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topsyturvy-turtely · 2 years ago

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OTP challenge - day 15

here it is! part 2/2! (because i simply suck at keeping myself short) -> link to part 1

[link to day 14]

TW: detailed description of needles and stitches. knife wound.

15: teaching each other how to do something

(pt. 2/2)

[Last sentence from part 1: But soon this something, that danced in the room to the tone they had played together, was interrupted by the thunder of upstairs-running kid's feet.]

***

That was last week. Tonight John had invited Sherlock over for dinner with him. Rosie had a movies night with her aunt Harry. (John seriously wasn't sure who whorshipped whom more. These two were soulmates, no joking.)

The doctor was determined to make Sherlock a nice proper meal. He didn't cook often, but he ought to get better at it, he can't keep ordering takeout with a kid at home. What if Rosie will never eat anything homemade?! That could end up into an embarrassing situation at a friend's house...

Lost in his thoughts he prepared his 'easy but fancy meal' (no, he hasn't googled this). He had ended up with Lasagna. The bechamél sauce was the difficult part about it, but he was confident it would work out. He heard the bell ring and - wiping his hands on the ridiculous apron Harry got him (it says 'BAMF' in pink, purple and blue colors on it. According to her that means 'bad ass motherfucker', which he thought was absurd, but, well, he didn't wanna get his shirt dirty) - he went to open the door for a very early Sherlock. Who has apparently just been in a massive fight.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! What happened to you?"

"Idiot brought a knife to a gun fight. Still managed to cut me however, that imbecile."

"They cut you? How deep? Where? Let me see.", John Watson was in immediate doctor mode.

"Not that deep.", Sherlock said waving his hnd dismissively.

"Oh no! We are not doing this! Go sit down somewhere, I'll get my doctor's kit.", John commanded and went into the bathroom to wash his hands and get the kit.

When he came back, Sherlock was sitting on the couch, no coat and jacket on, limps spread out around him, right hand to his side, the blood running through his fingers.

"Jesus. Sherlock.", John was frozen for a second, anxiously staring at his friend, regretting he couldn't protect him anymore whenever he decided to run after a serial killer.

Then the feeling faded and with his usual professional tone he told Sherlock to take his shirt off. The great idiot detective sighed but obeyed. Meanwhile John put on surgical gloves and poured disinfectant onto a cotton ball. When he looked up and stared at his friend's freed stomach he gulped. Not because he hasn't seen worse, but because it was Sherlock who was the injured. What if he wouldn't get away so easily next time? John wasn't sure how he would take another one of Sherlock's funerals. A real one this time. Internally John shook himself and focused on his task.

"I'm gonna clean the wound and see if it needs stitches now.", John told his patient. When he started disinfecting, he heard Sherlock take in a sharp breath. That, and a few seconds of cleaning, made him realize, "Sorry, mate, but the wound is deep enough for sutures. I'm gonna call an amb-"

"No!", Sherlock immediately protested and his face was a mask of pain. "It's you or nothing at all."

John stared at him, he had done that often before, back in the days, but how could Sherlock still insist on John stitching him up? With a resigned sigh, because he knew there was no reason in arguing, he took off his gloves. "Alright, I'll get you some ice. It will help with the pain and the swelling."

When he came back, he sat back down and put on a fresh pair of gloves. "Listen. I hate you getting injured, and I am honored you let me have you stitch up but you will have to learn to do this yourself. I am not available 24/7 and I can't risk you passing out while having a fever dream from the blood loss, simply because you refuse to seek medical attention like a child. So you gonna watch, listen, hell- observe while I am doing this. You got me?"

Sherlock had a neutral facial expression, but stared deep into John's eyes. "Yes, sir."

"You already know who is in charge here, that's a good start.", John smirked. Then their eyes met and just how it always has been, there was a connection between the two men which took actual willpower to break. When they did, John started explaining, "Step one: sanitize and examine the wound. Deeper than half an inch? Sutures are needed.

"Step two: if the wound is swollen, ice it.", John nodded at the ice on Sherlock's stomach, while he disinfected the needle and thread.

"This will provide a numbness as well. Helpful, when there's no local anasthetics available."

"Step three, actually- step zero: wash hands, and wear gloves to prevent infection. Always wash your hands and wear gloves, hear me?", John fixed his gaze on Sherlock. The detective was determined to show no pain but he couldn't fool John. A simple nod satisfied John.

"Good. Step three: Disinfect needle and thread and the rest of the equipment. I use a needle holder, to ensure no infections will occur. Holding it with your hand may easily cause them." John was glad Sherlock had his voice to focus on. That he had given that genius brain something to fixate on, to save into a room or a file or whatever in his mind palace with every little detail. Because the stitches - even with the ice - are gonna add another pain level.

"Step four: with your forceps" - John grabbed them - "check the skin and determine what needs to be done.", John did as he was explaining, wishing he had a mask to further protect Sherlock from a possible infection.

"Step five: punctuate the skin and make sure the needle penetrates the skin up to 0.5cm, exit on the other side of the wound. The needle needs to be held perpendicular to the skin and you rotate your hands clockwise.", when the needle sank into Sherlock's skin, his patient groaned in pain. "For this you'll need to release the needle holder by pulling it right with your ring finger-", John did as he was explainig. "-and pushing it left with your thumb.

"Step six: hold the needle holder and pull the thread. Leave 3-5cm on the side of the wound. Step seven: hold the thread with your right - in your case left - hand and wrap it around the tip of the needle holder. Catch hold of the thread on the left of the wound using the needle holder. Make the wrapped thread pass out of the needle holder and tie it around the loose thread and then cut the excess thread.", John was glad Sherlock was a genius because when he had first learned this, he still had had a million questions.

Satisfied John looked at his work. "This was it - you had made a secure knot. Now, step eight: repeat this process by moving up the wound about 0.6cm to perform the next suture."

Sherlock was making pained noises while John performed step eight. "Do you think you can focus on my hands and describe what I am doing? Might be a good distraction.", the doctor suggested.

Sherlock gritted his teeth, nodded and did as he was told. Indeed, his pained sounds decreased and his observation-mode was turned on.

After a while John said, "There. Sutures are done. Now the final step is putting a sterilized pad and bandage on. Here, sit up."

Sherlock did and John wrapped the bandage around Sherlocks rib cage; tight but not too tight. His breath gave Sherlock's skin, that had broken out into a sweat during the suturing process, goosebumps. John followed them up... over side, arm, chest, nipple. John licked his lips. Then he cleared his throat and stood up. "I'll look for a shirt that will fit you. You hardly can wear that one over there." John pointed at the ripped and blood covered dressing shirt on the ground.

"Your clothing choice is a rather interesting one, too.", Sherlock countered, a hint of a raised eyebrow visible on his carefully controlled face.

For a second John was confused, but when he looked down at himself he remembered his 'BAMF' apron... John's eyes widened.

"Fucking hell!", he swore. John ran into a kitchen and already saw smoke coming through the oven. "THE LASAGNA!"

A bunch of further curses escaped John's mouth while he took the burnt piece of pasta out. Sherlock followed him into the kitchen. He leaned on the door frame crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Apparently bisexual Badass Motherfuckers can't cook.", he stated.

Waving around with a kitchen towel and opening a window to get rid of the smoke, John was busy with other things. But when Sherlock's words sank in he slowly turned around. "I'm sorry- what?", he asked incredulously.

Sherlock nodded at John's garment. "Your apron. It's in the bisexual pride colors."

With oven mittens on, palms up, John stared down at his apron. "Oh. Oh, Harry that absolute-"

"-genius lesbian with her evidently accurate observations regarding sexuality?", Sherlock finished, pushing himself off the wall. He slowly walked over to John.

"Hold on one second! How many times did i say I am not-"

"-Gay? No, but bisexual you are, my dear Watson.", with that Shelock stood in front of him, his upper body only wearing a bandage John had put on him only a moment ago.

The blogger shook his hands in denial. "I- I am not..."

But he didn't get further because Sherlock pressed his lips against his and John forgot what he wanted to say. Soft, cupid bowed lips, rested against chapped, thin lips. Until John pulled back and stared at a rather precarious Sherlock. And without another thought he ripped his oven mittens off and clasped his hands around this face, this familiar beautiful face and kissed Sherlock again. He was moving on pure instinct, none of this was his brain's doing, it was all his body's. It knew what it had wanted for years and now wouldn't let the opportunity slip. They kissed and gasped and pulled and moaned. Until Sherlock hissed in pain, because John had eagerly pulled him close and it hurt his freshly sutured wound.

John loosened his grip and they let air drift between their bodies again. "I- you-", John tried.

"Harry and I might have a point?", Sherlock said with cocky grin.

John sighed, laughed, and let his forehead drop into his hand. "Yeah. I suppose you might."

They caught their eyes and then started giggling, like they did after their first case.

Sherlock's gaze fell on the burnt lasagna behind John. "Takeout?"

"Starving", John replied with a soft but genuine smile on his face.

---

this time i have to thank my lovely friend (lol are we even friends?!) @safedistancefrombeingsmart for 1. telling me that John can't cook and should teach Sherlock how to make proper stitches instead. And 2. for her genius photoshopoed bi-colored BAMF sweatshirt. This oneshot would have been a lot less fun without you. Thank you, smartin'! ;)

this part required a lot of research (as i am an absolute no-hoper at anything medical). i must admit i partly directly quoted from the site. check it out if you're interested!

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed 💚) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @boredsushi @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee

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rubypasha1 · 7 months ago

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Headcannons for the readers in my fics

Feel free if you have any questions related to them or anything else to do with my fics. Happy to answer!

Stolen Souls

Green thumb

Can cook like a chef it’s so good

Book worm

Socially anxious

Kids: loves em

Shows affection through gift giving and paying attention to small details

Ex-older sibling

Coping mechanism is work and hobbies

Green thumb!

Easily manipulated

Little shy

Puns!

Cat and dog person, more dog person

Can withdraw herself to try and protect her feelings

Has died before

Wife material

Girlfriend material

Liked watching her friend play video games

Not a party person

Magic!?

Absaloutely terrified but hopeful

A spider in a graveyard

Student of Spiderman, unofficially adopted by he and Deadpool.

The latter gifted her a knife

Can’t bake for shit but cooks okayish. Lasagna is amazing.

Traumatized by experience of being experiment on to aquire powers

Slightly Arachnophobia

Cheats at Uno, doesn’t care if she wins the only worse torture is scrabble

Loves carnival games

Puns are life

Has kissed her nemises

Willing guardian of three crazy super powered kids

Pretty serious but uses jokes as a distraction/to aggravate enemy

Sleeps in odd positions + glows

Kiss under her jaw by the neck and she melts

Odd relationship with symbiote

Can be bashful/shy when genuine and romantic shows of kindness are given.

