#god. something something they made you into a tool and you learned to relish being wanted

[fellhellion]

Sorry, am just feeling insane over the fact that pre-Spiderman Miguel hates his boss because this guy’s made it known the power he held over Miguel from the moment they met, has literally no love lost for Alchemax or the people in it but still speaks post transformation about having struggled w this desire to be important to the “right” people. Like ah fuck my guy you got groomed 😔

[cherry-froggie]

the forgotten puppet — part 2

pairing — scaramouche/wanderer x gn!reader

notes — spoilers for the scara's story and part of sumeru's archon quest!! this will have multiple parts! not proofread btw, but i think it'll be ok !!

summary — upon discovering Scaramouche's true nature as a puppet, Il Dottore and Sandrone collaborated to create their own puppet weapon, one capable of rivaling the power of a god. and so, you were born. however, you have not lived up to their expectations. despite this, Scaramouche remains by your side, as he is familiar with the feeling of being discarded. until one day, he leaves and does not return, leaving you to wonder what occurred.

words — 2,2k

LAST CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || REQUESTS || NEXT CHAPTER

As you walked through the sterile, metallic chamber where you were first brought to life, a whirlwind of memories rushed back to you, memories that you had kept locked away in the labyrinth of your mind for so long. The machinery's deafening hum, the Harbingers' stone-cold faces looming over you like statues, the confusion, and disorientation, it all came rushing back like a tempestuous storm.

When you were first presented to the Harbingers, you were introduced as a puppet with the power to counter the strength of a god, one that could harness the power of science, visions, and delusions with ease. But the Harbingers looked upon you with suspicion and doubt, as if you were nothing more than a worthless plaything. Scaramouche was particularly disdainful of Dottore and Sandrone to create something like you. His expression twisted from disgust to anger when he learned that he would be the one in charge of training and improving you. The scientists saw it as logical, a puppet training another puppet, but Scaramouche saw you as nothing more than a thorn in his side.

Despite everything, over the course of several months, Scaramouche's attitude towards you began to change significantly after you started spending more time together and you defeated the lower-ranked Harbingers, including one of your original creators, Sandrone. She was glowing with pride for her creation, but Scaramouche found it amusing that the Fatui were being easily defeated by a new toy. The expressions on their faces, particularly Signora's, were a window into their souls. He laughed boisterously, relishing in her humiliation like a gloating victor. Unlike Signora, Childe took his defeat as an opportunity to improve himself in combat, which he did frequently when not visiting other nations of Teyvat.

However, things took a turn for the worse when it was your turn to face Scaramouche in battle. Despite weeks of training and effort, you were unable to defeat him. This solely made him feel superior at first, but gradually, it seemed like he regretted that you couldn't defeat him. You couldn't understand why he would react in such a way, until one day, during a discussion regarding your improvement in strength and combat, Scaramouche blurted out, frustrated by your lack of motivation: "You want to take me down, don't you? Well, don't expect any favors from me. I'll still be giving it my all, and I expect the same from you. And don't think for a second that Dottore and Sandrone will hold back just because they're the ones that created you. They'll discard you like a used-up tool if you're not helpful to them. So you better be ready for a fight."

It was then that the cold, hard truth hit you like a bolt from the blue: you could easily be replaced or discarded if you didn't meet their expectations. And clearly, you weren't meeting them. They were giving you one last chance to prove yourself, and the weight of that realization felt like an anchor dragging you down. Your chest felt like it was being cleaved by a sword, and you felt a searing pain like nothing you had ever felt before. And then, to your surprise, you found yourself shedding tears for the first time, overwhelmed with fear and horror at the thought of death and what would happen to you. The puppet next to you looked at you with regret engraved across his face as if he was a reflection of your own emotion. He knew exactly the shock and terror that he had created inside of you, as he had gone through it himself.

He stayed by your side for the rest of the day, until he was sure you had calmed down and the troubling thought was banished from your mind. Eventually, he even apologized for his harsh words, it took him a few days to summon the courage to say it, but he did, and he was sincere. He confided in you about his past, how he had been discarded once before, and didn't want you to suffer the same fate.

His words were like a ray of hope piercing through the darkness of your fear and uncertainty. He became your guide and mentor, leading you through the treacherous waters of the Harbingers' expectations, helping you to hone your skills and powers like a blacksmith shaping a sword.

But despite your progress, the pressure to succeed and prove yourself to the Harbingers never relented, it was like a noose around your neck, ever-tightening. The thought of being discarded and replaced was always looming in the back of your mind like an ominous cloud. You knew that you could never let your guard down, you had to always strive to be better, to be the perfect puppet.

As the hours passed by, he stood vigilant by your side, a steadfast companion, until the storm of uncertainty and fear in your mind had dissipated. He offered a sincere apology after mustering the courage to face his own remorse, and it was evident he was speaking with heart. He opened up about his past, relaying the experience of being discarded, and his wish for you not to suffer the same fate.

The revelation took you aback, however, he refused your pity. The looming fear of obsolescence and rejection remained a constant shadow, hanging over you, always present in your mind. You couldn't shake off the thought that this was the turning point, the moment your creators would discard you as well. But no, these changes were to transform you into something new, something more.

You were forced back to reality when you found yourself restrained to what looked like a surgical table with strings binding you in place. The last thing you heard before you were shut down was The Marionette's voice, "This might take a while, but time will fly by for you." and you were plunged into the never-ending darkness, cut off from the world, isolated in a cocoon of silence.

As Scaramouche regained consciousness, he found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. The sun was shining brightly, streaming through the windows and illuminating the room with its warm glow. He was surrounded by new walls and unique furniture, but he could not remember how he had gotten there. Still, the presence by his side was familiar, it was the small Dendro Archon, sitting on a chair, her small legs gracefully swinging forward and back. The creature's gaze upon him felt like an eternity, as if she had been scrutinizing his every move for an unknown amount of time. He couldn't shake off the feeling of vulnerability that washed over him and instinctually tried to back away, hitting the wall behind him as he adopted a defensive stance, ready to defend himself from any potential threat.

The small being's presence was like a silent judge, observing his every move, every flinch, every reaction, and Scaramouche felt exposed like his weaknesses and fears were laid bare.

The Archon smiled warmly at him, raising her hands in a peaceful gesture. "Relax, I'm not going to fight you," she reassured him, but he remained wary and on guard.

Despite her peaceful gestures, Scaramouche's mind was a labyrinth of doubts and fears, like a maze with no exit. He felt like he was standing on a cliff's edge, one wrong step and he would fall into the abyss. He knew he was much weaker than before, that there was no one to come to his aid in this strange place, and that he was facing an opponent far more capable than him.

The Archon noticed his fear and took a few steps back, trying to create some distance between them to make him feel more comfortable. "Do you remember anything before you collapsed? Do you know where you are?" she asked with curiosity and a hint of worry in her voice.

Scaramouche shook his head, denying that he knew where he was, but as the memories of the past came flooding back, Scaramouche felt like a ship adrift on a stormy sea, tossed and turned by the waves, with no direction and no port in sight. He couldn't shake off the feeling of betrayal like Dottore had thrown him away like a used toy, and he couldn't help but wonder what fate awaited him. After the failed experimentation, Dottore had fled like a coward, back to the safety of his homeland and the organization he was once part of, leaving Scaramouche to face the wrath of Buer alone. The thought of Dottore returning to the Tsarista, to the safety and comfort of home, was like a knife twist in his heart that cut through him. The thought of Dottore returning to you, to throw you out into the vast cold and cruel scenery of Snezhnaya, was like a punch to the gut.

He couldn't bear the thought of you going through the same fate as him. He felt a sense of responsibility and guilt, but he did not know what to do.

With the sound of closing footsteps, Nahida woke Scaramouche back to reality. "Let's make a contract, shall we? I do not desire to turn you a foe, it appears you've already had enough backstabbings, and I'm certain you're knowledgeable about the fact that your power has mostly dissipated by now." She gifted him with the smile a mother would give their child, one that would let them understand that everything was going to be okay. "There is some information I need to uncover inside Irminsul, and I would appreciate it if you could help me. I will offer you my protection while in Sumeru, so you need not worry about the other Harbingers."

He did not react, remaining as quiet as one can be. His gaze kept growing ever more perplexed and interested with each moment that passed, every second that ticked on the clock on top of the bedside table resounded through his mind as if there were nothing he could focus on and get direct answers to.

"It seems I may have come a bit too soon. I will leave you alone with your thoughts for a while, please be sure to tell me when you're ready," she stated, before stepping out of the chamber and quietly shutting the aged wooden entrance.

How could he have left you? Especially after vowing that you would flee from that dark and hellish dungeon that could break you in the blink of an eye and leave you defenseless. He was familiar with that sensation of loneliness so well, one that had engulfed and altered him into what he is today. He had more than 500 years to get accustomed to it and to understand how to confront it in his way, but you had not even caught sight of most of the magnificence of the outside, the warm sunshine, the lush towering trees, the colorful blossoms or the unquestioning love of a creator. How dare they even consider doing such a thing to a being so youthful? One that resembled him so much? Were you nothing more than their toy? That idea wouldn't even shock him, someone as heartless as The Doctor and as cold as The Marionnette certainly would never comprehend the feeling of being thrown around battle after battle, only to be told you could be flawless if you were different.

As nightfall approached, the puppet settled to admire the sight of Sumeru City being elucidated with the soft glow of the moon on top of the room he was in. He saw as the children still played together after such long hours and their parents would come to pick them up, so innocent, with their minds never reaching the thought that things could ever change, when the fact is that change is the only constant in life. For better or worst, nature refused to keep itself still, yet that plays a bigger part in its beauty.

"You look troubled." He quickly turned his head to see who it was that had dared to disturb him, and there was no surprise when he saw the small female standing behind him, inviting herself to take a seat by his side. "What is it that is troubling you?"

He let out a weak chuckle, glancing down at the intricate tiles that formed the magnificent work of the roof, "Can one not just relish the Sumeru's sky?"

"Of course, you can." She shifted her gaze from the moon to him. "So, have you considered my deal?"

"Yes," Irminsul. A tree that is said to be bonded to the Ley Lines of Teyvat and directly to the Dendro Archon's consciousness. It holds knowledge that it recorded for thousands of years, a bottomless sea of endless wisdom, one where anyone brave enough to enter could effortlessly get lost. It was the most promising method for him to learn what had happened to you without having to go through the danger of going through snow and ice. If the only constant of life was change, then he would be the one to alter the fate Sandrone and Dottore had prepared for you. "I will help you with the information you need. But I'd like to request something in return."

LAST CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || REQUESTS || NEXT CHAPTER

part 3 will be coming soon! it will also probably be the last chapter, so i hope it is up to everyone's expectations!!

tysm for reading and pushing me to write more!! i love you all!!

this is definitely not proofread, but i'm really tired, so I'll try my best to read it and correct anything tomorrow!!

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 07 part two

(Masterpost)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Lantern Lighting

Now we have the famous lantern scene, where everybody gets to express their character and have dates, ranging from disastrous to delightful, with the objects of their affection. 

Wei Wuxian continues to be ridiculously good at drawing. 

We’ve all seen Lan Wangji’s lovely first smile in the show a million times, so...let’s look at it again!

