an object goes flying past Whitley’s head. It was a small antique clock a gift from a business associate. His father Jacques Schnee, who was now facing him, had thrown it within an inch of his own son’s head. Jacques stalks over towards Whitley, getting closer and closer until he is standing over his son and stares directly into his eyes.

Jacques: What did you say?

Whitley: Stay calm, stay focused, you have to see this to an end before things get worse. I said you should calm down you shouldn’t be stressing yourself over such a minor issue. It’s not good for your health.

Jacques: And do tell me Whitley, how is your sister running away a “minor issue”.

Whitley: Well she’s already been disinherited and made a public spectacle of herself, there’s no real need for her to be at the manor anymore. That and when people ask about her and how she was punished you can say she was kick out and thrown to the streets for her awful behavior. For most that were present at that party the very idea of being cut off is the stuff of nightmares, hearing that the heiress to Schnee dust fortune got herself thrown out for her reckless mistakes should help calm the ruckus Weiss created.

For a moment everyone pauses, they hold their breath waiting for the elder Schnee’s reaction. After what feels like hours Jacques puts his hand above Whitley’s head. He brings it down and begins to slow pat his son’s head.

Jacques: Good job Whitley, you always have your mind in the right place when I need you to.

Whitley: Of course Father, I’m always thinking of what’s best for the Schnee legacy.

Jacques: Good, now then get this mess cleaned up I need to go have a talk with Klein. I just know that dog had a hand in this.

Whitley: Yes Father, I’ll have the staff get this up right away.

Jacques gives an approving nod then walks away. As soon as his step can no longer be heard and he is out of earshot the servants all breathe a sigh of relief and start cleaning up. Whitley walks down the hall, searching for someone. After roughly half an hour up and down the second floor Whitley finally finds the person he’s been looking for, Mary Shellor.

Mary Shellor has been working at the Schnee Manor for several years. When she first arrived no one expected her to last very long but to their surprise she acclimated to the environment rather quickly. She was also a very diligent worker, never making a mistake more then once. And because of her skill, not long after her hiring Mary was promoted to one of the most important and most difficult positions in the manor, Willow’s personal maid. She’d become Willow’s shadow following and serving her wherever she may go unless dismissed. During her first year as Willow’ maid also sought out and obtained another role, or rather a long term investment. You see after observing the family for a time it became clear to Mary which child would inherit the family fortune. The children, Winter, Weiss, and Whitley, had been raised quite incorrectly for their natures. Like wolves raised as show dogs ,they were trained to be obedient, intelligent, and outstanding but because of their strong willed and fierce natures they could never truly be tamed. First and second born were allowed enough freedom to want for more and seek an end to their captivity even if it meant losing everything. Eventuality they were able to beard their fangs and break free of their chains. But the third born, the son, was not allowed such opportunities, No Jacques had learned from his past mistakes he wasn’t letting this one get away. Whitley was kept closer, his chains made tighter, and cage made much smaller then his predecessors. And yet Mary could still see the wolf in him, though different from his sisters it was still there. Unlike his sisters he couldn’t attack or run from his situation so the boy did the only thing he could and did it well, he played along. He played the role of Father’s loyal dog so well that even his sister believed the act without question but unbeknownst to her or their father beneath that mask Whitley’s fangs were growing strap, he was waiting. Whitley knows when he’s at a disadvantage he knows when to act and when to retreat, he knows how to play games, the game of Atlas politics, his father’s games, and the games of the business world. The day Whitley would strike would be the day everything would be returned to a true Schnee, one who knew how to survive in this world, who knew the mistakes of the past and how not to repeat them. Mary wanted to be on the right side when that day came and so she became Whitley’s eyes and ears in and outside of the manor as long as he promised to keep her in mind when the time came. That was their argument one Mary never doubted would play out in her favor.

Whitley: Mary where’s Mother?

Mary: The Mistress has retreated to the library. After the shouting started she ran inside and hid. I asked her if there was anything I could do and she dismissed me.

Whitley: Thank you Mary, stay here I’ll be back in a moment.