Workaholic in rehabilitation

Tech savvy

In the very thin line between morally true and an overworked superhero

Has multiple eyes- not good with bright light

Will hang upside down and glow like a disco ball- with bribery

Self conscious and using her superhero identity - Starspider - as a coping mechanism

“Stop flirting with me!”

Rainbow lightning

Set the sails

Half blind and missing half a leg

Grew up in war

Has the skills and experience to be a doctor but doesn’t like to be called one due to respect and . . . stuff

Eats 1 or 2 meals a day

Green thumb- medicine and poison

Numerous war crimes

Body and face heavily scarred but not self conscious. She’s proud of her scars

Subconsciously hates clear skies

Has never killed anyone (they don’t deserve that mercy)

Good fighter, will dislocate your joints

Okay with tying patients down

Will hunt people down so they take their medicine

People on her island live and fear her

A certain marine tries to make her life horrible - regrets if later

Kids: Okay

Makes medicine, ointments, salves, creams.

Carving wood is side hobby

Do not touch her books

Okay cook

Loyal

Hates marines and the world government

Doesn’t smile, mainly looks neutral or angry

Slight aggressive but mainly when provoked

Deeply traumatized

A victim of war

Is an amazing gambler, it’s just luck she wins 90% of the time even when she doesn’t know how to play

Addicted to weed (but not in the way you think-)

Is kind in a “I will beat/restrain you so that you won’t die” kind of way

Made a deal with the devil and lost, now his brother calls her angel

Fought in a fighting ring

Loves pies

Has lost so many people she’s subconsciously afraid of making connections continuously trying to see new people she makes friendships with as only patients but inevitably fails and becomes so protective to others it’s seems as extremely aggressive but she has to because people DONT BLOODY LISTEN

Okay shooter, not that great but can somewhat hit a target sometimes

Highly respected on her island

“Thief”

#ao3 fanfic #sans undertale #sans x reader #one piece au #pirate au #sts #set the sails #stolen souls #a spider in a graveyard #headcannons

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blinddreams24 · 10 months ago

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Romance

With Horror

Masterlist

Prev / Next

You heard sounds coming from the kitchen as you rounded the corner, letting you know that Horror had started lunch. Rounding the corner, you found him making sandwiches.

“Hey, Horror.” You greeted, coming up beside him.

He nodded back, “Hey.” keeping his eyes on his work. You leaned in, obviously not leaving anytime soon. Horror noticed and sighed. “Like . . . Killer.”

You gasp in mock offense, slapping a hand to your chest. “How could you??” He chuckled, pushing you away from the food. “Wait! I’m sorry! I want to help!”

Horror hummed at you and relented, pulling out a cutting board for you. “. . . Tomatoes.”

“Yessir.” You mock salute before grabbing a tomato and a knife.

“Hmm. . . Killer.”

“Oh my God!”

Horror chuckled.

You sliced tomatoes and cucumbers while Horror set up a snack tray to go with lunch. When you finished slicing, you reached into the fridge and pulled out turkey and cheese. Unfortunately, due to you being allergic to pork, the gang had supplemented ham for turkey. You insisted that it wasn’t necessary but everyone agreed that it was the safest option.

Handing Horror the turkey, you looked down at the cheese slices and had an idea.

“Hey, Horror?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I have a slice of cheese?” You said, before correcting. “Without eating it?”

Horror froze. His eye light shrank and slowly looked at you. You heard him start growling.

“I can explain!!” You said quickly. “I can explain!!”

He stopped growling and squinted suspiciously. “. . . Explain.”

You looked around before leaning in to whisper to him your idea.

His face slowly relaxed as he listened. When you finished, Horror huffed in amusement and turned back to making sandwiches.

“. . . Yes.”

You let off a sigh of relief and a nervous laugh. “For a second I thought-”

“But…”

You froze as Horror spoke, tensing back up.

A grin split across his face as he looked over his shoulder at you. There was no mirth in the expression. “No waste.” He growled lowly, pinning you with that one eye light. “Understood.”

Though he didn’t ask it like a question, you nodded quickly. Best not to anger him, even if it meant eating dirty cheese. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Suddenly, as if someone had turned on the lights, the room seemed infinitely brighter when Horror turned back to the food. He held out his hand. “Cheese.”

You quickly handed him the cheese and helped finish making lunch. Your idea could wait until later.

———

“I’m telling you! There is something in there! Every time I go in there, it’s different!” Killer exclaimed at Dust who huffed.

“Please.” He said, exasperated. “You rarely enter the library. Of course it’s different every time. Me and Boss rearrange the seating.”

Killer narrowed his eyes and pointed at an unaffected Dust. “That’s just what you’d want me to think if there was something going on in there!”

Nightmare sighed into his tea. “Must you be so loud?”

“Yes!” Killer said with a smirk on his face and his hands on the table.

Nightmare pinched the bridge of his nose from where he sat at the head of the table. You chuckled at the chaos Killer was already making as you helped Horror set the table. Supper was lasagna which you’d been craving for weeks before letting it slip to Horror who immediately made some. Turns out, Horror is exceptionally good at learning new recipes. He looked over the recipe once and you didn’t see him look at it again. You smiled, your skeleton friends are so cool.

“KILLER!!!!!!”

You and Killer jumped at the sound as Cross burst in the doorway. He locked eyes with Killer and shook a book at him. “WHAT IS THIS?!?” He snapped.

Everyone looked down at the book and you barely held back a snort at the cheese stuck to the cover. Horror’s mouth twitched upwards as he turned back to the food. Nightmare’s eye snapped between you and Horror as you composed yourself.

“I told you that was a cheesy romance, Cross.” You managed to say without breaking face. Nightmare’s face twisted into a mix between amusement and disgust.

Cross’s attention switched to you as he stared in disbelief. Killer broke the silence by laughing himself out of his own chair with a crash. Dust finally laughed, pointing at Killer’s vacant seat as Horror started chuckling. You even thought you heard Nightmare let out a small laugh at the whole situation.

You confidently held Cross’s betrayed look.

“Wh-What??” His face turned slightly purple as he tried to piece together what just happened. “Did you just… what???”

You took the book from his hands and pat his skull. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.” He swatted you away with a glare. You laughed again and headed towards the doorway when suddenly Horror was in front of you. You stopped short of hitting him and looked up at him, confused.

He pointed at the cheesed book. “Here.”

You froze, realizing what he wanted. “Horror,” You lowered your voice. “In front of everyone? Can’t I eat it outside?”

Horror grinned widely, both in amusement and anger. “No.”

“What’s up, H?” Killer said, having recovered and noticed the conversation in the door. His comment brought everyone’s attention to you and Horror.

Horror’s grin got slightly more sinister and he pushed you towards the table. “Y/N has something… they need… to show you.”

Your face went red.

Killer noticed and the grin on his face spread. “Whatcha need to show us, kiddo?~” You glared at him, making him giggle.

Sighing, and seeing no way of escape with Horror towering over you, you resigned yourself to your fate and lifted the book. Most in the dining room watched in horror as you ate the cheese off the romance novel. Killer’s eyes widened before propping his chin on his hands with a smug grin on his face. The cheese wasn’t actually that bad, but it was very stuck to the book, making you spend more time than you intended in front of everyone. By the time you finished, the lasagna was much colder than you’d like. Horror nodded at you and moved back to serving everyone. You quickly left the room to put the book back in the library as laughter erupted behind you, making your face flash red again.

Maybe that wasn’t worth the prank…

#horror sans #dust sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #cross sans #undertale #bad sanses

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corrodedcoughin · 2 years ago

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Okay I'm back and this time its not with a song but another au. Listen, Ballet dancer Steve, I literally cannot stop thinking about it. Like, his father made him do sports like a real man, following in his footsteps etc (hence the basketball and swimming). But his mother insists he do ballet from a young age (maybe she always wanted a daughter?) And this is something she is not backing down on - as much as his dad hates it. And Steve is loathe to admit it to anyone - especially his parents - but he actually really enjoys it?

He goes to all the lessons, takes extra classes, not telling anyone and working it around his sports that he's got that season. Clears out his living room and practices at home, folds his laundry while casually stretching and doing the splits.

The first people to know are Dustin and Robin, and it's nice having someone know and not insult him the way he knows Tommy and Carol would have. Spitting slurs and calling him a pussy. Hes super self conscious about this thing he loves, but isn't goin to admit that either. Eventually Dustin doesn't bat an eye when he tells him he can't hang out that day, he's got ballet. Just complains like a normal teen that they haven't hung out in ages, God Steve. Robin will occasionally ask him to try and teach her ballet positions at their sleepovers. She doesn't tease him for this, and he doesn't tease her when she stumbles or trips over her own feet.

And then he meets Eddie, and he befriends Eddie, and he's crushing on Eddie. And I absolutely want Eddie to be someone who walks in on him and finds out, rather than being told. Mostly because Eddie would have a heart attack seeing Steve in his ballet tights, muscles on show, strong and graceful as fuck.

I’m banging my knife and fork on the table MORE PLEASE MORE!!!!

I’m getting billy Elliot vibes??? A little???? Maybe in a different life (or this one, who knows with him) Murray is a ballet teacher and is the one that taught Steve, cue comedic relief ‘you’ve got to be the swan Steve. No not like that, Swans don’t look like they are constipated and experiencing violent diarrhoea at same time steve come ON! From the top!’

How about Eddie catches him when he’s cooling down one day. Steve is in his living room with his headphones on, listen to billy Joel and just trying to relax his muscles out while zoning out to his music. Eddie just walks into the house because of course he does and Steve’s music is so loud he doesn’t hear a thing so when he opens his eyes he makes eye contact with Eddie who’s been standing in the doorway for god knows how long. Both of them speechless, both of them flushed but maybe for different reasons. Cue Dustin barrelling in after Eddie, ‘hey Steve, eddie drove me over, I knew you’d be busy. I’ve got this lasagna from mom, she said make sure you freeze some. Hey do you think you could kick somebody in the head? I’m just saying, I think it would be a good idea to try, self defence yknow?’

Neither Steve nor Eddie has said a word or moved. Both too scared to incase the other bolts. Dustin prompts them ‘don’t you think so eddie?’

‘What Henderson? What did you say?’

‘That Steve should practice kicking people in the head! Would be great for surprise attacks’

Eddie is on the verge of brain static again before saying louder than he meant to ‘can I be the target?’ They make eye contact and steve gives Eddie the most tentative smile, suddenly bashful but something must switch in his brain because then he’s looking directly at Eddie and fucking winks

#BALLET STEVE I LOVE YOUR MIND #these are for you 💐💐💐💐💐 if you don’t want them take this instead 🏆#I hope that if you ever develop your plan that you post it because I’ll reblog it ten thousand times #sorry I didn’t know what I was doing with my rambling #idk if it’s what you were planning so just ignore it if you want!!!#I LOVE!!!! this idea!!!#steve in gym tights 😩#he’d be like the gymnasts at the olympics in their zip up jackets #also yes Murray wears a tutu and leg warmers #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington

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nuttynutcycle · 3 years ago

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Not sure if you take requests, but if you do would you be able to continue on the ‘Intruder’ story, (where the villain breaks into hero’s apartment only to learn they’ve been quarantined). And the continuation would be then trying to survive together, in quarantine?