This scene is important not just because of the smile, but because there’s a distinct shift in the way they talk about their growing relationship. In the pond, it was “come visit me” and “never!” “I want to be your friend” “No need.” Basically Lan Wangji firmly saying no to Wei Wuxian’s offers of friendship.

This time, Wei Wuxian says “let’s do this together” and Lan Wangji says “I’m used to being alone,” which is not actually a No, just an explanation. And WWX says, you can change that. And then Lan Wangji DOES change it, sharing the lantern and the promise with Wei Wuxian.

Whoever painted this flower is even better than Wei Wuxian at plein air painting. 

(more after the cut!)

Everybody’s wishes

Nie Huasang makes a practical wish. Wen Qing prays for her brother and Jiang Cheng notices how she’s like Yanli. Jiang Cheng isn’t very intense about Wen Qing, which could be a sign of his shyness but could also be a sign of his gayness or aceness. After all, later in life he’s an apparently wealthy clan leader who is hot as fuck, and needs an heir, since his nephew is a Jin. But he’s still not married, 16 years after breaking up with and uh, helping to kill and cremate, the girl he liked in summer school.

The Promise We Made Together

Wei Wuxian makes an ultra-idealistic wish/promise while Lan Wangji watches and falls the rest of the way in love with him, and silently makes the same pledge inside his head. Later they will each refer to this as a promise they made together, which is a really super high level of face-reading by Wei Wuxian, to understand that he really is speaking for both of them here.  While making this promise, Lan Wangji brings out his Yin Iron Magic Bag and waves it around in front of everyone, but nobody notices. 

Let’s take a moment to consider *why* this moment is so powerful for Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji is a boy whose emotions are always on the boil. He’s 100% upset all the time, at this age, and he keeps it clamped down all the time. His cultivation level is probably as high as it is partly because of all the work he does in emotion regulation. (note: if you haven’t read all the meta at @howpeacefulislwj​ , go read it; it’s awesome and hilarious)

Wei Wuxian doesn’t GAF about emotion regulation; he just expresses what he feels, all the damn time. 

He is openly bored, lusty, playful, hungry, whiny. He straight up tells Lan Wangji “you’re boring and you have a stick up your ass” as part of saying he wants to be friends; no deference and also no falseness.  

And he can see right through Lan Wangji’s reserve, barging into his loneliness and isolation without any regard for all of his wards. Wards are made to be broken.

(Unrelated note: Young Lan Wangji's rare moments of contentment seem to come from looking at something beautiful--the moon, falling petals, these lanterns, his mirror.)

But Wei Wuxian is also good. Lan Wangji desperately wants to be good. And here’s Wei Wuxian embodying this awful, amazing, tempting alternative path, in which all the interesting things in life get explored thoroughly, all the sweetness and beauty gets consumed unreservedly, all the pain and ugliness gets confronted and endured without hesitation. 

In this moment, Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji “you can change,” and then offers up this prayer/promise that is just pure chivarly, speaking straight to Lan Wangji’s heart. Very simply, I want to spend my life doing right. Not 3500 rules; just one.

This infuriating boy, who breaks rules and who flirts indiscriminately and who pushes and pushes and pushes, reveals himself in this moment to be a hero at the beginning of his journey, and Lan Wangji sees it, and his heart goes right over the cliff.

The Girls’ Room

The girl cultivators all rush over to Yanli to get in her business about her betrothal, inspiring Jin Zixuan to act like a jerk to her and get even further onto Wei Wuxian’s bad side. 

Talk Shit, Get Hit

Yanli’s wish was that Wei Wuxian would grow up and be good. He promptly launches his own personal Sunshot campaign, punching her fiancee so hard that the sun falls out of the sky and the previously well-lit scene transitions to full night.

So, in English, “don’t mention it again” is really mild, akin to “I don’t want to talk about it.” Wei Wuxian’s reaction makes it seem like Jin Zixuan said something really shitty, like “don’t you dare mention that woman to me!” So I’m assuming something is being lost in translation. 

Lan Wangji tries to calm him down. He grabs Wei Wuxian’s sexy arm muscle and basically holds it until the Jiangs exit the scene. 

Nie Huaisang has placed himself between the opposing factions, which is unusually direct of him. In the future he’ll stick to being an unindicted co-conspirator when Wei Wuxian starts trouble. 

Ants in my Pants

Lan Wangji thinks kneeling can make Wei Wuxian cry, which is adorable of him. 

He really relishes this opportunity to be a pedantic tool to his new boyfriend that annoying boy he hardly ever touches, and it really doesn’t work out for him, poor lamb.

Jiang Fengmian stops by to show exactly how deep his affection for Wei Wuxian runs, and to give him whiplash from constantly changing parental expectations. In a couple of hours he’ll be laughing over WWX & JC’s hijinks.

Wei Wuxian takes this opportunity to fantasize about bad things happening to the other boy in the fight, which is in no way foreshadowing of anything.

Douche Dads Conference

We now convene this meeting of the douchebag council. Jiang Cheng is also invited even though he’s a prick, not a douche. <--important distinction

This is our first time meeting Clan Leader Jin Guangshan. He's actually the most sensible and best parent in this scene, but his smug self-satisfaction hints at his true nature. This actor, Shen Xiaohai, has been active in cdramas for a long while now. I wonder what he looked like 15 years ago?

...Holy mother of god.

Jiang Fengmian is the worst dad and the worst husband here. His clan believes in letting children do what they want - uhh YOUR child wants to marry Jin Zixuan. “I wrote a letter to her mother, who arranged this marriage.” Uhhh she arranged for her sickly, low-cultivation-level, sweet and vulnerable child to marry the heir of a rich and powerful clan, with a powerful mother-in-law who’s looking forward to loving and protecting her. Basically she’s guaranteed her daughter’s safety and comfort, and even potential happiness, since her husband may learn to appreciate her (and in fact, does, thanks to soup and repeated beatings from WWX).

Mom worked hard and probably spent a fair amount of social capital to achieve this. And you’re going to toss that aside because the boy thinks he’s too good for her? What the everloving fuck, how are you a clan leader in the first place? 

You can see that Jiang Cheng understands all of this and what a terrible choice his father is making here. 

So do the other adults in the room.

Jin Guangshen: our wives are going to kill us

Lan Qiren: I'm looking at a couple of dead men

Jiang Fengmian pointedly won’t listen to Jiang Cheng or let him speak, showing that all his talk about being free is actually bullshit, that only applies to other people’s children.

Jiang Chang vaults off of the deck to tell Wei Wuxian about it. Hottt

Sorry Sis

Wei Wuxian goes to Jiang Yanli to sorta-apologize and sorta ask to be let off the hook for fucking up her engagement, which he absolutely did. He knows it, which is presumably why he bows to her in paperman form while hiding outside.

At no time has Jiang Yanli indicated to anyone that she doesn’t want to marry Jin Zixuan, as far as I can see, or said she wanted to be defended from insults with punching. Look how good SHE is at defending a person from insults, for comparison.

Yin Iron Blah Blah Blah

The senior Lans meet with Jiang Fengmian  to talk about the Yawn Yin Iron. Yawn. 

Jiang Fengmian addresses Lan Xichen as Lan Gongzi, which is adorable, since he is a big boy to everyone else. His family calls him Xichen and other people call him Zewu-Jun.

Farewell and Fuck You

The three Jiang kids come to say goodbye.

Lan Quiren says goodbye with a heap of criticism for Wei Wuxian and the horse he rode in on, and Jiang Fengmian basically says, yep, that’s what he’s like, all right.  

Good thing Wei Ying gets so much verbal abuse at home he doesn’t take it very hard when he finds it in the field. 

Wangji doesn’t say goodbye properly, which will be a recurring theme for the two of them.

I don’t know if this is because he has a problem with goodbyes, or is just being a jerk, or because he’s so bad at lying he doesn’t dare talk to Wei Wuxian lest he reveal his travel plans. 

Indulgent Dad Continues to be the Worst

Jiang Cheng complains at Wei Wuxian for wanting to say goodbye to Lan Wangji, and WWX says he likes him because he is equal to WWX in fighting, whereas JC sucks. JC hits him tries to hit him--gosh, he DOES suck, comparatively. 

Yanli, who has been keeping these boys in line all summer, sighs deeply at her Dad’s tolerance for their hijinks. OP has five brothers and this sibling-hijinks behavior is 100% accurate, except for the part where it is happening at someone else’s house in front of the hosts. 

WWX pretending to be Lan Qiren where Lan Wangji can see him doing it, in front of Lan Qiren’s colleague and supposed friend, and just earning a laugh from the patriarch? Good lord.  Dad Jiang tolerating this is shocking, particularly in the in-show culture where corporal punishment is as common as tea. 

We’ve tried Nothing, and we’re all out of ideas!

Uggghh why are you like this?

Here in the real world, OP uses “positive discipline” with her child, and encourages other parents to consider it, particularly if your child is neuroatypical or asynchronous.  That said, JF should be punishing the crap out of both boys for this behavior every time it happens, or should quit being a clan leader.  He’s relying on Jiang Yanli to keep them in line while he gets to just be amused by them. And he’s letting Lan Qiren discipline Wei Wuxian instead of doing it himself. He suuuuuuucks. 

Lan Wangji watches all of this. Lan Xichen reminds Lan Wangji that without Wei Wuxian, he’s completely fucking miserable. Lan Wangji still doesn’t plan to bring him along on his trip, though.

Time to return to our lives of crushing loneliness

Rabbits

At this same moment when Lan Wangji is staring down the barrel of future loneliness, Wei Wuxian is already deciding to leave the (forbidden) rabbits in Cloud Recesses “In case Lan Zhan gets lonely.”  This small decision by Wei Wuxian - breaking the rules of Cloud Recesses for the millionth time - is kinder than he knows. Because what is the job of these rabbits? Let’s have a desaturated flashback. 

Lan Zhan spent 3 years in the ice cave. The rabbits kept Lan Yi company in the ice cave. So...did the rabbits sneak in to keep Lan Wangji company in the ice cave as well? I’m going to say yes. By ep 43 they are following him to the gate of Cloud Recesses so they are very attached to him.  Well done, Wei Ying.

Where my bitches at? Seriously, our warren needs bitches

(Is Watership Down still a thing people read? If not, just go ahead and assume all of OP’s rabbit jokes are about Watership Down because OP ain’t going to stop making them)

While Wei Wuxian annoys the bunny he has a flashback to the scene that happened 4 minutes earlier. The Untamed editors assume the viewership has the attention span of a goldfish, and I personally appreciate that they understand me so well.

Wei Wuxian figures out that Lan Wangji is going on the road alone, and tells the bunny immediately. The bunny is very concerned.

Writing Prompt: What do next-generation cultivators Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi wish for at lantern-lighting time?

[lucifers-horror-harem]

Kinktober Day 31: Exhibitionism with The Collector

24,000 words give or take. That’s my final word count total on ALL of my kinktober pieces. And even though I didn’t get it all done in october and spilled into november and then december. But god I am so fucking proud that I finished this project and I thank everyone for being so supportive and lovely and following me along the way. I’m so glad you’ve been enjoying my stories and I hope you enjoy this one just as much as my others <3

The Collector/Asa Emory x Gender Neutral Reader

You knew the night wouldn’t end well for the man bound in the chair before you.