Mary: Yes, Young master

Whitley walks pass her towards the library, once at the doors he pulls them open only to find that the lights are off and the scent of alcohol is heavy in the air. Whitley follow the scent deeper and deeper into the library, gagging slightly the closer he gets, as he draws nearer to the source he finds a trail of wine bottles.

Whitley: They’re all empty, she’s close.

He picks up the bottles as he follows the trail until he finds a blanket covered figure sitting on the floor tucked into a corner. Whitley puts the bottles down and slowly approaches the figure, small sobs escape it as he drew closer, he kneels down in front of them with his hands on his knees. He then gently pulls the blanket off the figure to reveal his mother Willow Schnee, sobbing and trembling beneath the blanket she’s wrapped herself in.

Whitley: It’s over Mother, Father’s gone back to his office. You can go back to your room now he won’t be coming out for some time.

Whitley holds out his hand towards Willow, with a shaky hand Willow grabs onto her son. Whitley grabs onto tightly, wraps his free arm around her shoulders and pulls her up. He steadies her as she gets on her feet, and guides her through the darkness and into the hallway. Once they’re out out of the library he hands Willow off to Mary.

Whitley: Take her back to her room she can barely walk, make sure to leave a bucket by her bed. And don’t let her have anything else tonight she has too much in her system already. She’s also left a good amount of empties on floor again, have someone clean those up before Father’s next reading hour.

Mary: Of course Young Master, we’ll have everything clean and in order before Master Jacques get up for breakfast.

Whitley:Thank you Mary , that will be all for tonight.

This was why Mary chose to put her faith in the boy, for as cold and defensive as Whitley was he was also incredibly loyal. Whenever the Master flew off the handle the Young Master would do everything in his power to calm him down and keep him calm for as long as possible. At first Mary thought this was more his loyal dog act but after a few more incidents it was clear what he was doing. Whitley would never sacrifice another’s safety for his own. His true purpose for playing the Master’s game was not to obtain power but peace and freedom from the chains that bind this manor and the people in it.

With that Mary and Willow depart towards Willow’s bedroom while Whitley retreats his own. Once there he closes the door behind himself and pressing his back against the door. He takes a deep breath then slumps down the door, gets into the fetal position and starts to sob. He cries and weeps for a long, long time, until his face is red and his voice horse. Once he finally he stops Whitley gets up and goes to his ensuite to clean himself up. After a long bath he puts on his sleepwear and lays down on his bed, he stares up at the ceiling until he finally succumbs to his own exhaustion and falls into a dreamless sleep.

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (7/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You have a talk with some friends and get a little job offered

Paring: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (Not romantic...yet)

A/n: this took me so long to write. I hope you like it. Have a wonderful day:)

You walked through the streets on London feeling lost and uneasy. The state record of your father was there, written officially: he was declared dead. You felt like you were going crazy for not even trusting the piece of evidence. You asked the secretary about a million questions about how they even go about certifying a death. The woman looked at you as if you were crazy and you probably looked it. None of the cuts were healed, parts of your face were beginning to bruise, and the stich on your hand was horrendous. At least you didn’t reek of alcohol. It bothered you that the certificate under cause of death read “suicide”. You distinctly remember Sabini tell you that your father had got himself killed.

 ‘Why stage it like a suicide and then tell the underworld you killed him? Couldn’t you have just paid the cops to look the other way?’ A million more questions swarmed your way non of which the secretary could answer.

 And so you left the place walking slowly back home feeling odd. Dead is dead right you don’t need the details. You don’t want them. You tell yourself this as you get home, telling yourself that the uneasy feeling was from the physical night before not because someone was watching you.  

 ‘I’m not safe staying here’ You think to yourself. You start fantasizing about all the different places you could disappear to, the new life you could create for yourself. You just needed enough money to so. That wad of cash underneath your bed was good for a boat ride and hotel stay, not for entire life change. You were gonna need to start saving and earning, more fast. The air was changing and not for the better.

 Once you get home, you can see a lamp on in the window. You try to walk past the figure sitting in the living room, but their voice rings out stopping you from making another move.

 “(Y/n), we need to talk.” Ada says.