Intruder Part 2

Part 1 here

Thanks to the lovely @avvail for proofreading!

In hindsight, Hero should have said something about Villain temporarily moving in. Especially when Villain opened up the kitchen cupboards and clicked their tongue in dismay, quickly texting their sidekick about what pots to bring. And pans. And cutting knives. Hero could have sworn they heard Villain swear under their breath when they found the Kraft Dinner shelf. "How do you keep beating me on this diet?"

Hero lifted their head off their resting place on the table. "Pretty easy when your villain prefers flirting over fleeing."

"It's called 'distracting the opponent.' You should know; you distract me all the time." Villain said over their shoulder, moving through Hero's kitchen in an efficient whirlwind. "And if you want, I'd be thrilled to help you practice your flirting - wait." Villain opened the fridge door, wrinkling their nose at the containers inside. They picked up the closest one and sniffed it. "Lasagna's not supposed to be green."

"...that's my attempt at noodle stew."

Villain threw the container into the garbage hard enough for it to bounce. "That's it. I'm taking charge of meals for the next 10 days."

Hero felt the pressing weight of social responsibility as their unexpected guest continued to purge their fridge. "But-"

"Hero, I'm offering. Now you accept graciously," Villain threw a look at Hero over their shoulder. "That's how this works."

Hero pursed their lips. "Fine. I just don't feel right about you doing all the work."

"The real work will be getting your body adjusted to normal food. Have you ever heard of a healthy diet?"

"Have you ever heard of ice cream?"

Even though Hero was, to put it generously, below average with eating healthy, they excelled at sleeping. So after the pair had eaten supper, watched a movie, paused the film so Villain could rant about how stupid a character was, finished the movie and debated who the true villain was, the two were ready to hit the sack.

Villain dove onto Hero's well-made bed. "Dibs."

"Uh, no. Nope. You get the couch," Hero dropped a pile of pillows and blankets onto the couch. "Like a good guest."

"You know, we could both sleep on the bed."

"...do I even need to dignify that with a no?"

"Fine," Villain teasingly sighed, sliding off the bed and lying down on the couch. "Have it your way. We can both sleep on the couch."

Hero held the bridge of their nose. "Why would we ever do that?"

"More excuse to cuddle."

The blankets were pulled up to Hero's chin. "Goodnight, Villain."

"Night. Let me know if you change your mind about cuddling."

A couple of hours passed before a wail cut through the silent room and killed any dreams the pair had. Hero thrust their feet into their worn boots, blinking the sleep dust out of their eyes. They grabbed the familiar knife from under their bed and flinched as sirens echoed in the distance.

"Your neighbourhood's volume is broken," The villain murmured, pushing several couch cushions atop their ears. "Whas happening?"

"Go back to sleep."

"Mmkay."

The hero stuffed their limp mask into their pocket. "I'll be back soon."

"What?" The villain shot up, the blankets flying to the floor. "No."

The wails turned into full-on screams. Hero grabbed their worn jacket from its peg beside the door and fumbled for their keys in the dark. "My house, my rules."

"My future kingdom," Villain jumped over the couch and stood in front of the door. "My rules."

Hero's eyes narrowed at the sleep-dishevelled roadblock. "Get out of my way, Villain."

"Not until your quarantine is done."

"This is more important." Hero tried to step around and failed, electing to push past Villain for their next attempt. "Let me out."

"Shan't. Can't have you being a bad example for the kiddos."

"One of those kiddos could be in trouble."

"And you could get someone sick. Someone vulnerable. Or you could get hurt in your weakened state."

The screaming stopped. Hero pushed frantically against Villain, the shoving made misty by the blurriness rising in their eyes. "They need help!"

Villain grabbed Hero and spun them around. Hero let loose a strangled cry as their arms were trapped in a backwards bear hug. They stomped on Villain's feet with as much force as gravity gave them.

Villain hissed through gritted teeth. "Cut it out! You're not leaving. Look," they sighed, grip relaxing. "I'll send over a couple of my guys - they're staying nearby while I'm here."

"...you'd do that?"

"Well, they'd do that because I'm their boss." Villain fished out their phone and began texting one-handed, keeping the conversation visible in front of Hero. "Happy?"

Trust can be earned, or it can be awarded in the sliver of a moment.

"...thanks." Hero rested their head against the Villain's chest, their breathing returning to normal.

"Anything for you." The words were said so quietly, so honestly that Hero stiffened.

Instantly the arms were yanked back and hands thrust in pockets.

"Well." Villain avoided Hero's gaze. "Goodnight."

Hero nibbled on their lip as they watched Villain saunter off to the couch. "Wait-"

Was this a bad idea? Definitely. Were they still doing this…? "You're going the wrong way," they said lightly, aiming for the same upbeat tone as Villain often used. "Bed is this way."

Villain paused, tilting their head. "You serious?"

"Yeah." And oddly, the smile that split Villain's face brought one to their own. "But I'm using all the blankets."

"I'll just steal them when you're asleep. It's my villainous specialty."

They both dropped into bed, getting comfortable with a respectable distance between them. Hero turned to the side and closed their eyes. The light from the open window cast shadows over the apartment, dancing and flickering as the curtains moved in the wind.

"Hero," the villain's voice whispered from the darkness a few minutes later, "Why didn't you just call someone else? Why did you try to go out yourself?"

The hero's throat seized. They said nothing, staring into the dark shape of the room until they heard Villain's breathing change and body relax.

"I hear them in my sleep. The ones I don't save." The night listened to Hero's admission, just as it always had.

An arm wrapped around Hero's waist and hugged them tightly. Villain's chin rested on Hero's head as they stroked their arm in soothing motions.

The rest of the night was silent.

#hero #writing #my writing #snippet #villain #my snippet #heroes and villains #intruder #hero x villain #fluff #quarantine #angst #covid #part 2 #I'm giving them 2 days before the kiss #or 'accidentally' watch a horror movie and have to hold hands #sorry for the long wait!

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just-horrible-things · 2 years ago

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‘Verse: Resistance Story: Chewtoy AU, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Connor has unscooped Ari

Turning Point [Prev | Next]

Two meetings overrun in a row, and Connor gets to the cafeteria with about ten minutes to spare before they stop serving. All the sandwiches are gone and he’s forced to settle for a serving of lasagna gone lukewarm and slightly rubbery from sitting out under the heat lamps too long.

He eats fast. The time he’s spent trying to advocate for Ariadne has left him with about a week’s backlog of admin to catch up on. And he only has 45 minutes before he has to head out to meet Ramesh on the ground.

They’re chasing a ring of spell-traders with links to the same drug traffickers that move half the cocaine from South America into the country. If it pans out they could kill two birds with one stone but it’s gonna take a lot of very delicate, often tedious investigative work.

Across the room, Connor spots someone watching him. She sees him see her, pushes her tray away, and gets up. Connor recognises her as one of Maclauren’s cronies, one of the more junior interrogators. Her name was German but he can’t quite call it to mind – Eisner or Eigener, perhaps?

She slouches, hands in her pockets, as she picks her way between the tables. Connor glares at her, but she isn’t dissuaded, swinging her legs over the bench opposite to take a seat across from him.

“You’re Thompson,” she opens. The cafeteria is nearly empty, and she pitches her voice low to avoid being overheard in the quiet. “Milonas’s friend.” “I wouldn’t call her a friend,” Connor responds sourly. She used to be. “You’re the one that went to Bloome, reported what’s going on.” “Whatever Maclauren sent you to say to me,” Connor jabs his fork in the interrogator’s direction, “you can tell him to go fuck himself.”

She scowls.

“We were told to expect audits, spot checks, the works. For a few days I thought you’d really kicked the ants’ nest. We all got emails from the Director. And then… nothing. I haven’t heard a thing in more than a week. What changed? Did you give it up?”

Connor eats pointedly. Riven can wonder all he likes. Connor isn’t about to fill him in.

The interrogator tucks her hands under her thighs and leans back. Connor watches, unimpressed, as her eyes slide left and right to check for eavesdroppers. “It’s about time,” she remarks, tone nonchalant. “That someone did something. It’d be a shame if nothing came of it.”

“Listen. What’s your name?” The scowl returns, sour and untrusting. “Tess Eikner.” "Eikner." Connor wasn’t far off. "Listen. If you want something to change, why haven't you filed a report? Why not give your testimony, put forward some evidence?"

"Who says I haven't?" she returns. "Then what are you doing here coming to me about it?" "Are you kidding?" Eikner scoffs. "Your voice has more weight than mine. Besides, I was just… wondering what’s going on. Whether the investigation’s still happening." Connor’s plate is empty. He puts his knife and fork down. "I reported what I saw," he says. “That's as far as my responsibility goes."

If Milonas would rather put up with the abuse, only she can make that decision. Connor can’t make her help herself.

He stands up. So does Eikner. As he picks up his tray she moves to reach for his arm, then thinks twice. "Did you know he's keeping her in a cell?" "Yeah?" Connor returns bitterly. "Seems like she likes it in there."

He steps over the bench to turn away. Eikner's stare is flat and hard. Connor hesitates.

"... Is this new?" "What do you think." A quick, tense shrug. "... She used to go back to her room at night." Connor breathes out slowly. Everything he hears about this fucking mess… "Tell that to Bloome," he advises. "Send photos. Don't bring it to me. I don’t have time for this." He walks away. Behind him, he hears Eikner say, "I just don't think you should give up on her."

The sour taste sticks with him all day.

He doesn't have time to chase Ariadne around offering help that she's just going to throw back in his face.

Hell, for all he knows she has some kinky shit going on and that’s why she doesn’t want him meddling.

He gets back to his office with just half an hour to try and get through his paperwork. Unsurprisingly, he barely makes a dent. Then he has to get in the car and drive out to Ramesh for a fruitless few hours of legwork. And after that he heads back to the office to put in some overtime.

He doesn't head home until nearly ten. He picks up Chinese on the way and eats crisp, crunchy spring rolls piping hot from the bag on the passenger seat. They’re gone before he gets home.

He puts the TV on and flicks briefly through the sports channels before settling on the latest episode of Case In Point. The police drama is wildly dramatized and not even close to realistic, but it’s good for a laugh. He could do with switching off for an hour or two before bed.

Despite meaning to put work out of his mind, in the ad break Connor finds himself on his phone, answering work emails that could definitely wait til tomorrow. He logs out and switches to his personal inbox.

One unread, titled Evidence - Ariadne. He doesn’t recognise the address – a generic-looking jumble of characters – but it has to be Eikner. Irritation rises. He told her to send it to Bloome.

There’s no text, just a single video attachment. Connor almost forwards it without even looking. But against his better judgment, he clicks.