Guilt twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t your fault that he just couldn’t fucking listen to you, but you felt responsible just the same. One of The Collector’s newest acquisitions had found a way to escape and somehow made it to your unlocked room before he was killed by the numerous traps set outside. Your captor didn’t bother locking your door anymore. He knew you would never leave without his permission. But when the bloodied and bruised man burst through the door, frantically trying to get you to go with him, telling you it wasn’t safe here, he just wouldn’t let you stay put. Some sort of machismo facade he still had in him that felt he needed to put this stranger’s life before his own. His empathy would be his ultimate downfall.

You couldn’t help the pout on your face. You had told the man that forcing you to leave would get you into trouble, that it wouldn’t end well for him and that he should just leave, but he dragged you along with him. The amount of times he nearly got you killed by wandering dangerously close to traps set up along the hall was enough to scare you more than imagining what would happen when your master caught up with the two of you.

It didn’t take more than a very sudden and swift thwack to his head with a solid wooden bat as he turned the corner to knock him out. You jumped at the sound, knowing your captor was just around the corner. You fell to your knees where you stood, head down and hands folded neatly in your lap as he had taught you. Ignoring the groans coming from the man beside you, you focused your attention on the footfalls of your master rounding the corner, his movements precise and calculated. 

He stopped for only a brief moment in front of you, his hand stroking the top of your head and giving you shivers down your spine. But you didn't move, and he didn't expect you to. With ease and a low grunt, your master hoisted the dead weight of the man over his shoulder. It always shocked you just how strong he was. But nothing about your captor should shock you anymore. He gave you many reasons not to ever since you had arrived. 

"Come," he ordered. You quickly stood and followed your master, not wanting to give him any more reasons to be upset with what had happened under his watch. That or he had planned for this. He had tested you many times before, making absolutely certain he had your undying loyalty. 

You now sat on a plush bed, opposite from the man in the chair before you. Your master had been preparing his tools for whatever he had planned. You weren't certain what he had in store for you, however. He had killed people in front of you before, and you'd learned to cope with your master's brutality. But he always upped the ante each session with you, and you weren't sure what he would do to try to rip a different reaction from you this time. 

As you had begun to fiddle with the hem of your shirt, fingers rubbing the soft fabric as you tried to ground yourself to the situation, the loud thud of a fist colliding with flesh brought your attention back to the men before you. The man in the chair was awake now, babbling mercies that you tuned out. You had heard it all before. You had even said some of those pleas before. But your master would brush it off as always. He never flinched even at the most heart wrenching of cries. 

You weren't sure how long you had been zoned out until you heard the familiar command. “Come.” You barely registered how your body moved instinctively when you heard his voice. All you knew was he wanted you. 

You knew better than to meet his gaze. Not yet. That hadn't been earned. His fingers gently brushed the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ears. Meanwhile in this tender moment, the sounds of the man wailing in the chair increased, and you felt your master's fingers twitch in annoyance. He hated interruptions. 

"Kneel." Before you could catch yourself, your head whipped up to meet his gaze. Cold, black eyes met yours, daring you to challenge him. He scowled from behind the mask, that black mask that he had only recently began to take off around you. Because you were loyal, and would never tell. That, and it reminded you that he would never let you get far enough to where you could identify him to anyone. You ignored that part.

That loyalty made you sink quickly to your knees, your head down and staring at the carpeted floor beneath you. A long stretch of silence followed, save for the groaning man in the chair, as your captor relished in your obedience. But then it just continued. You knew he was waiting for you to eventually look up at him for your new orders, but he still loved how you would hesitate for him. Was this what he wanted? Would you get in trouble? He allowed you to have those thoughts as you eventually lifted your head to meet his gaze.

That look in his eye. That hungry look. It made you tremble and second guess yourself. You were acutely aware of the man fighting against his restraints beside you. Was this what your master wanted? But you knew exactly what he wanted from the look on his face. He had trained you well, after all, so well that he rarely needed to speak to you unless he felt the need to reward you with his praise.

So you did as he had taught you. Without looking at the man beside you, for your master only allowed you to have eyes for him, your shaky hands lifted to the front of his trousers, undoing his belt and pulling his zipper down slowly. You heard the man start cursing now, but you didn’t dare look away. Instead, you looked up at your master as he smirked down, pleased with you. 

Your hands gently pulled down the waistband of his underwear, knowing full well he wanted you to get onto it. He didn’t like to be teased, that was something he reserved for you. So as you licked a long stripe from the base of his cock to his swollen head, circling your tongue around the tip, you made sure that when you did tease it wasn’t for too long. You dipped your head down further onto him, hollowing out your cheeks like he taught you to, looking up at him as his chest rose and fell with his heavier breathing. It was like there wasn’t an audience there, it was simply you and your master. And you would do anything to please him. 

The man’s yells eventually became whimpers, realizing that this was all a part of the game. You closed your eyes as you lapped your tongue against your master’s length, trying to put the image of this poor man out of your mind. By now his punishment was loud and clear; do not touch The Collector’s toys. The man had no hope for getting your help to escape, your loyalties were obvious by now. 

You hummed softly around his member as his hand stroked the back of your head tenderly, almost lovingly. He was close, if the soft groans that left his mouth were any indication. It would be any minute now. 

Suddenly, you felt your master shift his body, his free arm making a huge sweeping motion. Before you could register what was happening, the grip on your hair tightened, his cock twitching in the back of your throat as you gagged. Then the gurgled coughing began. You shut your eyes, focusing only on your master, trying to ignore the obvious sounds of what he had done to the man in the chair that wheezed for air. 

His end followed shortly after, a low groan stuck in his throat as his warm seed poured down your throat. You did well to swallow it all, again, as he had trained you to do. Even after you had swallowed him all, you didn’t pull back just yet. That was your master’s decision as to whether you were done or not. But as he pulled your head back, leaving you to catch your breath as he simply held you there, he stared down at you. The dark mask didn’t hide the splatter of blood that had made its way onto it, and you did your best to not let your curiosity pull your gaze to the man still twitching beside you. 

“On the bed.” That was all he needed to say, and you would do it. You would always do as you were told.

[aliwritesfic]

Our Black Hearts Part 2 (F!Reader x Jack "Whiskey" Daniels)

Summary: You decide it's time to come clean to Jack about the man he's after

W/C: 2k

Warnings: None for this chapter I think, but please tell me if I missed something

Spotify

Part 1

You loved working the towns garden. The feeling of warm dirt in your hands, the feeling of accomplishment watching something go from seedling to edible vegetable in the span of just a few weeks. Hell, sometimes you even relished in the ache in your back after a long day. It let you know you were alive.

It was while you planted a new crop of carrots that you rehearsed what you were going to say to Jack when you saw him next. Hello, I hope you don’t kill me for not telling you as soon as I was sure, but I know who killed your wife, and I think I know where to find him, or at least how to find people who know where he would be. We good?

You frowned as you dug into the earth, unable to escape the guilt gnawing at your insides like a parasite. You know you should’ve told him the first morning, when you woke up encased in his arms. But the way the pale pre-dawn light played on his skin distracted you. Then he woke up and he really distracted you. Then a week passed, and you still hadn’t summoned up the courage to tell him, despite several more rendezvous with him. You knew it would be worse the longer you waited, a somehow larger betrayal.

Of course, you could just lie, tell him you weren’t sure, but that wasn’t in your nature. You hated to lie, and you were fucking terrible at it. You had been since childhood, unable to hide your secrets from the scrutinizing gaze of your mother. Now, every time you tried to lie, you remembered the sharp blow to the back of your head you would receive, and instead you chose to just avoid the truth.

Straightening your back, you turned your gaze toward the cloudless blue sky. It was nearing midday, the hottest and most dangerous hours to be outside would soon be upon you. Already people had sequestered themselves inside, the only ones who couldn’t were those patrolling the perimeter of the town. Large sheets of rusted metal had been erected along the perimeter; the only protection afforded to those who protected the town. It had once struck you as deeply unfair, but now you knew it was necessary. Too many stories of towns being attacked at the suns highest point had reached your ears, chilled you to the bone.

“Chase,” the use of your nickname snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced behind you and saw Sparkie, the middle-aged man who oversaw the gardens waving to you. “Come inside before you get crispy.”

You obliged, abandoning your shovel in the dusty earth. It was only a couple degrees cooler inside the garden house but being in the shade made all the difference. The garden house was arguably the dirtiest building in the whole town, boot prints and stray tools littered the cracked tile floor, the entire thing smelt of fertilizer and no number of open windows could get rid of the stench. You sat yourself down on a plastic crate and turned your attention to the window.

In the distance you could see the perimeter wall of Deepwell, a single speck of a figure under the small metal sheet. No stupid hat, so it couldn’t have been Jack. You had learnt that he was assigned as a guardsman for the town, replacing the guard who had been brutally gunned down in a raid a month before he had arrived. At the thought of that, the image of the dead guard flashed in your mind – shot so many times in the face no one could identify them until a headcount of surviving guards had been taken. Her name had been Lydia, you found out later, and you hadn’t said more than three words to her.

~

A shrill whistle sounded in the distance, signalling it was safe to be in direct sunlight again. Jack stepped out from the small perimeter shelter and adjusted the grip on his rifle. He had learnt protocols during his first day of what was done directly after Midday. First, he had to make sure no one was trying to breach his appointed section of wall. Most days there was nothing, occasionally a pack of wild dogs or boar would be gathered drawn by the smell of living creatures. Once he had found a Skulker, barely clinging to life, sent crazy by sun and hunger and dehydration. Parts of her skin had melted away from time spent in the Toxic Plains, leaving shiny white bone. That had been an easy kill – a single bullet between the eyes before she had even realised he was there.

There was nothing today, only the ever-present patches dead earth and haze of heat on the horizon. Jack adjusted his dark glasses, traded a year back for a half blunt knife. They had become one of his most prized possessions, a saviour for his eyesight.

The next hour passed quietly on the outside of the wall. A single mutt had appeared briefly in the distance, Jack kept his gun trained on the creature until it had slinked away, disappearing over the horizon. He could’ve shot it, sent word to the fetchers about fresh meat, but the dog wasn’t worth the bullet. Its ribs and pelvis had stuck out from its body, more skin and bones than anything edible.

Sweat was beading down the back of his neck and dampening his shirt when relief finally arrived. His replacement was a burly teenager, arms criss-crossed with scars from a childhood spent living in the lawless no-mans-lands. Jack tipped his hat and handed the shotgun to the kid.

“Happy watchin’,” he said with an easy grin. The kid grunted in response, turning to face the vast nothing in front of them.

It was mid-afternoon, early enough for the water troughs to be devoid of most people and late enough that the water wouldn’t be boiling hot anymore. The troughs were close to the well for which the town was named, though the well was just a hole in the ground fenced off by frayed rope. It was the towns only source of clean water, so deep underground it took almost five minutes for it to be pumped up.

The troughs were worked by just one woman, who Jack thought probably had the worst job in the whole town. Keeping the troughs filled and clean, making sure the stores were stocked with enough for the townspeople to clean themselves with. Not to mention having to wash the clothes of anyone who asked. Jack avoided asking for as long as he could, only going to her when the stench became too much for him to be able to deal with on his own.

Today, fortunately, his clothes weren’t an issue. He stripped down, folding his clothes neatly before easing himself into one of the troughs. He dunked his head under the warm water, scrubbing at his scalp with his fingers. He didn’t have the luxury of soap today, having worn through his last bar before he could find a suitable trade for a replacement. Jack didn’t mind though – sometimes the water itself was enough to feel clean.