 “What about?” you ask sitting opposite of her in the living room.

 “Its about Tommy,” she pauses a minute trying to gauge your reaction, you don’t give any. She sighs, “I just want you to be careful around him.”

 You raise an eyebrow, confused from where this is coming from. “What do you mean?”

 “I mean are you gonna keep coming home looking half dead with my brother having to carry you in here with no sort of explanation?”

 “I’m sorry about that.” You apologize knowing she must have been scared out of her mind seeing you like that. You would have been too had it been her or Trinity.

 “What are you even thinking working for him? Didn’t you want out of your father business, aren’t you on some guys shit list?” Ada takes a deep breath calming herself.

 “I have it under control.” You can hear Ada groan in frustration. You understand why she was so defensive about this. Her family was dangerous and to be around them was like being around death itself. At least that’s how Ada put it.

 “No you don’t just look at yourself!” She sternly says, pointing a finger at you.

 You stifle a laugh from your throat at how motherly she looks, “Ada, please save the parenting for Karl.”

 She rolls her eyes at your jest and gets up from the couch. “Are you gonna work for him again?”

 “If I need the money...”

 “I told you don’t have to pay rent while you stay here. You can take as long as you need to find steady job.”

 You fake a smile and nod your head, “You’re right.” You didn’t want to bring up the unease you’ve been feeling. Or the need to flee the country based on a little paranoia that may just go away. It was unfair to her to place  this burden upon her when she's finally made it out of feeling that way herself. But you’ll be damned if you weren’t gonna at least prepare yourself for the uncertain future.

  *******************************************************************************************

Trinitys apartment was the same as it always has been. Neat to the point where it looked picture perfect. You always wondered when she had the time to keep tidy. You arrived early in the morning, knowing she would be up and that it would be the perfect time to cross into what you thought was still sabinis territory.

 “You know your friend took over the Eden Club. I haven’t seen any of Sabini guys in awhile” Trinity says attempting to ease you as you keep looking out the window.

 “who?”

 “The Shelby’s. I think it was his brother or whatever. I wasn’t there when it happened but I heard it was brutal.”

 “What did sabini do?” You ask.

 “no one heard from him or Alistair.” She states

 “Hmm.” You say finding it odd the gangster hadn’t retaliated yet

 “You know you can maybe work there again? If you asked nicely? The Shelby’s seem to like you.”

 “What makes you say that?”

 “Oh please I was the first person ada called to tell me about you running off with her brother. Did you know they were related?”

 “No.”

 She notices your lack of words. And though trinity wanted to be playful and tease her friend, she was worried.

 “Are you okay, (Y/n)?”

 “Im thinking of leaving, trinity.” You say

 “Why? Where are you going?”

 “Nowhere. Im just thinking.” You sip your tea lightly, feeling the soothing warmth go down your throat, “Something feels wrong.”

 “What is it?”

 “I fear that something nefarious is upon me. And that it’s a matter of time before It decides to kill me.”

 “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

 “I need your help planning.” You say ignoring her questions. You didn’t want to subject her to your nightmares about your father which haven’t ceased at all. In face they were increasing in violence and color. Most of them drawing from memories. If it wasn’t your father that was alive coming to hunt you down, it was most likely a dedicated servant of his. You wondered who was was keeping the business going seeing as you didn’t take over and were the only child of your father. You had no other logical explanation of what the universe was trying to tell you with these dreams and gut feelings.

 You open your purse revealing the wad of money from underneath your bed and papers of different id. “Your gonna hold this for me. When I need it ill come for it, if I add to it ill come here okay? Just make sure it stays hidden and untouched.”

She nods and takes it gently from your hands, “You’re being serious.”

 “Deadly.”

 You stood for a couple more hours, talking and eating until the afternoon came. You said your goodbyes and were on your way back on the streets of London. You felt good about yourself after seeing Trinity. It felt like years since you seen her.

 You hear the honking of an annoying horn bring you out of your thoughts. You see Tommy Shelby behind the wheel, a cocky grin on his face. He parks the car and you wait for him outside not wanting to sit in close proximity of him. He comes around, outing a cigarette loosely around his pink lips. He doesn’t light it.