He can’t hit mute fast enough as recorded screams cut across the chatter from the TV. Connor turns the TV off without taking his eyes off his phone.

He must have watched hundreds or thousands of hours of security footage in his time. He's more than used to the slightly awkward top down angle. The resolution isn’t great but the scene is clear enough.

Steel work surfaces and tool racks on the walls mark it as one of the interrogation rooms – if what Maclauren is doing to the prisoner on the table wasn't enough.

The recording starts as the door opens. Ariadne’s head is down, hiding her face from the camera, but she’s easily recognised by the turtleneck she always wears under her uniform. To hide her scars.

Connor watches with mounting disbelief as she closes the door behind herself, steps to the side, and sinks to her knees.

Maclauren doesn't even look up.

Connor skips back, turns the volume down, and unmutes to see if any words are exchanged. Nothing but the prisoner's howls.

The audio is better quality than the video. The screams clip the upper limit of the volume on the mic and come out a little metallic and distorted. But the pain and desperation come through perfectly clearly.

Several minutes pass, long enough that Connor gets impatient. Watching Ariadne sit there on her goddamn knees he almost can't believe what he's looking at. Again he wonders if this is a kink thing. The thought is deeply repulsive in the context of the torture chamber.

He's about to skip forwards when Riven finally looks round from his victim. And Ariadne folds forward over her knees like she's… bowing, or praying, or kowtowing to some historic foreign emperor.

Riven walks over to her. Jesus, he still has the blowtorch lit. If he's burned her with that thing Connor is taking her to a hospital and to hell with the investigation, to hell with the "information quarantine", and with what Ari wants.

As the screams die down, Ariadne’s voice becomes audible. “-- didn’t let a-anyone see, I came back, I came straight back.”

For the first time, Connor checks the timestamp. Of course it’s the day he tried to take her to the doctor.

“Sit up.” Ariadne obeys instantly “N-no one saw.” “You came running back to heel.” Every word out of Riven's mouth makes Connor want to punch him in the face. “I did,” Ariadne whimpers, “sir. I – I always will.” “But you went with Connor.” “He, he had a camera–” “No fucking excuses.”

The grainy top-down footage makes the violence impersonal, the tiny figures no different from the actors in any grocery store robbery as Riven kicks Ariadne in the face. The impact sounds half a second late.

With mounting fury, Connor watches Ari plead at Riven's feet, cower on the floor like a beaten dog, and do nothing at all to defend herself as Riven waves the torch teasingly close to her skin.

The camera never gets a clear look at her face, but it doesn't have to. Connor can hear her fear in the way her voice twists and cracks on every word.

“D-don’t, please, sir, don’t –”

Connor watches Riven grab Ariadne’s face and pull her around until she slumps against his legs. Bile rises in Connor’s throat as Riven pets her like a goddamn animal.

When the video ends, he throws the TV remote at the wall and screams. The remote clatters, batteries scattering.

Fuck this bullshit.

This is what’s behind her refusal to cooperate. Behind the anger and the lies. This… terror. Broken terror.

Please, sir, don’t.

Please, Connor, I can’t do it anymore.

He can’t just stand by and watch this happen. Something has to give. But if Ari won’t cooperate, and Bloome won’t do a damn thing… what is Connor supposed to do?

[Next]

#my writing #verse: resistance #au: chewtoy #connor thompson

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nebulaofthorns · 2 years ago

Text

TWST Incorrect Quotes (Ft my OCs)

(Jade: I feel like doing something stupid.

Raven: I’m stupid, do me.)

(Azul : I feel so burnt out.

Jade: Don’t worry, it'll be over soon.

Azul : Are you gonna... assassinate me?

Jade: Well not if you’re expecting it.)

(Riddle: For self defense reasons, I'm going to pretend to be a burglar and you guys have to act wisely.

Lucinda, Maryam, & Azul : Okay.

Riddle: If you don't want to die, give me all your money.

Lucinda: Bold of you to assume I have money.

Maryam: Bold of you to assume I don't want to die.

Azul : Bold of you to assume I can die.)

(Lapin, holding an antique bottle: Is this whiskey or perfume?

Chen'ya: *grabs and chugs the entire bottle*

Chen'ya:

Chen'ya: It's perfume.)

(Sierra: Why is it that I always lose things as soon as I need them?

Maryam: Actually, it's not that you lose things when you need them. You lose them a while before. It's just that you LOOK for things when you need them.

Sierra: Okay yeah thanks Maryam, that's great but WHERE'S THE FUCKING FIRST AID KIT?)

(Raven: I am in charge of this disaster!

Floyd: I have a name, you know.)

(Floyd: This totally sucks, man.

Jade: This is horrible.

Floyd: Yeah, I know, I mean look at today’s news.

Jade: No, it’s not that, it’s Raven.

Jade: It’s just like, I can’t get them out of my head and every time I look at them I have this pains in my chest, and I just know it’s their fault, that bitch!)

(Floyd: *nudges Raven at 3am* Pretty fucked up that we depict the moon as a girl and the sun as a boy. They're just floating rocks in space. Raven? Wake up, Raven! Listen! They're sexless!

Raven: The sun isn't a rock, go back to sleep.)

(Floyd: Isn’t a bit dangerous?

Lucinda: Floyd, please. We’ve in a lot of unexpected predicaments before and we always escape unhurt.

Floyd: ...

Lucinda: Okay, we sometimes escape unhurt.

Floyd: ...

Lucinda: Alright, we escaped unhurt once... Then we hurt ourselves in the way home.)

(Maryam: Why cant trees give off something important like wifi??

Sierra: So fuck oxygen, I guess.)

(Floyd, when Jade walks in: Oh, hey, I'm just making pizza.

Floyd: *accidentally smacks Azul in the face with the baking sheet*)

(Maryam: I'm sorry. Please talk to me.

Eric:

Maryam: Hello? World's most amazing person?? Sweet pea? Precious cinnamon roll that's too good for this world, too pure?

Eric: 'Sorry' doesn't bring back my fucking M&Ms.)

(Lapin: When's the last time you slept?

Raven: Uh... a few days ago, I think.

Lapin: A few- how many?!

Raven: Uh... *starts counting on fingers* I need more fingers...

Lapin: What you need is sleep!)

(Adrian: Get in loser, we're going shopping.

Eric: This is a McDonald's drive thru.)

(Adrian: You shouldn't be using a straw.

Lucinda: I know, I know, it's bad for the environment and stuff.

Adrian: Yeah, but I mean... it's a weird way to eat spaghetti.)

(Maryam: Dom or sub?

Sierra: I guess Domino's, since I don't go to Subway that much. Don't see why you'd put them in the same category though.)

(Raven: Onion rings are vegetable donuts.

Lapin, used to Raven being dumb: Sure...

Raven: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed.

Lapin: Okay?

Raven: Lasagna is spaghetti flavored cake.

Lapin:

Raven: Lobsters are mermaid scorpio-

Lapin: Jesus, that one is a little-

Sierra, interested: No, no, Raven, keep going)

(Police: You’re under arrest for trying to carry three people on a single motorcycle.

Floyd, with Chen'ya and Maryam behind them: Wait, what do you mean THREE?!

Police: Yes…three.

Floyd: Oh, my God— What the fuck!?

Police: Wha-

Floyd: Lapin FUCKING FELL OFF!)

(*the squad is at a dinner party but someone has been murdered*

Leona: You’re acting pretty carefree for someone who’s life’s at stake. Who’s to say you aren’t the killer?

Maryam: It’s a murder, not a tax audit. I’ll be fine.

Jade: What about Lucinda? Nobody ever suspects Lucinda!

Lucinda: Well what about Raven? They have a gun!

Raven: Leona has a knife.

Leona: Yeah, for fun, not for murder! *stabs Jade in the arm*)

(Jade: I can never give Maryam shit because I’m jealous of them. They look at their life and say, “Sweet! This is perfect!”

Jade: I look at my life and say, “Welp. Time to get drunk.”)

(Maryam: No, this is not a mess. You know what I consider a mess?

Leona: Your life?

Maryam: I- well yes, but-)

(Lucinda: When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Lucinda lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the person who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!)

(Jade: Why are your tongues purple?

Raven: We had slushies. I had a blue one.

Floyd: I had a red one.

Jade: oh.

Jade:

Jade: OH.

Azul :

Azul : You drank eachothers slushies?)

(Floyd: You know, studies show that keeping a ladder in the house is more dangerous than a loaded gun. That's why I own TEN guns. Just in case some maniac tries to sneak in with a ladder.)

(Eric: Would you like something to drink? *They open the fridge* We have water, milk, juice, spiders, Dr. Pepper-

Jade: Spiders?

Eric: Spiders it is then.

Jade: No, that wasn’t-

*But they were already pouring them a brimming glass of spiders…*)

(*The gang when they drop food on the floor*

Adrian: Aw man. *Throws it away*

Eric: Five second rule!

Chen'ya: Foolish germs, thinking they can stop me!? *Eats it off the floor*

Lucinda: *Sobs on the floor*)

#incorrect quotes #twisted wonderland #nsft oc #slice of life #realistically all these idiots would probably kill each other

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renegadepack · 3 years ago

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hi! for the mini-fic ask you just reblogged, jacob/bella and "things you said at the kitchen table"? (sorry if there's a process for requests that i don't know)

this is basically the process! send me an ask with the prompt, characters, and what you’re wanting (mini fic/headcanons/moodboard/etc.) and i got you! my main ask is that it’s one request per ask. (you can send me requests until tumblr cuts you off, as long as each request is its own ask.)

Bella had always loved to cook, but she didn’t realize how fun it could be with someone else by her side. And Jacob was an amazing cooking partner. He was skilled with a knife (“Cutting carrots is a lot easier than intricately carving a small piece of wood,” he had explained when she expressed awe.) he didn’t mind being on prep duty while Bella stirred the pot or flipped veggies in a pan; he found it soothing. They would use the time to talk, or listen to music together. Bella loved it now. On more than one occasion, they had let the food burn while Jacob pulled her away from the stove to dance around the kitchen.

One night, in the middle of Summer, Jacob wouldn’t let Bella near the kitchen. He wouldn’t tell her what he was making, or why. When Bella would ask, or make a guess based on the sights and smells filling their large kitchen, he would shoo her away. Eventually, she gave up, retreating to their room to read until his little surprise was ready.

“Bella!” he called, about a half hour later. She sighed, tucking her bookmark between the pages and setting the book back on her nightstand. “Bella?” he called again.

She laughed. “Just a minute!” On her way out the bedroom door, she grabbed her favorite sweatshirt off the floor. It had once been Jacob’s, but she had claimed it years ago when they started dating. It still hung past her knees, but that just made it cozier. He stood at the end of the hallway, a smile breaking across his face when he saw her.

“You look cute,” he said, bending down to kiss her.

“Only the finest fashion for me. So what’s all the secrecy about?” she asked as he took her hand and led her to the table.