“Jack,” Chase was standing at the foot of his trough, hands on her hips. Well this is a nice surprise Jack thought as he sat up, pushing his wet hair back. Her face was shiny with sweat and streaked with dirt that seemed to attach itself to any available bit of skin.

“Hello, Doll.” He had taken to calling her that, preferring it to Chase. At least, he preferred it when he was trying to seduce her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, and Jack’s blood ran instantly cold.

“You’re not – you know?” He gestured to her stomach. Chase looked down, confused, before realization dawned on her face.

“It’s been a week, Jack, Maker help me! No. Didn’t you learn anything about how babies are actually made when you were married?” Chase raised an incredulous brow at him. Jack shrugged. “I have a book on that, you should give it a read.”

Jack rubbed at his legs with a scrap piece of cloth, knowing he was not going to read that book. “So, what’d ya need, doll? Come to take another ride?” Chase rolled her eyes.

“No. I need to talk to you-” Chase hesitated, looking conflicted. “Look, just don’t hate me, please.” Jack sat forward, suddenly intrigued.

“Well, don’t leave me hangin’ in suspense,” Jack said.

“I know who killed your wife. I can find him.”

Jack’s ears rang for a moment, he wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “You . . .”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Chase crouched down next to the trough as she spoke, her eyes imploring him to understand. “I wasn’t sure it was him; I thought he was dead! But – but it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Who is he? How do you know?” Jack tried to keep the pain out of his voice. How long has she known, he wondered, and not told him?

Chase at least had the decency to look ashamed. “He’s – his name is Elijah. He’s missing an eye because ten years ago I stabbed him, thought I killed him too. I tried to kill him!”

“Chase, who is he to you? Are you sure you can find him?”

“I can find him. I still have connections with his old crowd, someone there will know where he is.” Chase rubbed her face, somehow smearing on even more dirt. “If I tell you who he is . . . just don’t hold it against me, okay?”

“No promises,” Jack said.

“He’s my brother. Womb brother, actually.”

“You tried to kill your brother?” Jack was too shocked to feel angry. He was an only child, but from what he knew, the bond between siblings was one of the strongest, especially those bonded in the womb.

“You’ve met him,” Chase shrugged helplessly, “he’s – look I’m not gonna pretend that I deserve understanding for keeping this from you. But now I know he’s alive . . .” she trailed off, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Tell me where to find him.” Jack said.

“No, you need me.” Chase shook her head. “You won’t get far without me, I promise you that.”

Jack scoffed at her. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not, I’m being realistic. You don’t know Elijah like I do. He’s paranoid, delusional, he thinks he’s a fucking god. You won’t get within ten feet of him without someone blowing your brains out. If you’re serious about this revenge thing, you need me.”

Jack pushed himself out of the trough and began to dry off quickly in the sun. Still naked, he turned to face Chase, arms crossed over his chest. “And just why are you so damn insistent on comin’ with me? You could tell me what you know, I could hire any number of mercs who could get the job done better than you, and you wouldn’t have to get your hands dirty . . . well dirtier than they already are.”

Chase took a deep breath, evidently to calm herself down. “I need to make sure what I started is finished. Someone has to kill Elijah, and I won’t be able to sleep until I know he’s dead.”

The look on her face told Jack she was completely serious. He considered for a few moments, pulling his clothes back on. If everything she said was true, he would need her help, to find Elijah, to get close enough to kill him. But –

“If you tried to kill him, how can you get close without you getting your head blown off?” Jack combed his fingers through his hair and secured it with his hat.

“He doesn’t know it was me. It’s a long story but you just have to trust me.”

Jack considered the woman standing in front of him. Of course, he didn’t trust her – it was stupid to trust anybody. But it was his only chance, he was beginning to realise, and she’d have to come along whether he wanted it or not. Which given his current mood regarding her keeping this from him, he did not.

“Alright, get your shit ready. I’m leaving at dusk.”

Tagging: @sharkbait77 @quica-quica-quica <3 <3

[link-is-a-dork]

You know something, you've had a love of the Zelda series since you were a little girl, ever since Ocarina of Time came out, but I don't think I've ever asked you why you, specifically, love it so much. Like, what made this your lifelong obsession when it comes to gaming? I guess it just never occurred to me because when we were kids, it was just as much a part of my life as it was yours, so it's like one of those "it's all I've known" kind of things.

Rose you opened up a can of worms that even I wasn't ready for. You expected a few sentences? Nah you get an essay with more effort put into than anything I've ever done in school.

I don't even think I covered it all.

Your interests as a kid can heavily influence your interests as an adult. I grew up with Ocarina and Majora and just kept following the series.

I don't know I guess it is a "it's all I've known" thing for me as well but it's one of those VERY few game series I follow adamantly. Kingdom Hearts is another one I love for the characters and their personalities and connections, but that was part of my life into my mid teen years, not since I was 5 like LoZ (and Resident Evil).

I don't know. I just really enjoy playing them, the simple stories with a random gut punch of depth here and there, the characters, the familiar gameplay with a fun gimmick (let's stop pretending gimmicks are inherently bad).

Link may be a blank slate of a character but sometimes he shows his own personality, while subtle at times. Link is a hero you can't help but admire. He's diligent in some games, but a goofball in others. He's a loving brother and grandson, embarking on a personal journey to save his sister and he finds himself on a quest to save the world as well. Or he may be skilled yet gentle warrior with a soft spot for children and animals, a farm boy chosen by the gods, destined for greatness.

The Hero of Time, a young, lonely hero with many faces who can't save everyone no matter how hard he tries. Forgoing his own happiness, he carries the burden of the dead to bring happiness where he can and prevent the end of the world after already doing it once.

A lazy schoolboy with impeccable skill at swordplay and lofting flight, dealing with everything from school bullies to the embodiment of evil itself. His love for his best friend being his motivation.

A teenager who just wants to go home, shipwrecked on an island that only exists in the dreams of a god. His desire to leave supersedes the lives of people who weren't even real but the bonds he made with them were.

An amnesic who's either a trash gremlin who eats dirt and frogs, running through a thunderstorm buck naked, or a stoic knight, set on sealing the great evil away alongside the princess, as is his duty. His personality is truly your personal choice.

In several cases, Link's motivation is saving someone he loves, be it family or friends, but fate and circumstances have something more in mind for this young man with humble beginnings.

~

Zelda herself is so different each game as well. She may be a dainty princess who seeks help, using what power she can to call to you in the dead of night. A young woman hidden in plain sight, guiding you through your journey even if it isn't obvious to some. A respected child pirate who's got a heart of gold, and captain of a loyal crew at her beck and call. Your best childhood friend who just wants to go to the fair and maybe see a magic rodent.

Your best friend and classmate who will ALWAYS be your Zelda even if she's a god.

A wise ruler who knows surrender will save her people if only for a time until someone on the outside can help, but she is also incredibly adept in battle in her own right, shooting Ganondorf while STANDING ON THE BACK OF A GALLOPING HORSE.

A young woman, pressured by her desperate father into unlocking a power she can't, anxious to help in any way she can. Starting off as an overwhelmed brat and growing closer to her appointed knight, finally unlocking her god given powers when it's seemingly too late. Zelda may not be in the spotlight most times, but she's important.

Your various companions, like them or hate them, are another thing that I like when they're there. Navi, the fairy assigned to guide the Kokiri who doesn't belong, is the only constant on Link's journey in Hyrule, wordlessly parting ways when her job is done. A powerful old man cursed by his own apprentice, Ezlo learns humility throughout your journey and leaves you with a parting gift to remind you of your time together.

A deposed princess angry at the world, Midna is cursed into the form on a catty imp by the very man who stole her rightful place on the throne. When kindness is given to her on her deathbed, her motivation is less about her and more about the lives of her own and Hyrule's people.

An emotionless android by design, Fi is knowledgeable on everything in the world, in the sky and below. During your journey, her stoic disposition is broken only once, as she tells you her understanding of happiness before saying the two words you've heard countless times on your journey, and hides away into the newly forged Master Sword one final time.

~

The antagonists have I less to say about but they're there. Disconnected from reality, Zant is a greedy, false king among a people who have been conditioned to have no selfish desires, only able to usurp the throne by using a power he didn't earn. Ghirahim is an eccentric leader of monsters, a dedicated tool to the evil demon king who started it all. He is a force to be reckoned with who relishes in the suffering of others.

Vaati is an arrogant mage who seeks a magical force to grow more powerful. Skull Kid felt abandoned and forgotten by his friends, so he made new ones and stole an evil relic with more power than he could handle. He had no idea what he was in for, in the end he was not wearing the mask, the mask was wearing him.

Ganondorf's motives for power and control are kind of the same in his every appearance but in Wind Waker at least his motive is understandable. Instead of power for the sake of it, he wanted to help his people, but it seems he approached it in the wrong way and went astray. His greed doomed his people and he was blind to the destruction he caused. My enjoyment of Ganondorf is surface level, not much depth for the most part.

I probably put more into this than necessary but my feelings and interpretations are why I love this series. I love the characters, companions, the settings. The game may primarily focus on swordplay but with all the fun tools at your disposal, you can play how you want.

[ohpsshaw]

~DFS Christmas Special~

No desire to draw lately, so I’ve been doing little prose sketches instead.

Just in time for December, here’s what turned out to be Uncle Jack taking Al Christmas shopping. This would be circa 199X B.G. (Before Glenn), making Al in his early 20s.

(Watch out if you have high blood sugar, cos this gets KINDA SACCHARINE.)

It had finally stopped snowing, thank goodness. The fresh white blanket reflected crisp light in through the windows, making him feel chilled inside. Luckily Pop was a comfort creature who kept a stock of hot chocolate mix in the pantry. Al never seemed to reach for it back at his apartment, but something about visiting home in the winter months made a warm mug feel as essential as a limb.

Uncle Jack had asked Al to accompany him for some holiday shopping later, and a chocolate briquette would be good to have heating his gut. He took it to the couch in the living room. Someone had dug up the old photo books and left them on the coffee table a few days ago. Flipping through, he noticed that half the pages were completely empty— photography had never been a popular concept in the Czar household. The preserved moments were of family trips and landmarks, rambunctious sepia-washed office parties, Al’s school portraits. Rarer was anything taken inside the house. One shot of himself at four or five years old, standing on the yellow-sunlit staircase and showing the camera a toy car, surfaced a memory of being coached to keep his mouth closed so as not to alarm a 1-hour photo developer. Thinking on it, it may have been more than coincidence that most of these were instant Polaroids.

Through the window, he heard the muffled sound of a car door, then: “What the fuck are you doing!?” Hey, Pop’s home. Al pulled back the curtain to watch the drama unfolding at the end of the driveway, where Uncle Jack had been chipping at the wall of powder the afternoon snowplow had left. Xav had just returned from morning errands and parked in the street, storming over the slush to stop his brother from working.

Cold air blasted from the foyer. Snow crunched as Xav shook out the snow shovel behind him. “Why was he doing this by himself? Did you become a quadriplegic when I wasn’t looking?”