 “I was looking for you at Adas.” He says standing in front of you with hands in his pockets.

 “Hmm why?” You ask.

 “How are your stiches?”

 “Fine,” your face grows warm as you think about the drunken thoughts you had about him. You had them caged up this time but you were now very aware of the fact that you had them, “what is that you want?” you ask avoiding his eyes, afraid of getting lost in them. You could not afford to grow any sort of attachment to the man. The stories you’ve heard, the warning you’ve gotten from his own sister, you know that he was no good.

 “Take a ride with me.” He simply says walking away from you.

 Your legs move before you think. Following his words like a sailor would a siren. You suddenly felt very self conscious around the man as you sat near him.

 “Where is this coming from?” You think to yourself feeling stupid you begin to argue with yourself in your head trying to find the soure of this new unwanted attraction. Maybe you were still drunk. No its been days. Or maybe you were tired. Sleep has been hard to comeby these days.

 You look across at him and study his features. He was a very handsome man, no doubt about it. You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until he catches you.

 “What?” He asks

 “Have you called May?” Your not sure why your mind went to that but it was.

He chuckles, “Are you really that interested in that?”

 “No, im just making conversation.”

 “Well I did. Ill be seeing her later this week. See how shes training my horse.” He sends a smile your way before his eyes go back to the road.

 The smile sends your stomach doing flips. “You know your not as scary as people make you seem, Mr.Shelby.” Another statement slipping from your lips.

 “Trust me, I can be scary. Hand me that file”

 He parks the car in front of lovely looking house, a guard standing outside the gates of it. You hand him the file, next to you on the seats and he fiddles through it. You stare at the house with the guard in front of it through the rearview mirror.

 “Why are we parked here?” You ask you eyes trained to the rearview mirror

 “Had to make a stop.”

 You see the guard notice the car and head towards you. He walks toward your window and leans in. “Sir,” The guard says totally ignoring your presence, “You cant park here.”

 “Apologies, me and the Mrs. were just lost.”

 “Well get a move on.” Thomas starts the car and moves it one block a way before parking again. He checks his watch.

 “23 seconds,” He say to himself writing it down, “Are you gonna ask any questions?”

 “I think I would rather leave this one alone.”

 “Smart girl.”

 You end up driving 2 more hours around the city. He tells you about the Eden club takeover and how his brother Arthur is now running the game there. Sabini hasn’t been seen inawhile. Nor his most trustworthy comapnions

 “Do you know Alfie solomons?” He asks

 “I do.” Alfie Solomon’s to you was an unpredictable man, You never could predict what he was gonna say.

 “I was gonna have Arthur have dinner with him alone. But Arthur doesn’tknow Solomon’s too well.”

 “Mr. Shelby-“

 “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to.” His eyes burn into your skull. You take all the self control you have to not turn your head and stare into them.

 You think about the proposition and grow very hesitant. A part of you wants to take it and another part doesn’t. Quick money could be very useful to you but at what cost if its for situations like this. A dinner with gangsters could become deadly very quickly with one wrong move.

 “When is this dinner?”

 “Friday.”

 “Ill give you answer before than” You say seeing it was Tuesday. You open the door to the car and walk out of it. You were beginning to suffocate under his stare and you needed to breath.

 The air was crisp and refreshing to your lungs as you speedy walk down the streets making lefts and rights. The annoying horn returns to your ears as soon as you feel calm. You turn back around to scream when you realize its not the same car. It’s a black car with weird, tinted window, almost like a police car. The windows roll down, revealing a man with grey, busy eyebrows and mustache. His eyes held an evil glint in them

 (Y/fn) (y/ln)?” He asks do it looked like he already knew the answer in his head that he knew who he had.

 “Sorry wrong gal.” You lie turning around to get out for whatever situation that was.

 “Get her boys.” You hear the man sigh. You feel large hands grab around your body and large funny smelly napkin forced against your mouth.

 ‘Chloroform’ you think as you pass out into the darkness.

Read pt.8

Tags

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @evelyn-4034