He stammered a bit before finally saying “I just wanted to do something nice for you.” She smiled, ducking her head to hide her blushing cheeks. “I made lasagna. First meal we ever cooked together. Emily gave me a bread recipe. I think I messed it up. It’s not as fluffy as she said-” Bella cut him off by stretching up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“I bet it’s delicious,” she said, his lips pressed to her forehead. “No need to be so nervous. It’s just me.” He chuckled, running his hands through his long hair before pulling out a chair for her.

They sat down and dug in, enjoying the food Jacob had prepared. He had gotten a lot better over the years and it really showed. Like normal, they both had plenty to say, but Jacob’s smile never quite reached his eyes. Bella helped him clear the table, leaving the dishes in the sink for the next day. To her surprise, he brought out a cake that had to be from Emily’s bakery. It looked immaculate: deep chocolate icing with berries dotted all around.

“What’s all this for?” Bella asked. “It’s not my birthday. Or our anniversary.”

“Um,” Jacob said, setting the cake on the table. He reached his hand into his pocket, seeming to fiddle with something before taking a deep breath. “You know I love you.”

“Yes, that’s a known fact.”

Jacob laughed. “I have a speech here, honey. Let me get through it.”

Bella pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Just give me the signal when I can speak.”

“Sure, sure. Uh, anyway. I first met you in my father’s yard, watching you hop out of Charlie’s backseat with a book in your hand. Of course, the plan was we would play together, but you shushed me every time I suggested we do something else. All you wanted to do was read your book. I tried to watch TV but could only watch you. From mud pies as kids to recklessness as teens, everything with you has been an adventure. And I’m so happy to have you in my life. Um,” Jacob paused, having to gather courage for his next line. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, with it a small box. In the next motion he dropped to one knee, presenting the ring to Bella.

“You’re the only one I want to have adventures with for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

Bella could only say one word. “Yes.”

more fic // request fic

“things you said” prompts

#jacob black #bella swan #bella x jacob #jacob x bella #twilight #twilight fanfic #twilight fanfiction #twilight headcanons #renegadefic #Anonymous

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intonightcity · 2 years ago

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"Don't know why we're keeping him like this. Especially when you went down there showing your face." Does she really think nobody is gonna find out? He's fucking famous. Besides if he saw her face whose to say this won't come back on him. Even if she found him on a deep web site, he chose to keep his identity anonymous. Continuing to wear a mask even in the presence of his cohort there's nothing to see here. Nothing to remember. Yet this is more high profile than he expected. The oddest part is she didn't bat an eye about his stipulations.

She might be listening to him but in reality her focus is on cooking. Homemade dough. Homemade sauce. All fresh vegetable ingredients. A multitude of colors in green and yellow peppers, bright red tomatoes and scallions chopped expertly now with a large kitchen knife. The sharp steel sliced down atop her cutting board. Crunching against its surface created a distinct sound she quite enjoyed. That enjoyment is not fully taking over even with how excited she is to cook this dinner. Interruptions always bring down her mood.

Tilting her head towards him she huffed slowly, showing signs of irritation for once today. "I should be far angrier than I am," the blonde spoke calmly, sighing as she did so. Almost as if their entire situation is not an entire abduction in play. Very much like a Hollywood movie. Those same movies she loves oh so much. Her life was always meant to be in lights. She hoped. She prayed. How she wanted to expand horizons and reach up to those starry skies. It never really went anywhere. None of them ever do. Try and try. Put hearts in everything. Always denied. Always declined. Auditions fail and aspiring starlets fade into stardust. They sink into pits of despair colored with thoughts of harm and ending all their dreams. Luckily she avoided such fates that dreams make. The sad silent stars who lost their way long before their light dimmed. Accidental overdoses. Life taken by conscious choice. No. No, she found something better. She knows it will get better because she found someone who loves what she loves. Real stars. True cinema magic.

"Hey," he cut into her daydreams. They always do. "Are you listening?"

She turned, knife still clutched tightly, fingers bending against the black wooden handle. "I'm making homemade lasagna." Her answer is not what he expected of course. What else did he want to hear? "It's his favorite you know."

"Yeah. Sure it is." With a scoff, he held up his hands. Still wearing gloves. Still caked in dirt and evidence. "Look. I'm gonna go for right now. I gotta get shit done. Cleared. This isn't exactly the best place to hide him you know."

"It's the perfect place." A little laugh comes with her argument. "Don't you read anything? Surely you know something about Landon. Obviously not as much as I do since we have a special connection. But this is Rodeo Drive. He loves Rodeo Drive. He talks about it all the time." Waving her butcher knife around spelled it out with emphasis. "It's a thing in his docs you know. Even the ones not about films. I think the only one he doesn't mention it in is the Lost Tribe one. About the cannibals in Costa Rica." She watched them as she spoke. Waiting for a confirmation. As if they saw it or not. Apparently they didn't because he just stared with green eyes behind a mask. They're not good eyes. They're not soulful brown. Chestnut galaxies swirled in caramel. Nobody has eyes like Landon Wynter. "He caught Yellow Fever filming that. I was so worried. Thankfully he's stronger than that." Turning back to her chopping board, she sighed. "Do what you must but remember. Next time you rough house with him I won't be so nice."

"Nobody is gonna willingly go with someone. He's lucky he got knocked out when he did. But go do your weird dinner. I'm sure he'll be into it." It was snide and dismissive. As long as this goes according to plan it'll be a piece of cake.

She chose to watch him leave. Her expression refused to carry any ounce of sparkle when speaking of Landon's work. Now it was replaced with a cool annoyance, blue eyes skimming across the kitchen until they were gone. "…be my, be my baby," she sang softly, stabbing the knife down into the cutting board with force. "Be my only baby…" @txnnesseehoney // prev

#txnnesseehoney #m [marigold sinclaire]#plot [misery loves company]#connected plot [hxneybees & wynterlanding]#kidnapping tw #long post tw

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jobean12-blog · 4 years ago

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Feels Like Home

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,027

Summary: You like Bucky but he’s unsure and shy so you decide to make him his favorite meal, hoping it will help him open up.

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club drunk drabbles and the sweet prompt below! I love when Bucky is shy and a little awkward! Also, who wouldn’t run straight into his arms in any scary situation! I hope you enjoy this anon! I went with the reader being a fabulous chef because I love food haha and I think it really does bring people together! Thank you for all reading and much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: shy and soft Bucky, sweet fluff and a happy ending :)

“Wow, something smells amazing.” Steve walks into the kitchen with a bright smile and you turn away from the stove, “thanks! I’m making Tony’s favorite!” Tony walks in a second later, “I knew I smelled something fantastic. Thanks y/n.” Steve starts picking at the sides you’ve prepared and left along the counter, “oh man, I can’t wait to eat!” You swat at his hands and shoo him away, “make yourself useful and start setting the table please.”

You can feel a pair of eyes at your back and you turn around, finding Bucky standing over the dishes looking hopeful. “You can try some Bucky. You’re allowed.” He gives you a small smile and takes a spoon to taste the vegetables. “Delicious,” he says quietly, and you can hear Steve huffing from the table. “Sure, he gets to taste it without getting yelled at.”

“Well that’s because he’s polite and didn’t just stick his grimy fingers in it!” You wink at Bucky and giggle when he dips his head to hide his blushing smile. “Have as much as you want.” You check the stove to make sure the steaks are cooking properly but when you turn around again Bucky is gone. With a frown you pull the potatoes from the oven and glance at Steve who gives you an understanding look.

Once everyone is seated for dinner the loud chatter of full mouths fills the room and you beam, loving that they are all enjoying the meal. Bucky is quiet, sitting next to Steve and eating. You watch him from the corner of your eye and every so often catch him glance your way. Halfway through the meal you get up to get more wine and before you sit you walk by Bucky, leaning over his shoulder to ask, “how is everything?”

He lowers his lashes, looking down into his plate when he mumbles, “I love it.” You give his shoulder a squeeze and sit back down, smiling at Steve who caught the whole exchange. The whole team helps you to clean up and once you’ve put away the leftovers you plop yourself down on the couch next to Bucky. “I’m tired!” He looks up from his book and gives you a soft smile, “I’m sure. It looks like a lot of work.”

“I love it though! What’s your favorite meal? Maybe I can cook it for you sometime.” Bucky’s eyes widen and he swallows hard, “um, well. I don’t know. You don’t have to do that.” You pat his knee and give him an encouraging smile, “I don’t mind at all. I love cooking people’s favorites!” Rubbing the back of his neck he finally gives you an answer, “I’ve always loved lasagna.” He looks up, “but you don’t have to make it, I know it’s a lot of work and it’s ok, I’m sure someone else has something easier, so don’t worry.”

You can tell he’s feeling a bit awkward, so you try to reassure him, “it’s really ok Buck, I’m more than happy to.” He nods way too many times before standing up and making some excuse about going to shower. You watch him walk away, hoping you didn’t make him feel too bad. “It’s ok y/n. He just needs time.” Steve’s voice startles you, but you turn and smile sadly, “I hope so. I’m going to make him the best lasagna he’s ever had!”

The next day you get started on the lasagna, even making the mozzarella cheese from scratch. Bucky and Steve are in the living room playing a game of chess and you enjoy listening to their light banter. As you’re slicing the cheese your hand slips and you slice your finger instead. You wince and cry out, grabbing your hand and dropping the knife.

Bucky immediately stands, “are you ok?” You already have tears in your eyes, “I cut myself.” Rushing over to him you practically throw yourself into his arms and bury your face in his chest. “It hurts Buck, I’m afraid to look at how bad it is.” His arm instantly wraps around you and he takes your hand in his, holding it tight while he walks you back to the counter. “It’s ok, I’ve got you. Let’s get some pressure on it and see how it looks.” His voice is calm and soothing, and you start to breathe a bit more evenly. “Ok.” You look up at him, your lashes wet and eyes bright, “thanks.”

“This might sting but we have to rinse it ok?” You nod and squeeze your eyes tight, hiding in his shirt again. “Ow, ow.” He pulls it from the water and takes a look, “it’s pretty deep but don’t worry, Bruce can stitch this up really quick.” You whimper again, “I hate stitches! I’m such a baby!” He gently rubs your back before combing his fingers through your hair, “don’t worry, I can stay with you.”

“Really? Thank you, that would really help.” Steve calls Bruce and he comes right away, cleaning the cut and stitching it up as quickly as he can. You sit in Bucky’s lap and he holds your other hand the whole time, keeping you distracted by asking you about your favorite desserts. “All set, y/n. It will be fine, just keep it covered and we’ll change the bandage tomorrow.” You thank Bruce several times and promise him something delicious before he leaves you and Bucky alone in the kitchen.

“Were you making my lasagna?” He looks sheepish and you lift his chin with your fingers, “yes and I’m going to finish making it, but I might need some help.” He looks worried but you trace your fingers along his jaw, “I promise it’s fine. I really want to make it for you.” He takes your hand and lightly kisses your finger, “I would love to help. On one condition.” You raise your brows and wait for him to continue. “You have to come to my room and eat it with me, just us. Then maybe we can watch a movie or something.” Snaking your arms around his neck you give his cheek a kiss, whispering, “I’d love nothing more!”