Al flipped through the Rolodex in his head for the answer that would earn him the least amount of grief. He shrugged, as if confused by the absurdity of the question. “He didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t ask, Max.” Jack took the shovel back. “But you’re right, I should have. Reckon it was my vanity what did me in— I can’t stand to be upstaged by some young buck doing the same job in half the time.” He winked at his nephew. “Well, three-quarters.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Xav spat, the corners of his mouth curling up against his will. “You both know I’m not being unreasonable. You’re not a guest, Alan Henry. As far as I’m concerned, you still live here. You earn your keep during the day, and MAYBE I’ll consider putting on my robe and letting you suckle dinner from my left tit.”

Al choked on his hot chocolate.

“Shit. Careful on the carpet. I’ll get you a paper towel.” Xav left for the kitchen, grumble-exorcising demons as he walked. “If Papa caught one of us sitting on our ass while the other did chores...”

Why did Pop have to save his best lines for when people were eating? Bent over and lapping chocolate out of the crevices of his palm, Al thought he saw a piece of marshmallow among the bubbles. Heh... hope that didn’t come out of his nose.

“You still need me to shovel?” he asked Jack.

“Son, I would be honored,” Jack nodded, holding the shovel on the doormat like a knight leaning on an orange sword. “Gitcher boots on and you can finish the job before we head out. I’ll make sure your Pop watches the show from inside.”

Xav returned with the towels and a smirk. “Talking shit about me, Jack?”

“I was just sayin’ how you’ll hate to see us go, but you’ll love to watch us walk away.”

“Got that fucking right.” Al cleaned his face while Xav dabbed each of his fingers individually. An oddly tender gesture. “What are you two going out for, exactly?”

“Juuust... shoppin’. I need Alan’s opinion on somethin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Secrets being a rare and dangerous thing in this family, there wasn’t much question as to what this was really about. Especially between brothers who were as close as twins. But the holidays were about giving, after all, so Xav seemed to decide to give them the benefit of the doubt. A game is more fun when everybody plays along.

Truthfully, even Al wasn’t sure what they were going to get for his father. A successful family man hitting his sixties doesn’t want for much. By this point, Xav had enough neckties and “#1 Dad” mugs to be buried surrounded by them like a pharaoh. Jack could always steal the show by reaching into his deep D.D.S. pockets or by making a new piece of furniture, but the son was held to no such standards. Xav had simple hobbies, and he seemed to have the house exactly how he wanted it. Was Al too old to make a coupon book, redeemable for hugs and remembering to use a coaster?

Or maybe his gift to Pop could be giving college another shot. Dropping out had caused some... friction, a flint-strikes-wood situation that had led to Al moving out of the house, and eventually out-of-state. He had to admit, the independence felt good. Putting his shoes on the coffee table, not having to tell anyone where he was going... he’d definitely become more promiscuous. No independent murders, though, which was starting to grate on him. He’d realized lately that he had always expected to be allowed to do more, without his father and uncle. Maybe if he did what Pop wanted, things would calm down so he could move back to Michigan and use the cabin. But the idea of sitting in another classroom, taking notes on a subject he didn’t care about, all for the promise of 50 years chained to a desk... It made him want to sleep forever.

When the car pulled up to the mall, Al was not surprised at all by the entrance his uncle had chosen. “Mind if I peek in Sears?” Jack asked, as if wild horses could stop him.

Home improvement and appliance stores were another phenomenon Al only seemed to experience at home. The dusty, unvarnished smell and high ceilings had been a frequent backdrop during his childhood— for Jack, they seemed to be akin to a candy store. He was talented as a carpenter and repairman, and sincerely relished something going wrong with the house if it meant he could pull out his toolkit. He also liked to make things go wrong with human bodies on occasion, but there was a separate box for those tools waiting up at the cabin.

Two steps in the door, and a weary-looking holiday hire hit them up with a canned pitch: “...and I’m happy to help you find whatever’s on your list!“ Aggressive customer service, the bane of the paranoid shopper. Jack was the front line for shaking off overly helpful greeters, which Xav had called “the second-worst thing to come out of the 80s after Iran-Contra.”

“Just lookin’, God willing— I brought my conscience with me to make me behave,” Jack looked to his nephew. “Don’t let me buy a single screw, y’hear?”

“Got it. Bulk purchases only.” That earned Al a shove.

Salesperson successfully deflected, Jack ducked toward his usual corner: the big ticket carpentry goods. When Al caught up, he was running his hand over a table saw. As much as he loved his uncle, Al wasn’t particularly interested in watching him fantasize about cutting wood, or even bone. “You have a project in mind?”

“A bit of a science experiment, next time we play cards,” Jack’s pupils darted along the equipment, still in reverie. “I’ve been readin’ a book about crucifixions, and how they affect the body.”

“Oh, that’s seasonal.”

“‘Course, I won’t be able to try it ‘til next year. You think your Pop would let me pick out a rabbit by April?” Jack chuckled. He was not talking about the Easter bunny. “We can see if she comes back to life after three days.”

Al snorted. “Jesus.”

“Precisely. Y’know, Christ is usually depicted with holes in his hands, but in actuality, the Romans would have put the nails through his wrists.” Jack picked up Al’s arm to demonstrate, dancing fingers across his palm. “Ain’t much to take hold of in here. It’s too fragile and open-ended. But if you move up the arm,”— he pressed his thumb into the straightened portion of Al’s median nerve— “You can hook the radius and the ulna. Much better support.” Jack’s eyes flickered with glee. “And it hurts like a bitch!”

“Wait, are you going to go first, or last?” Playing cards was usually a once-a-year affair, and the night Al looked forward to the most. If Jack snuffed her out before he had his turn...

“Oh, don’t worry, son. Done right, she could last for days.” Not that she would, since Pop would probably have something to say about that. “I just want to try, er... doin’ as the Romans do. And who knows, maybe you’ll like it. Every bachelor eventually needs to have a girl nailed down!”

They cackled and then shushed each other, wincing like sneaky little boys at the idea that someone would hear them over the store’s ambient shopping muzak. They really shouldn’t talk like this in public, even with code words and euphemisms. Though over the years they’d learned that people can be experts at ignoring what’s right under their noses. Certainly none of the men had ever overheard anyone else planning a murder.

“It’s just a pipe dream, I’m still in the plannin’ stages,” Jack added. “Ain’t even got the lumber yet. So if you wanna put some packages under the tree that are, say, 4-by-6 and 72 inches long... I promise to be shocked when I unwrap ‘em.”

Al’s attention shifted over his uncle’s shoulder, to a shelf of handheld orbital sanders. Al was more of a hands-on kind of guy— he still got a little queasy thinking about Jack’s experiment to see which sandpaper grit was the best at removing skin.

“So what was it you wanted me to look at? I don’t think Pop needs a crucifix for Christmas.”

“Oh, I’m just killin’ time before our appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“At the photo studio. I want you to give your Pop a picture.”

“...of us?”

“Naw, just you.”

Al loved that. “Yeah, that’d be hilarious. Merry Christmas, Pop, I got you me!”

A pause. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“As a heart attack, son. It’s just what he needs.”

“Do you have, I don’t know, a backup plan?” Al faltered. “Something less self-centered? I’m not exactly his favorite person right now. He kind of thinks I’m a failure.”

“Alan, you are not a failure. You are...” Jack patted his nephew’s cheek. “An unbroken mustang who has not yet found his ranch. And your father is just tryna keep you from bein’ sold as horse meat.” He slid them into a far aisle for more privacy. “He worries about you a lot, and he misses you somethin’ fierce.”

Al chewed his cheek. “Well, talk to him about showing it sometime.”

“No, son,” Jack took him by the shoulder, looking around to make sure they were alone. “Your father cries. At night when he talks about you, he starts wellin’ up like a waif. He doesn’t need to hear that you know about it, but it’s the God’s honest truth. All he talks about is wantin’ you back home.”

“I think movin’ out has been good for you, and I’m happy you did it. But it wounded him to his core. You’re his heart, kid.”

Al wasn’t sure how he was taking this information, but he knew how he was supposed to. He scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

“Okay... If you’re completely sure he won’t think it’s stupid.”

“Are you kiddin’? He’ll put it on the nightstand.” Jack grinned. “And if you smile for it real nice, I’ll take you to that steakhouse in the plaza after.”

Al cocked an eyebrow. “You were gonna go there anyway.”

“Yes. Yes, I was. But won’t you enjoy your ribeye that much more knowin’ you’ve earned it?” Mmn, maybe. “Besides... did you have any better ideas?”

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Come Christmas Day, Xav had unwrapped the waist-up portrait and just said “thank you”— which was worrying because he was usually much more verbose than that— and gone silent in his chair. At least he wasn’t mad. Al looked to Jack, who smiled knowingly and handed him a package to keep the gift exchange going.

Al figured it was because Jack had given him something funny, but then he heard his father breathe in sharply.

“Maudit tabarnak... you fucking assholes,” Xav’s voice sounded high and squeaky, like it was being squeezed through slabs of rock. He ducked his chin into his bedshirt collar to hide his face.

“You, fucking... why’d you have to...” He shook his hand at the framed photo. Oh boy, he really did hate it. The whole idea was idiotic. Al had sat in front of that artfully-mottled green backdrop and squinted for a man with a bow tie and no indoor voice for nothing, except for the sheer discomfort of it. And a ribeye steak with a baked potato.

Xav blinked up at the ceiling and gulped, his Adam’s apple fluctuating grotesquely. Eventually he seemed to find his voice again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having pictures taken, so I could make sure he had his fucking hair combed?” He showed them the photo. “Look at his bangs— they’re all over the fucking place.”

Al had to admit, they did look a little wild. “Aw, shoot. Sorry, Pop,” he laughed.

Jack tutted. “I think it looks nice. Rugged.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to comb your hair either, Jack.” Xav brought the photo back into his lap, looking it over. “Looks like he fought a bear before sitting down. But don’t worry, I still like it. You look handsome, kid. Maybe I can find some space on my nightstand.” Al and Jack exchanged victory grins, and didn’t catch Xav wiping tears from both eyes.

[sunflowerbi]

Hey! I absolutely love your blog and your work. Idk if you take request but idk who to ask lol. Would you be open to writing something about how Villanelle learnt to cook? If you can make it sappy and with Eve in it obv, even better!

This is so nice!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! oh my god. anyway i absolutely take requests, and this was lovely to write. hopefully it’s in the realm of what you wanted? It’s on ao3 too (link’s in my pinned post) hope you like it!!

           Villanelle had a sorted history with food. As a young child it was only a resource, something she needed to survive and never had enough of. She still remembered digging through the kitchen when her mother wasn’t home, desperately looking for anything she might not notice disappearing. It was something to be guarded, occasionally stolen, never shared. She hated food, hated her reliance on it, the way it controlled her. She’d spent plenty of nights unable to sleep for the gnawing pain in her stomach. She couldn’t do much with food then, at most she’d been able to heat things that needed it and pour salt on it to cover the taste. She never cooked anything, not really. She had fleeting memories of watching her father cook, but they were blurred, made her feel a mixture of sadness and comfort she mostly avoided. Between her mother and the orphanage, she spent most of her time trying to ignore her way she dizzied when she stood, her body demanding food she couldn’t provide.

In prison she worried less about where her food came from, sure, but she hated it just as much. Food kept her alive, and it always tasted like shit. She wasn’t fighting for enough food to live, but still would have rather not bothered with it at all. She was eventually assigned to the kitchen, which was better than scrubbing toilets, but peeling potatoes did very little to improve her opinion of food. It was a dirty kitchen where they made shitty food, and nothing ever changed. She peeled potatoes, then she cooked meat, then she mashed potatoes. She wasn’t allowed to cut anything, something about violent tendencies.

It wasn’t until much later that Villanelle learned to love food. When she got paid by the twelve for the first time, she went to the most expensive restaurant she could find and ordered the most expensive meal. She went to the cheapest place too, ordered food for a dollar and ate it. Food was a luxury she refused to deny herself, now. If she saw food she wanted, she’d buy it. More importantly, she taught herself to cook. She decided she wouldn’t rely on anyone else to provide food for her, she would fill her own stomach. She slept with a few chefs, dug through their things while they were asleep. She copied recipes, stole fancy tools they left lying around, found out what spices they used, ordered them from around the world.

She found independence in cooking, being able to make something solid for herself. She would spend free days picking out the most complicated recipes and perfecting them, hours just figuring out the perfect balance of spices. It staved off the overwhelming boredom she so often found herself drowning in, gave her something to focus on. Cooking created a moment where nothing else was happening in her own universe, she moved around the kitchen with frenzied grace, entirely wrapped in her movements.

The first time she cooked for someone else, she cooked for Konstantin, made him one of his favorite meals. He told her it was fine, but she didn’t miss the way he smiled as he ate, didn’t even try to reject her offer to send some home with him. (She saw him eat it in his car.) She cooked for him occasionally, after making him admit that her food was wonderful. She demanded places to stay with kitchens she could at least cook in a little everywhere she went, something to busy her mind while she waited for her next assignment.

The first time she cooked for Eve broke her open. Spaghetti, a nod to dreams from times past. As she dropped fresh pasta into the pot, she felt tears begin to form. She was overwhelmed by the sudden softness of it all, something she knew she didn’t deserve but was far too selfish to ever give away. Here was Eve, eagerly awaiting food she was cooking. Cooking was, in the end, a way to give yourself to someone, and she had never wanted so desperately to give someone all of herself.

“Villanelle? What’s wrong?” Eve was suddenly wrapped around her, dropping her chin onto Villanelle’s shoulder.

“Nothing. I do not think I deserve you, darling Eve, but I get to give you this spaghetti, and I want to give you everything. I want to give you all of me and all of the world. You deserve it.” It was a quiet confession, Eve was surprised she could even hear it, but she relished in it just the same.

“Maybe you don’t deserve me, maybe I don’t deserve you. I’m not sure I give a damn what we deserve, honestly. I love you, sweetheart, more than I ever thought I could love a person. So, if you don’t deserve me, that’s a problem for the universe. I want you, and hell if I’m going to let anything change that.”

Villanelle turned, pressing a gentle kiss against Eve’s lips. “You are my everything. Now find some plates, you’re going to make me overcook the pasta.” This time, a smack on the ass as Eve walked away.

“That was the best spaghetti I’ve ever eaten, babe.” Eve smiled, leaning back in her chair.

“It’s because I am the best, obviously.” Villanelle stood up, reaching her hand out for Eve to take. “Let’s dance, then, my love.”

“I can’t believe you tried to convince me you didn’t like to dance.”

“I had never danced with you; I did not realize how wonderful it could be.”

“Thank you for cooking tonight, I loved watching you make your way around the kitchen. You looked like you’d been cooking in there forever.”

“I hope I will be.”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

[oforamuse]

unexpected thanks

'you've got a ring.'

or, the one where ian bumps into kash and gets to break the news that he and mickey are married.

read & comment on ao3

Ian walks slowly down the fresh vegetable aisle, crossing off the mental list in his head of things  he needs to get for the recipe Mickey’s insisting on making. He’s gotten really into cooking cooking recently, not just throwing something in the microwave and hitting 30 seconds kind of cooking. 

It’s pretty hot, actually. 

Often Ian will come home from work and the kitchen will be filled with all sorts of smells, some good and some terrible - Mickey’s still learning. There’s been a few burnt dinners and a couple of small pan fires, but nothing too overly drastic. Whenever a recipe fails, or Mickey doesn’t seem completely satisfied in his success, he gets up and tries the same one again. Point blank, in his stubborn way, refusing to be beaten by a page and a half of instructions. Ian can help but find it incredibly endearing. He didn’t think he’d ever see the day Mickey made him something that wasn’t pizza pockets or mac and cheese from a box, so he’s relishing in it. 

Perhaps marriage really does change people. 

It’s been just over three months since they got married and though Ian sometimes still struggles with the girth of it all, he doesn’t regret it one bit. He’s stopped looking up divorce statistics and searching for a reason for everything to all fall to shit, so that’s a definite step up. He’s taking it day by day but it’s good. He’s happier these days too, everyone’s noticed it, he’s noticed it. He feels lighter, things roll off of his back more - the same goes for Mickey too. They’ve barely even bickered in the last few weeks, which is so incredibly unlike them, they can’t quite believe it. 

Is this what it feels like to finally have time? Time to be a couple, time to be codependent and independent all in the same moment, time to actually exist as a them and not be broken apart by homophobic dads, or mental illness, or incarceration? 

Having the space and the freedom to actually co-exist with one another without something hanging over their heads is a foreign concept to both of them, but Ian thinks they’re kind of nailing the whole marital bliss thing. They wake up together, often wrapped around one another, safe and warm. They go to their separate (parole approved) jobs, Ian often driving and dropping Mickey off - sometimes the other way round depending on their afternoon plans. There’s kisses on the cheek in greetings and goodbyes, ass grabs in passing and arms locked around shoulders. They’ve been holding hands more a lot, unable to pull themselves apart when they literally don’t have to be, craving each other’s touch and comfort almost every second of the day. 

It’s everything 16 year old Ian could’ve dreamed of and more. 

Ian’s fingers brush over the sweet peppers, wondering whether Mickey wanted red or green - or was it yellow? He doesn’t know what Mickey's making for them later, only that he needed to get the ingredients right now as Mickey didn’t have time between work and the quickie they managed to squeeze in before they had to run out of the door. It’s Ian’s day off, he figured he’d treat his husband to a little domestic run to the supermarket. He’s about to pull out his phone to text Mickey to check, God forbid he buys the wrong type of peppers, when he hears his name being called. 

‘Ian?’ 

His head shoots up towards the voice, it’s familiar. 

‘Ian is that you? Ian Gallagher?’ 

Well, count that on the list of things that Ian didn’t expect to happen today. 

Kash is standing in the same aisle, just a few feet over from him. He looks older, much older than Ian can remember him. His hair has a minor smattering of grey, but nothing hugely noticeable. His eyes are tired, and there’s a couple more wrinkles than there was before, but other that, he looks mostly the same. 

Their obvious difference in age makes Ian’s skin crawl, like tiny little ants making their way up his bones and into his veins. He shudders, unable to believe he let 16 year old him be used by this absolute tool. 

‘Kash...Hi.’ Ian says, caught completely off guard. It comes out awkwardly, his discomfort horribly evident in his voice. Kash’s face shifts slightly, making Ian cringe. 

‘How are you- what’s it been like, 6 or 7 years?’ Kash continues, his hands adjusting his grip the shopping basket he’s carrying. 

‘Probably more like 8.’ Ian replies and it feels forced. There’s an awful beat of silence where neither man knows where to approach next. Ian just wants to get his peppers and move onto the beans aisle, what the fuck is Kash going to want to talk about next, the weather? His phone buzzes, he pulls it out of his pocket to check the notification, happily taking a moment for a distraction. Kash makes a noise of surprise at the movement and Ian looks up questioningly. He can feel the light scowl on his face - it’s nothing too seriously pissed off, but there’s definitely an air of bother about it. 

‘You’ve got a ring.’ Kash says, gripping his basket with one hand so he can bring one up to point the other at Ian’s left side. ‘You’re married?’ 

The wedding band suddenly feels incredibly heavy on his finger - it’s a good weight though, it’s grounding. He can feel the corners of his mouth twist up into a soft smile, it’s comforting, knowing that he has that little piece of Mickey with him wherever he goes. 

He still hasn’t gotten the hang of remembering to put it back on every time he does the dishes or something, much to Mickey’s chagrin, but he’s working on it. 

More importantly though, he’s wearing it right now. 

‘Yeah I am.’ Ian replies, it’s proud and firm. His thumb rubs lightly over the band. 

‘Wow.’ Kash says with both the tone of somewhat surprise and disbelief. He steps forward ever so slightly, and Ian moves back an inch automatically, keeping the distance. ‘The last time I saw you, you were hooking up with...was it Mickey Milkovich?- God knows where that kid ended up.’ There’s a beat, ‘Prison, hopefully.’ He adds. 

It’s biting and dismissive - Ian knows it’s supposed to be a light joke, but it makes his fists curl protectively. He knows he can’t entirely blame Kash for thinking Mickey wouldn’t amount to much, given the fact the kid spent most of his juvenile years robbing him openly (and completely unapologetically), but it makes his jaw clench tightly. Mickey, is and always was, so much more than a neighbourhood thug. 

So much more. 

Keep it together, he tells himself. He breathes, allowing the tension to roll off his shoulders and down into the floor. 

‘Who’s the lucky guy?’ Kash asks, it’s weird and kind of gross. Being around him, so many years later and being much more clear headed, makes him feel slightly sick in his stomach. ‘Someone I know?’ 

This makes Ian smirk slightly, ‘You could say that.’ 

This is going to be fun. 

‘Who?’ Kash says, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, it’s a stark contrast to the friendly attitude he’s been trying to throw off. 

‘I guess I, well we, should say thank you.’ Ian says, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to come off as cool and casual as possible, ‘we would’ve never met without your...er, help.’ 

Was that the right word to use? He doesn’t really care, it’s hilarious to watch Kash squirm. He watches the gears working in his head as the older man puts two and two together. He’s surprised at how easily Kash clocks on, only taking a moment before his eyes widen in shock. 

‘You’re kidding me.’ Kash says, his jaw practically falling out of it’s socket with how dramatically it drops. It hangs there for a second, and Ian just grins. Kash adjusts himself, gulping. ‘You’re married... to Mickey Milkovich?’ He says Mickey’s name with a whisper, ducking his head slightly, as if to avoid being heard. 

‘The very same.’ Ian states smoothly, holding Kash’s gaze firmly, daring the older man to make a judgement. 

You’re not allowed to say shit, he thinks, you are literally the last person on earth who is allowed to judge anyone over who they marry. 

He hopes to fucking God there’s hasn’t been anymore 16 year olds, he hopes he got himself some therapy. What is he even doing back in Chicago? 

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Kash adds after a moment, the air between them stilted and awkward. Ian wants to leave, groceries be damned, but he knows Mickey would probably kill him to let his opportunity slip. He always did love to gloat right in Kash’s face, whether it be over a tube of pringles he stole, a snickers bar or Ian himself. 

‘Don’t say anything then.’ Ian says curtly, it comes off ruder than he intended but he doesn’t really care. 

‘Really? Mickey?’ Kash asks unpleasantly, and Ian doesn’t like the way Mickey’s name sounds in his voice. Like it’s dirty, and imperfect. 

‘Yeah.’ Ian says firmly, the tension palpable, ‘We’re really fuckin’ happy. Big wedding and everything.’ He waves his hand out in an exaggerated gesture, hoping to help hammer the point home. He’s happy, he’s so happy, he’s happier than he’s ever been for literal years. Fuck this guy, fuck his judgement. 