@addikted-2-dopamine @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @breezy1415 @buckys-henley @bisousbucky @buckstaybucky @chuuulip @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @harrysthiccthighss @ikaris-whore @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @jewels2876 @jhangelface0523 @loricameback @lokilvrr @lorilane33 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @lookiamtrying @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @nerdypinupcrystal @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @tuiccim @this-kitten-is-smitten @the-wayward-robot @saiyanprincessswanie @yansi1923

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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

Love Talk - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 6.1k words

Genre: romance, minor fluff, mild smut

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello cuties! Welcome to the Love Talk scenarios.

In these small series we’ll see how the guys handle the turn-ons turn-offs conversation, talking about their previous relationships, kinks and limits.

In this first piece we’ll see how our perfect leader plays his cards with his not-yet girlfriend, fondly nicknamed Vixen. It’s their fifth date and Vixen meets him at hers for a lovely homecooked meal. Expect the situation to escalate.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Consumption of alcohol (wine), swearing, toxic past relationships. Discussion of sexual topics, [DDLG/daddy kink, oral, voyeurism, sex toys and impact play, restraints (handcuffs and manacles, spreader bars), lingerie fetish, discipline and rules, mind games, pornography, slight roleplay, sensation play, edging, orgasm deprivation and control, bruising and marking kink, blindfolds. Mentions of angst about Vixen’s past relationship. Mentions of a series of hard limits (hardcore bdsm, heavy pain kink, knife play, electric play, suspension play, water sports, degradation and humiliation, chastity devices, infantilization, dubious consent, asphyxiation, triple penetration, touch deprivation). Just in case you didn’t know already, Vixen is a brat and Joon is the smoothest brat tamer to exist (Can you imagine him sweet talking and tricking his brat into obedience? I. Am. Shaking.)

Wordcount: 6.1k (listen, these two flirt a lot, they like talking to each other and Joon could dirty talk for days. Anything less than 5k would be an insult to them and I GOT CARRIED AWAY) Also, here is my Masterlist

Do you want to read what happened next? You can find it here!

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He didn’t expect it. Yeah, last time you’d made out in the backseat, the driver hopefully uninterested in your anthem, but that doesn’t mean he expected you to ask him out. Usually he was the one texting first and asking out.

International, Korean or fusion? The text read.

Are you thinking of bringing me lunch?

I’m thinking of asking you out this Saturday. If you’re free, of course.

Picnic at Han river? He asked, hopeful.

They say it’s gonna be stormy. Dinner at mine. I’ll cook.

You can cook? His computer went on screensaver mode. He was too caught up texting. He was already done with the demo anyway.

You’ll see. You teased.

He smirked. Then it’s a deal. Want me to bring wine and dessert?

Just wine, you wrote before adding a flirty smirk.

He was blushing. You’re so naughty. He replied. A pause. Cook your signature dish.

Don’t get ideas. You texted back cheekily.

That was nice. However, a few seconds later you found yourself questioning how long it would take you to lose your cool and throw yourself at him. The night was going to be disastrous.

That’s how you found a drenched Namjoon on your doorstep the following Saturday. “Sorry, my umbrella broke on the way. I’m a mess.” He spoke, checking how bad he looked, the words spilling out of his mouth lightning fast. With an apologetic smile he looked up at you, his jaw going slack, a little shocked. “Wow.”

He noticed you had dolled yourself up. You blushed and thanked him for the compliment quickly, your main interest focused on taking care of his situation. You quickly dragged him in, already fussing over him before he got cold, your apprehensive side taking control.

You smiled at him and asked him to wait for a towel. When you came back you noticed he was wearing a thin cotton t-shirt, now perfectly sticking to his skin. You were ready for self-ignition. Fortunately, you managed to find a spot for his dripping jacket and tell him to get comfy. He was already barefoot, his sandals on your entry mat. You offered him your oversized sleeping t-shirt and left as he dried himself and got dressed.

“Let me see if I have a pair of sweats for you.” You came back a few minutes later with some basketball shorts you didn't even know you had. “Sorry, I don’t have boxers. You could use one of my thongs, if you fancy those.” You smirked, giving him an awkward thumbs-up. He snickered at that, shaking his head.

God, he felt fond of you already.

After a few minutes he was sitting at the kitchen table, looking like boyfriend material in his exceedingly domestic outfit, and fidgeting with his hands. Previously you had led him to the bathroom, giving him space to change and asking him to give you his stuff so you could put it in the dryer. In the meantime he had noticed the small details in your bathroom. Your pink toothbrush. Your sleeping robe hanging from the heater. And a small collection of delicate lace — too delicate for machine washing and drying — hanging from a small rack.

Fuck.

“It’s almost ready. I hope you like lasagna. It’s a classic.” You called from the stove.

“That’s nice.” He admitted. “It feels amazing in here. Smells good. And it’s nice, toasty. Great autumn vibes.”

He was probably talking out of nerves. He should stop. He was painfully close to slapping himself.

“Thank you. I know you like hardwood. And that’s exactly the vibe I go for.” You said referring to your furniture.

“Your house is truly lovely, ____.” He spotted more details, trying to ignore the rumbling of his stomach, both from nerves and the mouth-watering scent coming from the oven.

“I’ll give you a tour later. Don’t expect a lot, though. It’s just the living room, the studio and the bedroom. Other than the bathroom and kitchen, that is.”

Bedroom. Hell. Keep calm, Namjoon, she said don’t get ideas. “I’d love to.”

Dinner was easy, you talked about his job and your job, and how you’d moved to Seoul and found that incredible, small apartment in such an exclusive neighbourhood.

Together with conversation flowed the wine. You both were red cheeked by the end of the meal and your head felt a bit light when you stood up. He noticed and smirked kindly. “Need help?” A hand sweetly supporting your waist.

You were standing in front of him now and you couldn’t help but notice how his head reached your navel while he was sitting. “Have I already told you you look breathtaking tonight?”

You blushed. “Maybe.” You stroked his hair back, the gesture incredibly intimate. He closed his eyes and pushed his head against your hands, inviting you to do that again. You obliged. “And you look ravishing in my pink and frilly sleeping shirt.” You joked.

“Yeah I feel incredibly cute. But don’t jump my bones, please. Right now this place feels like the dragon’s den.” He confessed. “And you keep luring me in.”

“I might eat you. Be careful.” You teased. “This dragon can be very hungry.”

He looked up at you and smiled, his eyes crincling. “That sounds amazing.”

You took your chance and poked his dimple, then you grabbed his hands and removed them from your waist, getting ready for dessert. You started collecting the dishes and bringing them to the dishwasher, leaving only the wine and glasses on the table. As you turned and bent he let his eyes run down your tight-fitting dress, biting his lip as he noticed the lack of panty lines on your behind. “Do I get the dessert now?” He growled quietly. You turned your head, pretty sure that he was enjoying the view, which you had no intention ruining.

“Have you been a good boy?” You questioned playfully.

“I’m always good.” He replied “Maybe not a good boy, but good for sure.”

“You can go in the living room, we’ll eat dessert there.” You directed him.

He let his hand caress your lower back, catching your attention. “Need me to take the wine and glasses there?” He asked.

“Yes, thanks, sweetie.” You whispered, somehow entranced by the small touch.

You were starting to get intimate and it felt right. Comfortable. You took a few minutes to yourself, cleaning up the kitchen and loading the dishwasher, then trying to get dessert ready, your movements slower both because of the wine and because you felt like you needed more time to get psychologically ready for him and your bantering.

Meanwhile he reached the other room and fumbled around a little, searching for the light switch. Suddenly the place felt comfy. And dangerous. The lights were low, the sofa looked soft and inviting with a big woolen comforter thrown over it.

You were well-read. He knew that already, but noticing the big library and the books laying a little bit everywhere really made him wonder how many things you knew. He put down the glasses and bottle and explored, careful of where he put his feet.

You had Korean books and English ones. A few in one or multiple languages he didn’t know. On your wall there were a few movie posters. Studio Ghibli. The Grand Budapest Hotel. Lost in Translation. Lolita.

He knew that one. He would ask about that later.

Moving back to the library he noticed other books he knew. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Again, Lolita. The Memoirs of a Geisha. The Delta of Venus. A thorough guide to the language of sex… A thorough what?

“You found my forbidden stash.” You asked him, propped against the door jamb, dessert in one hand, spoons in the other.

“If it’s forbidden, then why are you displaying it so openly.” He asked, moving away and innocently sitting on one edge of the sofa, legs closed, trying to occupy as little space as possible.

“No one visits here, usually. And why should I hide being interested in erotism?” You laid the heavy bowl on the table. “It’s tiramisu. It’s coffee-based. I thought you would like it. If you’re bold enough I might tell you the story of it.”

“Come on, try me.” He teased.

“It was invented in Italy. It’s said that prostitutes would make it to reinvigorate their clients.” You took a spoon and dipped it in before bringing it to your mouth.

He laughed. “Really.”

“It’s a quite popular legend.” You smiled.

“Did you learn that in The thorough guide to the language of sex?” He asked flirtily, his ears blushing.

“I learnt that during my cuisine lessons.” You replied matter-of-factly.

“And what did you learn from that interesting book?” He wondered, keeping eye contact as he fed himself some cake.

“A lot of things, actually.” You lowered your eyes, playing hard to get.

“And have you ever used them?” He asked, his curiosity now poked and fully awakened.

“Are you asking me if I’ve had sex before?” You questioned.

He shook his head. “I assumed you have.” He stopped, embarrassed. “I mean, you’re in your mid-twenties and you mentioned having a couple past relationships.”

“Correct. Even though those factors are actually insignificant. But yeah, I’ve done it before.” You shrugged. “So have you, right?”

“Yes. I’ve had three committed relationships. A few casual flings. That’s it.” He admitted, completely unbothered by the fact.

You looked at him, swallowing your mouthful before asking: “Now we’re gonna talk bodycounts and turn-ons, right?”

“Only if you want to, darling.” His voice became soft, caring. He was your boy now.

“Then yeah. Well, let’s go through some history.” You poured some wine in both glasses and took a sip of yours. “Lost my virginity at 19. First serious boyfriend. He was a lot older than me. A lot. Like a loooot.”

“How old?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Like… twelve years...” You said, as if it were a question.

“He was… thirty-one?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah...” You exhaled.

“And why did it end?” he asked.

“We were together for two years. Then he wanted family. I wanted career. Seems fair.” You told briefly.

“He must have been important, then.” He assumed out loud.

“We’re actually still friends. He has a family. But he really made me what I am. Actually, he helped me grow up and past some traumas.” You admitted with a smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, again warm and comforting.

“The usual. Daddy issues.” You giggled.