‘Didn’t expect that.’ Kash says, it’s quiet but comes out clear. His brows furrow together, the aged wrinkles on his forehead deepen. ‘Honestly, I’m just surprised he didn’t end up locked up-’ He stops himself, ‘And you…’

There it is again - there’s that age old judgement glinting in his eye. Or is it discomfort? Longing?

It’s an echo of something familiar, it’s a look he was thrown back in the day when he restocked the shelves incorrectly or when he would brush Kash’s prying hands off nearer the end of Their Thing when Mickey fell into the picture.

‘Thanks for letting Mickey steal your gun.’ Ian says cooly, hoping it lands as the jab he intended it to be, which it does, if he can tell anything by the way Kash flinches.

He grabs the closest pepper, Mickey’s pedantic need to follow a recipe perfectly be damned, and shoves it in his basket. Kash stands there awkwardly, dumbfounded. 

‘Would you mind? I need an onion.’ He says, holding his voice steady. Kash doesn’t reply, just standing and staring at him somewhat blankly. Ian points to the shelf full of onions Kash is blocking easy access to. He doesn’t move, his mouth gaping slightly as he, Ian assumes, searches for something to say. Ian shrugs, and leaning around him, grabbing a yellow onion and shoving it in his basket. 

‘Hope you figured your shit out.’ He adds and that’s it, that’s all he’s going to give him. He’s not going to wish him well or say he hopes he found true love or some shit. He might’ve done when he was a kid, but not anymore, not when he could never even dream of touching a kid the way Kash did. He turns and walks confidently down the aisle, away from Kash, away from the mistakes he made as a dumb 16 year old, away from the weird and fucked up in so many ways life he used to lead. It’s weird, when he was a kid he truly believed it was him against the world - especially growing up in such a volatile lifestyle like the South Side. He wishes someone had told him properly that there’s always support if he knew where to look for it...or well, in Ian’s case, if you go to steal back a stolen gun and come back with a boyfriend, husband, instead. 

Not that it happened that easily, he’s not kidding himself. 

As he scans the beans a few moments later, he makes a silent vow to never let his and Mickey’s future kid - because it’s happening, no matter how many times Mickey scoffs at the suggestion - ever feel like they have to go to a strange middle aged man for comfort.

Or anyone else for that matter. They’re gonna be such fucking good parents. 

The thought about their future is warm and sits happily in his stomach, bubbling away lightly. He doesn’t feel too thrown off from seeing Kash, the pent up tension slowly ebbing away as he allows himself to relish for a moment on his and Mickey’s future. A future they finally get to have, think about and plan. It’s finally in arms reach and they are going to achieve absolutely everything that they want to from now on. Jobs, kids, money? A house of their own? Cats, dogs, and maybe even a goddamn Hamster. 

It doesn’t matter, they’re gonna do it all. 

So yeah, Kash, thanks for that.

[jingabitch]

An Arrangement for Convenience ch.9

Summary: It’s ridiculous that girl groups aren’t allowed to date, and are kept under such strict lock and key that they can’t satisfy their desires. Enter Ha-eun, YG’s solution to the problem.

Pairings: ot4 x oc

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving) | sex work | rimming | slight D/s | phone sex | mentions of sweat kink

A/N: Wrote this a while back and posted on ao3; reposting here because I want to be more active on this platform. 

Series index

It was a couple more weeks before the girls were scheduled to go home, and by the end of it, Ha-eun had gotten so many dirty phone calls and sent so many risque pictures that the secret service agent assigned to tap her phone was probably either scarred for life or had chafed his dick. She kind of hoped it was the latter. It was certainly a nicer thought than someone being traumatised by her and the girls.

Who knew they were so kinky?

It wasn’t just Jennie; Jisoo had demanded pictures of her in the cute romper she’d bought her the day she’d worn it to school, then made her hide in the handicapped stall while she called her and made her take off the romper and cum on her fingers. A little something in the morning to help her get through the day, Jisoo had breezily said when Ha-eun asked why she was calling her at this time.

Ha-eun couldn’t object to that, knowing that it was difficult for Jisoo to do things in the morning unless she was properly woken up with an orgasm. Besides, she had known that Jisoo would have some type of reaction to the romper, which was adorable and made her look younger than she really was, especially when paired with the sneakers and braids she’d done her hair in that day.

The white lingerie she’d worn under it had been a little bonus for the older girl. When she’d sent her the picture after she was done of her licking her fingers off, the lace bra and panties very visible in the picture, Jisoo had called her a tease.

She was, but she was good at it, and God knows the girls seemed to like it.

Still, she missed them. Even the PG texts she got from them, cute pictures and videos of whatever they were doing or eating, or an item that made them think of her, made her smile. It was nice to know that she was constantly on their minds, even if it was just as friends. There wasn’t necessarily anything romantic about it; she just genuinely liked them. They were such sweet girls - when they weren’t being mean to her, of course, but since it turned her on like nothing else had before, she supposed she couldn’t bear too much of a grudge.

Jennie was the one to return to Seoul first, and Ha-eun was excited beyond bearing. She had something special planned for each of them, of course, because phone sex was surprisingly a very useful tool for coaxing their secret kinks out of them, but it had been so long since she’d had any real life action. This was probably the longest she’d gone since she’d started having sex, and she was so ready for the dry spell to end. She’d gone into sex work to begin with because she liked having sex, so having no actual sex while also being the best paid she’d ever been in her life was very confusing for her.

It wasn’t like she was complaining - the bills for Hanbin’s treatment were starting to come in, and the numbers would have stressed her out enough to need medical care herself if not for the paychecks she was also getting from YG.

Part of her worried about what Hanbin would say if he found out how she was paying for his treatment, but thankfully, for the time being he was too sick to give it much thought, which gave her a little bit of time to think of a cover story. She felt a little bad about having to lie to him, but as accepting as he’d been of her in the past, being bisexual was a very different kettle of fish from being a sex worker.

She sighed as she stood at the kitchen counter in the girls’ dorm, chopping up the ingredients she needed to make soybean stew for the older girl when she came back. She was planning to cook the stew beforehand so it would heat up quickly when they wanted to eat, since this was only the second part of the surprise she had planned for Jennie’s return.

(No prizes for guessing what the first part was.)

She’d also brought some of the side dishes she had at home. She’d learned how to cook simple dishes like the stew she was preparing now and when her brother arrived, she’d done most of the cooking, but surprisingly he’d become quite the savant in the kitchen and was preparing way more elaborate and delicious dishes than she’d ever been able to achieve. Her heart warmed a little as she thought of her brother, who’d picked up the new hobby because he had run out of things to do at home, and had been ecstatic to find that the home delivery culture in Seoul included delivery of groceries.

In fact, the fridge was so full of his experiments these days that she had to bring some over, lest things start to go bad.

Throwing the pork, soybean paste and the chilli flakes into the earthenware pot, she sauteed it over the stove until it was cooked before adding the broth and other ingredients, smiling at the fragrant aroma starting to waft through the apartment.

She was done before she knew it and covered the pot with a lid, leaving it on the stove to reheat when they were hungry later, before moving on to the other part of her surprise.

Humming, she drifted back to the bag she’d dumped carelessly over the couch and fished out the collar, buckling it around her neck and twisting it so that the pink bell rested over the hollow of her throat. Checking her phone, she saw that the manager had texted her, letting her know that the car was pulling up to the apartment building.

Grinning like a fool, she quickly stripped out of her clothes, running over to the front door gracelessly and falling to her knees in a rush. Excitement made her limbs shaky as she put the end of the leash between her teeth, waiting with bated breath for Jennie to enter the apartment.

She didn’t have to wait long. Jennie was unlocking the door in less than a minute, eager to get home. Her manager had been acting weird ever since he’d come to pick her up at the airport, and she was glad to be away from him, even if it was strange that he hadn’t even offered to help her with her bags, driving off as quickly as possible once she got everything out of the car.

With a little sigh, she opened the front door and entered the apartment, toeing her shoes off before taking the step out of the doorway and pushing open the second door to the apartment. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be there, knowing that she was the first of the four girls to return to Seoul, and was already thinking about what she could order to eat. She’d missed Korean food while she was away.

Given her distraction, it took her way too long to realise that Ha-eun was kneeling, completely sans clothing, in front of her. Not that the other girl made it easy, just watching her quietly, eyes gleaming in amusement and anticipation.

When she did finally see the younger girl, looking up at her with her leash caught between her teeth, she sucked in a breath. Her hand fell from the handle of her luggage as she made her way over to where Ha-eun was kneeling, her breath starting to come out in excited pants as she looked up at Jennie.

“What are you doing here, sweet thing?” Jennie asked, taking the leash from Ha-eun and using it to pull her up slightly as she bent down to kiss her.

“I missed you so much, mistress,” Ha-eun murmured as she craned her neck eagerly to meet the kiss, her mouth slightly open so that Jennie could slide her tongue into her mouth while the older girl’s long hair fell around their faces like a curtain.

“You’re such a pretty slut,” Jennie cooed when she finally detached herself from Ha-eun, breathing hard from the kiss that had started soft and slow but turned filthy and deep before long.

Instead of responding verbally, Ha-eun just stared up at the other girl, her pupils dilated with arousal as she ran her tongue along her bottom lip, licking up the string of saliva that connected them. She hummed happily as she did so, relishing the taste.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Jennie asked, her brow quirked sardonically. Ha-eun, deep enough in subspace to not react to the slightly mocking tone, just nodded as she sank her teeth into her lip.

“You just taste really good, mistress,” she confessed breathily, shuffling forwards slightly and resting her chin on Jennie’s denim-clad thigh as she looked up at her, her adoration written clearly across her face.

“Yeah?” Jennie smiled down at Ha-eun, smoothing her hair behind her ear.

“Mhm, let me show you how much I like it?” Ha-eun asked sweetly, moving her hands up the length of Jennie’s legs to hook her fingers in the belt loops of her jeans.

A moment of hesitation, then Jennie was pulling Ha-eun’s hands away from her, the confident, almost condescending expression she wore when she was in her dom space melting away into a tentative, almost panicked look. “No, baby, you don’t have to, I just got off a long-haul flight and-”

Ha-eun smiled and cut off Jennie’s fussing by pressing a soft kiss to her denim-clad crotch. “I don’t mind, unnie, really,” she said, slipping out of subspace to reassure the older girl. “I mean, if you’re uncomfortable that’s totally fine too,” she rushed to add. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She reached up to hold Jennie’s hands, pulling them away from her face and pressing gentle kisses to her knuckles.

Understanding what game Ha-eun was trying to play now, Jennie petted her head tenderly, letting her know that she appreciated it even as she cooed, “You’re such a dirty, needy slut, aren’t you? So desperate for your mistress’ pussy you don’t even care that I’ve just spent ten hours on a plane, hmm?”

The slavish excitement in Ha-eun’s eyes gave her away as she nodded frantically, nuzzling into the space between Jennie’s legs.

“Such a worthless, stupid whore, it’s a good thing you’re cute,” Jennie said coldly, catching Ha-eun’s chin in one hand as she held her face still, pressing her thumb into her mouth, the pad of her finger against her tongue as her bottom lip was pushed almost painfully into her teeth. Ha-eun whined wordlessly, attempting to close her lips around Jennie’s finger so that she could suck on it.