He bit his lip anxiously. Now what?

“I was overly responsible from a young age. I wanted rules, restrictions. Attention from my parents. I was always wound up tight and with no one taking care of me.” You shrugged. “He helped me find an outlet and discover how my mind works. I realised sometimes I just need someone to take care of me when I'm too tired to do it myself.”

“I noticed the Lolita theme. I was going to ask you about that, honestly. Is that what you’re into?” He asked, tiptoeing around the huge black hole that was calling to him. Asking you to get into his lap and then praise and cuddle you until the little girl eventually came out to play.

“Are you asking me if I have a daddy kink or if I like owning multiple versions of the same book in different languages?” You asked, putting some humour in the heavy conversation you would be diving into shortly.

“Obviously the different versions.” He shrugged with a teasing smile.

“Yes.” You took another small sip. “To both of those.”

He felt like he needed to stretch his neck. “I’m glad this came up.”

“I’m pretty sure you have one yourself, don’t you?” You licked your lips before taking some more dessert.

He took a sip of his wine. “Yes. I think.”

“From one to ten, how far up?” You asked, eyes sparkling bright.

“I would say eight. Maybe nine.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re safe with me. I was hoping that by now you knew I wouldn’t ever judge you.” You murmured, a pout on your lip.

“A solid nine. But I won’t go higher up. There’s some kinky stuff out there that I’m seriously not into.”

“What’s that?”

“Stuff like pacifiers and drawings and plushies and playing tea party. That’s not me.”

“No, I’m not into infantilization either.” You agreed. “Honestly I’m more of a brat than a baby girl.” Now that the ball was rolling it was easier getting to the core of things, using terms and explaining kinks. The initial dive is always traumatic, but now you only had to swim. Metaphorically speaking.

“I could tell.” he smirked. “Too teasing and independent to keep your head low and say “yes, sir”, aren’t you?”

“You got me.” You lifted your eyes to him, batting your lashes a couple times. “And where’s the fun in that? The fun is in the chase. All the sweet talking and the manhandling that lead to surrender and conquest. I need to be won, earned, deserved. Of course I will bend, but I want you to show me how much you want me, how far you’re willing to go to get me. If it suits my taste, I will give in.”

He swallowed and took another spoonful of tiramisu. You were getting to his head faster than the wine. “So you’re a brat.” He stated, then licking his lip.

You nodded.

“What else are you into?” He asked, his stare dark and serious.

You subtly clenched your legs. “I like the fight. I like the sensationof my partner overpowering me. But I also like feeling loved and taken care of.”

“That’s right and natural, darling.” He supported you.

You felt your body caving in slowly, the desire in his eyes felt intoxicating and the sweet understanding and tenderness oozing from his mouth made you want to please him immensely. You were already yielding without him even touching you. “I like rules.”

“Oh, you do, sweetie?” He lured you in, inviting you to share more details.

“They make me feel like the other person is giving me boundaries to protect me.” You confessed.

“I like those too.” He diminished the power imbalance between the two of you, showing you his more delicate side. “I like giving them. And I like receiving them. I also feel like the other person is teaching me how to respect them. How to love them right. And is also indirectly protecting me from harm.”

“That’s right.” You agreed. “That’s exactly how I feel.” You smiled shyly.

“Do you like punishment, in any forms?” He asked, his voice so delicate it felt like a butterfly landing on the tip of your nose.

You blushed and exhaled. “I like spankings.” You bit your lips, hiding your face in your hands.

He caressed your hands tenderly. “I’d love to spank your perfect ass, Vixen.”

You giggled at the nickname. He’d used it at the end of your fourth date, when your hand had started playing with his belt.

Mood lightened, you lifted your head, smiling brightly. “I like it barehanded. It’s my favourite. But I also like the paddle and the hairbrush.”

“Not afraid of bruises?” A shiver ran down his spine, even though his blood was boiling.

“Not really.” You took more dessert. He stared at the spoon as it disappeared in your mouth, your lips latching and sucking at the silverware. His eyes then moved to your fingers as they held the spoon elegantly but energetically. “Actually the more the better. But tell me about you.”

He took in a deep breath before exhaling quickly. “I like bruising. Of different sorts. As I said, I’d love to cover your behind in those, if you’ll ever allow me to, that is.” He put down the spoon after he realised he was gesticulating with it. Dangerous. He was getting dumber. “This might sound very horny teenager but I like hickeys. Loads of them. Like marking. I really like marking.”

Your attention sparked up. He could claim you like that whenever he wanted to.

“And other stuff like biting. Licking. A lot of mouth activity in general.” He admitted, toying with his hands and shifting in his seat.

You couldn’t contain a small squeal and a giggle. “Oral fixation. Sounds nice. I have that too. Official member of the oral squad.” You grinned as you saw the gleam in his eyes. You took a small pause analysing your next move. “However, I can assume from your size that you’re a lot.” You gestured to his shoulders and height.

He only opened his mouth, raising his eyebrows and averting his gaze.

“And my gag reflex sucks. So I can only guarantee you I’ll try. Enthusiastically. Over and over.”

He felt like evaporating. “The only thing that counts is that you’re okay with receiving.” He waited for your answer expectantly, eyebrows raised, heartbeat galloping.

“Yes. Anytime.” You deadpanned. Eyes already closing at the thought of his mouth between your legs. “But don’t expect me to be shy about it. I will ask for it. Repeatedly. Until I’m a blabbering mess.”

He could make you a blabbering mess right in that second. He took a deep breath. Don’t start thinking of that.

“Come on, say it.” You flirted.

He laughed his big old grandpa laugh. “Say what?” He looked at you, happy and excited.

“Come on, you’ve admitted it to national tv but won’t talk to me about it.”

“Oh, you mean porn.” He blushed to the tip of his ears. “Fuck. I’m so fucking dumb.”

“Just clumsy. It’s lovely.” You complimented. “It’s a nice contrast to the hot daddy look you have eighty percent of the time. But don’t get distracted. Talk to me about your voyeurism kink.” You spurred him on. You needed to unlock that part of him. Craved it.

“Okay, fine. but we’re getting back to the hot daddy part later.”

“I’ll make sure of that.” You quipped. God, the chemistry was getting insane.

"Honestly, back then I used to watch it a lot more. Now I'm sort of… Lazier. It's so difficult finding what I like, and actually liking it the way it is carried out."

"Like, you're not sure you like how they're doing it." You suggested.

He clicked his tongue in agreement. "Yes. And it just lacks that… Spark. The intimacy, you know."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I one night stands aren’t it for me. I need to build that trust.” You admitted.

"I feel the same. And I get it, sex is amazing and everything, but only when you do it right. Like — with the right person. Someone that understands you and someone you're free enough to do it with. Someone you know, mentally and emotionally."

"Sex that comes from knowing and understanding is so much more intense." You said with a dreamy tone.

He looked at your face, longing blatant on your lineaments. He wished he could give you that. He wished he could take it from you. "That's the right word. Intense. You know, like the way lovers look at each other, like ‘yeah, I know your tits look great but you know what looks even greater? The way your chest flushes when you're close and your eyelids flutter and you subconsciously wet your lip with that little, oh-so-familiar flick of tongue’."

You felt your body soften at the words, secretly answering to his description. "You just explained intimacy." You agreed, nodding along and picking up a spoonful of dessert.

"That's why I watch a lot more amateur stuff these days. I would never have the audacity to film anything — too risky for my taste — but I like watching, at least."

"And how do you feel about watching… Live?" You asked, curious but also guarded.

"You mean watching my partner as she touches herself?" He asked, eyes blown wide.

"Yes." You said, shrugging.

He licked his lips and gulped, though his mouth was awfully dry. Wine. That's what he needed.

As he downed a large sip, you waited for his answer expectantly, almost ready to change topic when he started talking.

"Yeah." His voice was deeper now and an obscure part of you stood to attention, your hearing enhanced to capture any order he was ready to give you. None came. "I would love to. I love looking at a confident woman showing off her lingerie — and don’t think I forgot about your little collection.” He licked his lips and parted his legs, trying to ease his discomfort. “Sadly, I think that the vision would be an exercise in restraint, since I have zero patience and I can't stand being provoked. But I would watch, were she to touch herself with bare hands or with… Toys."

Lord, save me. You thought, your legs squeezing tighter.

This time it seemed Namjoon had noticed, although he did not show any reaction except for a cocky smirk, which he hid readily.

"If it's such an exercise in patience maybe some restraints could help you rein yourself in." You suggested.

"Being tied up by you as I watch you take off your lovely, expensive lingerie set and then watch you touch yourself? Is that what you're asking me?"

"A girl can dream." You teased with a cheshire grin.

"Good thing dreams do sometimes come true." He suggested, an eyebrow raised, mouth quirked to the side, panty-dropping dimple in tow.

You smiled and moved half an inch closer to him.

"You said once you did it a lot more. How much then and how much now?

"Well, back then I did it at least once a day or every two days. Now it's three times a week, roughly." He looked just slightly ashamed, but not really. You couldn't quite decypher his mind in that second. "May I ask about your… Needs."

Your brow creased, fingers entangling. "If I watch stuff? Or how often?"

He looked stuck somewhere in his brain and you tried helping him out. "Yeah."

Both, then. "Not films. Usually it's just pictures or short clips. When I'm especially needy I might listen to audios—”

"Of people having sex?"

You nodded. "Yeah, or just having some alone fun-time. "

God, he wanted one of those. Of you. "That sounds interesting."

"Sounds interesting in more ways than one, indeed." You offered back with an innuendo.

Your silver tongue and quick brains would be the end of him. "Talking with you is like a dangerous tango. Like that scene from Mr and Mrs Jones."

You laughed. "I'll have to catch up on that one."

"We could watch it together, next time." He suggested.

"I'd love to." You were sure that watching the film would probably be the last thing you’ll do. If you did it at all… "About frequency…" You took a pause, trying to verbalise decently what you felt wasn't decent at all. "I must say I'm quite high maintenance."

He poked your side, leaning across the sofa, but staying respectfully two feet away from you. He wanted to see if you would come closer. "Don't be shy. You made me grade my daddiness, now grade how needy you are from one to ten."

"Nine?" You were getting panicked. "Ten?"

"How often, baby?" His voice was so deep and husky it made your stomach shake with the reverberations of it.

"Like normally at least once a day?" You confessed in a shrill, insecure voice.

He nodded with a dark smirk. "Very needy indeed." He turned towards you slightly, his body language showing openness and inviting you to cuddle up next to him.

He wanted to touch you. Platonically. He wanted to comfort you throughout this conversation as you opened up and showed your vulnerabilities to him, but he also wanted to respect the distance you were keeping. Little did he know it was just a facade. All you wanted was to feel his hands combing your hair, his solid chest pillowing your head, his lips whispering sweet nothings at your ear.

"So you said you like rules, spankings, power struggles and discipline, anything oral, toys and mature content. Anything else you need me to know, little vixen?" He asked, and the addition of "little" to your nickname made you understand that you were completely out of your mind for this man. You were ready for anything he commanded you.

"I like restraints." You admitted. "I tend to fight back a little unless my daddy sweet talks me into things. Sometimes I like feeling a bit helpless, like my daddy can manhandle me and maneuver me into positions. That's why I like harnesses and cuffs, especially thigh cuffs. Also spreader bars. And manacles. I don't like handcuffs, they hurt and leave marks which are a bit difficult to hide, and embarrassing to explain."

Namjoon's mouth watered at the thought of thigh cuffs. Of the way your flesh would swell there, of how much skin there would be to bite. However, he also realised he had a lot to learn about you. And he needed to learn new things to play with you.

"I am absolutely okay with that. I must admit I have never explored this deeply into restraints, so I need to tell you I'm inexperienced with stuff like spreader bars and bondage. I know basic knots for wrists, but that's it. I don't usually have much patience for shibari and the likes. The furthest I've gone is handcuffs and using ribbons or belts, on wrists only." He explained.

"That's okay. Bondage is something too tricky for me too. Lengthy." You admitted. "Do you have any special need I should know of?"

"Not really. Except privacy and absolute monogamy." He states coldly. "I like experimenting, and you mentioned a spreader bar earlier. I'd love to try that. Both on you and on myself. Same thing about manacles. They seem less aggressive than handcuffs."

You nodded and explained further. "The pressure is distributed on a wider surface, which minimises the risk of injuries and markings. Especially on rebellious… individuals." You chose your word carefully.

Namjoon bit his lip and hummed in understanding. By now the discourse was getting highly technical, the need to verify and negotiate interests and limits coming to the surface. "We're both voyeurs, but I'll ask anyway, what about blindfolds?"

"Soft limit. Really depends on how you handle it. I need constant reassurance and guidance, it really destabilizes me."

"Understood. I might be into those when paired with sensation play, but we'll get into that when the time is right." He conceded tenderly. "Just one last thing, baby. I need to know your hard limits. Stuff you really don't want to do."

"Degradation and humiliation are a big no no. My second — and most recent — relationship was with a degrading bastard. He hurt me in ways I'm not comfortable remembering."

"Okay, love." He looked you in the eyes and waited a second for your approval before caressing your face in comfort.

"Stuff like hardcore BDSM, water sports, triple penetration and most anal play. And asphyxiation or choking."

Namjoon nodded quickly. "Anything else?"

"Okay, orgasm denial and chastity devices are an absolute no. That should be it, about hard limits. There are a few things that make me safeword but that I can stand to a certain point, like edging, blindfolds, and touch deprivation."

Namjoon nodded once more, waiting for you to finish."Okay. I think that the only stuff I might meddle with is blindfolds and edging. I have no interest in controlling your orgasms — our aim is to please." He winked and smirked at you, your knees growing weaker and weaker. "Also, believe me when I say I tend to assume a very nourishing and protective role, therefore it would go against my nature to humiliate you or degrade you. I don't intend to attack your emotional stability, so if you're interested, we can tackle the problem with blindfolds a bit at a time. Same with edging, we'll take baby steps if you decide you trust me and want to give me the honour of trying." His brow creased as he tried to remember the other thing he wanted to say. "Oh, about touch deprivation, I always need my little one close to me, so you should never feel touch starved." He took a meditative pause." And I intend to touch you a lot, baby."

You shivered and leaned closer to him, attracted to the comfortable nook he was creating while leaning on his side against the back cushions of your sofa. It looked so warm. And safe.

He noticed your wandering glance and quickened the pace. He had ideas. And he needed you closer.

"My hard limits are including other people in our intimate life. I don't share like that." He warned perentoriously. "Also, you know my clumsiness. If there's any chance that it could damage you, then there's no going that way. I'm thinking of stuff like knife play and kinks that involve obviously dangerous material. Like violet wands. Anything involving hardcore BDSM, suspension play, infantilization and dubious consent is a non-negotiable hard limit. Are you still with me, baby?"

You nodded, making eye contact.

"Good. I might be interested in some anal play. No penetration and no strap-ons. Maybe rimming. Both giving and receiving. But we'll see. Same for sensation play." He scratched his neck, trying to think of things he doesn't like doing. "I don't like being edged and I have poor control of myself, so orgasm control and denial are kind of softish limits." And then you noticed the shift, like his spine getting straighter, his shoulders rolling back in the process, looking broader, still his voice came out sweet and caring. "Listen carefully now, little vixen. I have little tolerance for disobedience and insubordination. If you have a temper or challenge my dominance, you will have to face consequences. Also, I like claiming my partner entirely. What is mine is mine. I don’t like sharing. Infidelity is a deal breaker. Understood, ____?"

"Yes, sir." You replied, automatically, without even intending too. You did’t feel ready for that title. And sir felt neutral enough.

"Such nice manners." He praised with a proud smile. "Now, would you like to come closer, baby?"

You batted your eyes a couple times. You were sliding into subspace quickly and you found yourself questioning whether it was a good idea to get closer. Still, your body was faster than your brain, making you nod and crawl next to him, settling inside his embrace. "Can I sit on your lap, Joonie?"

He blushed, smiling kindly at you. He was beginning to melt at your complicated charms. "Of course, babe." He sat elegantly with his back leaning against the sofa, legs slightly parted so you could place yourself between them, your thighs across his and your side pressed to his front as his arms slowly wrapped around you, ready to retreat at your first show of discomfort. "Does it feel nice, darling?"

"Yes." You whispered. You were so close to him, his body warm while the late summer night felt chilly on your skin.

He cupped your cheek with his hand and pulled your head to his breastbone, building a calm cocoon for you. "You mentioned I look like a hot daddy before. Care to elaborate, little one?"

You purred at his term of endearment, cuddling into him some more. "You look so hot with your glasses on. Sometimes I close my eyes and still see you in your outfit for Gayo Daechukje in 2019. Grey three piece suit, necktie and glasses. Everyone was fantasising about you as their hot kinky professor in classroom roleplay."

He had some troubles reminiscing the details, but he saved in his mind some keywords. Glasses, suit, necktie, kinky professor roleplay. With your face burrowed in his chest, he propped his chin on top of you hair, his spare hand soothing your skin from your waist to your knee, raising goosebumps in its wake.

"Did that outfit cause discomfort, baby thing?" He questioned, hands caressing your hair gently.

"It did fuel some steamy dreams, yes." You conceded.

"And did you wake up all hot and bothered for me?' He kept teasing.

"Mh mh." You confirmed, head nodding slowly and timidly.

His chest shook in a breathy laugh. "Poor little girl, so desperate for the hot professor."

He sounded so cruel, basking in your needy struggles. "I'm so lucky I'm a smart girl who can take care of herself." You counterattacked.

"Smart indeed. But now that I know maybe I can take care of it for you." He pressed a kiss to your head. It was the first time he did a gesture so tender and so intimate.

"What else gets my little girl all ticklish and lightheaded?" He asked, curling tighter against you and around you.

"When you call me little." You admitted.

"Do you like it, ____?“

“Yes, Joonie. I like it a lot." You replied meeting his gaze.

He leaned down and pressed the tip of his nose to your earlobe, a spot he had discovered during your first make out session. "What if I whispered it here, little vixen?"

Your eyes closed, lost in sensations, your insides clenching so violently that your body followed the movement, knees pressing against each other, thighs squeezing for relief.

"I guess you really like this spot, am I right, little girl?" He pushed you closer and you started recognising the shape of him against your hip. The basketball shorts he was wearing did no good job at hiding him.

"Please Joonie."

"Please what, darling?" He pressed his lips there, kissing you with a featherlight touch, impossible to perceive, were not for the sound of his disclosing lips. The tip of his tongue met the skin there, your back arching into him. "When I first saw you you looked like a wet dream, _____, in your smart formal attire, looking like the most confident, adult, unbreakable woman in the world. Legs for days and an ass I wanna bite like a ripe, juicy peach. You looked polished like a model, negotiating over the price of a painting in a private gallery. You looked so damn hot." He bit into your neck, moving your hair aside. "You looked like the most refined and expensive thing I have ever seen. Polished, edgy. So sexy." He bit into you again.

This time you whimpered.

"I thought I stood no chance, with my clumsy character and boyish ways." He giggled, and his voice vibrated against your throat. "Now you're in my arms, all cosy and needy, begging me to please you with your big doll eyes and pretty, plush lips, behaving like the cutest, sweetest little girl I could ever dream of." He sucked at the column of your throat gently, hard enough to cause a blush but soft enough to avoid a bruise. He leaned closer to your ear. "You're my fucking wet dream, Vixen."

You whined loudly, turning your head towards him, hoping he would put you out of misery and kiss you.

Instead he grabbed your cheeks passionately and murmured on your mouth, staring intently in your eyes. "All mine. To enjoy, to ruin. But most importantly to protect and nourish and care for." He kissed you like you were made of porcelain, lips stiff against yours, afraid of letting go. "What do you want, little girl?"

You stared with equal intensity in his eyes. "Kiss me. Please, daddy, I'll be so good to you." You had no problem using his title this time, your brain completely surrendering to him.

"Good girl." And as you felt your lungs bloom at the praise, wetness pooling between your legs, you slowly gave in to him, opening your mouth, letting his tongue dance with yours, mixing with the fruity taste of the wine and the creamy texture of the dessert. His hand stayed at your waist while the other, once gripping your face, slithered into your hair and cupped your nape, dragging you closer. You didn't know what to do with your hands.

He kept kissing you as your lungs began burning, his technique impeccable. He kissed you thoroughly, licking your tongue and angling your head to give you access to his mouth. He fuelled your desire with short jabs of his chin, giving you the feeling of him caving in but then retreating and making you chase him. It was… Heady.

"We need to stop, little one. We need to take our time." He exhaled heavily, his cheek against your forehead as he calmed down. "Why don't we cuddle as we watch something?" He suggested.

"No more making out?" You cried out in tiny disappointment.

"You told me not to get ideas. First I'll learn about you. Properly. Then, when my brain gives me the green light, I guarantee you my body won't hold back. Just, give me time, ____.” He explained, controlled and at the same time empathetic.

You nodded in understanding, caressing his face and pressing a kiss to his chest. "I wanna kiss you again though."

"Don't worry, baby, we'll have the chance later. Let me calm myself down first." He replied, adjusting you in his lap, trying to separate you enough for decency.

You were glad that at least the dampness between your thighs was matched by the severity of his hard on.

"What do you say, I go to the bathroom, recompose myself real quick while you choose something to watch?"

You agreed.

Date five finished with a sweet kiss at the doorstep as he left after the film you watched together.

However the following morning you found a lengthy paragraph in your chat with Namjoon containing a detailed description of his intentions towards you. Let's just say you were glad for the girthy, buzzing friend you keep in your bedside table and for its assistence as you read his text and crumbled, calling his name.

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