“You like that, huh, baby? It’s been difficult for you, with your mistress being gone?”

Ha-eun nodded, pouting slightly around Jennie’s thumb.

“Poor thing, come show me how much you missed me, then,” Jennie invited, and Ha-eun’s eyes lit up as she quickly undid the button on Jennie’s jeans, tugging the zipper down and then pulling the denim down her legs. Not expecting this surprise to be waiting for her when she got home, Jennie had worn an unsexy and comfortable pair of black panties, but that hardly mattered to the younger girl as she moaned, so eager that she basically faceplanted into Jennie’s crotch, mouthing at her clit over the fabric.

Jennie spread her legs a little wider, allowing herself to enjoy the stimulation for a second, before she drew away, causing Ha-eun to whimper.

“Don’t worry, pet,” she soothed, carding her fingers through Ha-eun’s long, silky hair. “Don’t you want to taste it directly?” she prompted, and Ha-eun’s eyes lit up.

“R-really? Can I?” Ha-eun breathed, looking for all the world like Christmas had come early this year, almost squirming in her enthusiasm.

With a small smile, like a queen offering some small favour to a subject, she nodded, and Ha-eun hooked her fingers in the waistband of her panties and drew them down slowly, her eyes wide with awe. Jennie quickly pulled the Chanel sweatshirt she was wearing over her head and dropped it on the floor, uncaring that the shirt probably cost more than Ha-eun’s rent.

“You’re so pretty, mistress,” Ha-eun said softly, making Jennie preen as she unhooked her bra and threw it carelessly away, looking back down at where the younger girl was kneeling in front of her, looking up and biting her lip. Smirking, Jennie fisted her hand in Ha-eun’s hair and pulled her head slightly closer to her pussy.

“Show me how pretty you think I am then,” she suggested with a coy smile.

Ha-eun’s slightly smug smile was thankfully concealed by Jennie’s pussy landing on the lower half of her face, because the dom would have given her hell otherwise. She couldn’t help it, though. Try as she might to act like she was unaffected, the eagerness with which Jennie had manhandled Ha-eun gave away her excitement.

Not that she could blame her. Three weeks was a very long time to be away, and she’d missed the older girl too. Closing her eyes, she gorged herself on Jennie, feasting so enthusiastically that she had to catch herself on the wall to keep from losing her balance. Leaning against the wall by the doorway, Jennie’s head tipped back as she moaned. Without missing a beat, Ha-eun promptly urged Jennie’s leg up and over her shoulder, giving her more access to her core.

“Mmf, fuck, I missed your tongue,” Jennie sighed, stroking Ha-eun’s hair back from her forehead where it had fallen as the kneeling girl ate her out. Her tongue slid between her slippery folds and stroking all the way up to her clit, which she sucked into her mouth. For her part, Jennie used the increased leverage of her leg draped over her shoulder and down her back to pull her further into her pussy.

“God, fuck, you’re such a nasty little whore, aren’t you? So desperate for pussy you don’t even care that I haven’t showered, do you like how it tastes?” The filth pours from Jennie as Ha-eun’s industrious tongue shreds at her brain-to-mouth filter. Not that it’s a problem - in fact, Ha-eun would probably be saying equally filthy things back if her own mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. Instead, she tried to communicate her thoughts wordlessly, whimpering and groaning into Jennie’s soft, hot flesh.

I do like it, I love it, she thought, looking up at the older girl with wide eyes, thoroughly enjoying the way Jennie’s breasts heaved with every breath she took.

It didn’t take long, of course, between how long it had been and the excitement of trying this new kink out, before Jennie was loudly gasping out her orgasm as she creamed all over Ha-eun’s face and tongue. Her eyes shining with happiness, Ha-eun diligently lapped at Jennie, helping her work through her orgasm, until she sagged against the wall. With a giggle, Ha-eun detached herself and pressed a sweet kiss onto Jennie’s pubic mound.

“You’re too good to me,” Jennie said softly, still breathing hard, as she pulled Ha-eun into a standing position.

“No, you’ve been working so hard recently, you deserved the treat,” Ha-eun giggled, resting her cheek on the older girl’s shoulder as her arms wrapped around her waist.

“Still, you deserve a treat for being such a sweet little thing,” Jennie insisted, turning them so that Ha-eun now had her back against the wall, as the rapper’s fingers slid down her body to her pussy.

“Mm, thank you for the offer, unnie, but - ah,” Ha-eun winced as she reached down to grab Jennie’s wrist and stop her from sliding her fingers into her. “Not with those nails you’re not.” Pulling her hand away from her core and lifting it so she could take a good look at the other girl’s hand, she turned it this way and that to admire the manicure. As impractical as it was for fingering her, she had to admit that the manicurist who’d done Jennie’s nails had really gone above and beyond, the long oval nails painted with a shiny bokeh design with rhinestones completing the design.

Pouting, Jennie slid closer, pressing their bodies together as she kissed Ha-eun softly and sweetly, so different from the demanding, harsh kisses they’d shared earlier. “I want to make you feel good too,” she sulked, pulling away slightly and catching Ha-eun’s wrist before dragging her through the apartment to her bedroom.

“It’s okay, you can owe me this one time,” Ha-eun tried to console the older girl, although her heart squeezed a little as she did so. It was just so rare for clients to care about her pleasure, unless of course they were into kinks like overstimulation or edging, and even then her pleasure was more a byproduct of theirs. It made her feel like she was overflowing with affection for Jennie, and she wondered absently if the other girl knew how dangerous she was.

Somehow the thought didn’t sit right with Jennie, though, and she frowned, though Ha-eun couldn’t see it. She wanted Ha-eun to enjoy sex with her, and more than that, there was a sense of power and satisfaction she got from getting her off, feeling her shudder and writhe and moan and know that all of it was because of her.

Sometimes she even thought that she would gladly give up being an idol if it meant she could spend the rest of her life just bringing Ha-eun to orgasm over and over again, and wasn’t that a scary thought. The irony was almost too much to bear - Ha-eun had come into their lives to make it easier for them to cope with the stresses of being idols, and here Jennie was flirting with the idea of giving up being an idol. She didn’t think she would actually do it, but still.

To distract herself from the somewhat strange turn her thoughts had taken, Jennie stopped before her bed, pulling Ha-eun forward by her wrist so she fell onto the bed facefirst, letting out a surprised grunt as her body made impact.

She got her balance and flipped over just in time to see Jennie plant a hand on the mattress next to her as she got onto the bed, hovering over her prone form. Giggling, Ha-eun reached up to loop her arms around Jennie’s neck, pulling her down till she collapsed over her body. It knocked the air out of both of them, but they didn’t quite mind as they exchanged slow, leisurely kisses.

“Mm, I can taste myself on your tongue,” Jennie moaned as she detached herself from Ha-eun’s mouth and started kissing her way down her jaw. Ha-eun, unable to help herself, tilted her head slightly to give the other girl more room to nip at her neck, occasionally biting hard enough that the pain sent a jolt right through her body to her pussy.

“You’re so pretty,” Ha-eun sighed, her hands coming up to cradle Jennie’s face, stroking her cheek with her thumb as she kissed her way down her chest. Jennie looked up with a devilish smirk before closing her teeth around a nipple, causing Ha-eun to give a small shriek as her body came half-off the bed. Frowning now, Jennie pressed her back firmly into the mattress.

“I didn’t say you could move,” she reprimanded as she turned her attention to the other nipple, making sure to give it the same treatment before she continued moving slowly down her smooth, soft belly.

“I - oh, are you sure you want to do that? You don’t have to, really,” Ha-eun started fussing, reaching down to grab Jennie’s face to prevent her from her goal.

Jennie frowned. “You do it for us all the time, what’s the big deal?”

Unexpectedly, Ha-eun flushed. “I just… I mean, a client’s never…” Suddenly shy, she stammered out the hesitant answer, hoping that Jennie would get it without her having to spell it out in so many words.

Jennie gaped at her. “No, really?”

Ha-eun shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance when she was really so embarrassed now she wondered if it would be too weird if she just crawled under the mattress and stayed there for a couple of hours. “I, it’s just… you know, I like to make my clients’ pleasure the priority, and this is kind of one-sided…”

Jennie rolled her eyes, leaning down to suck Ha-eun’s clit into her mouth and eliciting a loud gasp from the younger girl as she arched her back.

“Sweetie, I can assure you that this is definitely not one-sided. Your clients are missing out, you taste so nice,” she commented, licking her lips.

“Ex-clients,” Ha-eun corrected in a breathless voice.

“That’s right, ex-clients,” Jennie said with a gleam in her eyes as she bent her head back down to her task.

She wasn’t the most talented at it - Ha-eun figured it was her first time eating pussy - but she did have a pretty good idea of how the basics worked, drawing from her experiences being eaten out, and between that and the gasped instructions that Ha-eun managed to throw out, it was enough to get the younger girl to orgasm.

When Ha-eun’s world stopped spinning, she looked down to see Jennie resting her chin on her lower belly, grinning at her smugly. The lower half of her face was liberally coated in Ha-eun’s juices, and she realised with a jolt why the girls all seemed to like it when they saw how they’d messed her face. It was an intensely erotic experience.

Smiling back at Jennie, Ha-eun carded a hand through her long, silky hair. “Thank you, unnie,” she said sweetly, trying to convey how appreciative she was about how nice Jennie had been to her.

“It’s no problem, sweetie. But…”

Ha-eun quirked a brow, feeling like she knew what was coming next, based on the way Jennie was squirming slightly and biting her lip.

“Getting you off got me more than a little turned on,” Jennie confessed, and Ha-eun giggled.

“Well, why don’t you come up here and we’ll see what we can do about that,” she suggested, interlocking her fingers with Jennie’s and tugging on her hand gently.

Jennie sat up quickly, intrigued. “Yeah?” she asked.

Biting her lip, Ha-eun nodded. “Yeah, come sit on my face, please, mistress?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Jennie cooed as she crawled up, planting a knee on either side of Ha-eun’s face as she started to lower herself onto her mouth.

“Wait,” Ha-eun said hurriedly, causing Jennie to freeze.

“Is everything okay, baby?”

“Yeah, just… turn around?”

“Turn around? But then my ass will be… oh,” Jennie trailed off as the realization hit, aided along by Ha-eun’s raised brow. Smirking, she readjusted herself. Whatever they were paying the escort, it certainly wasn’t enough, she thought absently as she lowered herself again, appreciating Ha-eun stroking her ass with her thumbs to let her know that it was okay. Did escorts get annual bonuses? She would need to look into that, she wondered as she started to rock back and forth gently on Ha-eun’s face.

Her movements pushed Ha-eun’s face deeper into her ass, not that the younger girl was complaining as she found her nose pressed against Jennie’s asshole as her pussy settled over her mouth. Because, let’s be real, how many people would kill to be buried in Jennie’s ass right now? Hell, Ha-eun would have done it for free, probably. The money was really just the icing on the cake, she thought as she opened her mouth and started licking.

“Mm, that feels nice, sweetie. Do you like that? Being smothered under my ass? You do, don’t you. I can feel your nose on my asshole, you filthy slut. You like how it smells? It’s all sweaty and stinky, just for you, baby, aren’t you a lucky thing.” Jennie’s penchant for dirty talk was in full swing as she raised herself slightly so that Ha-eun could take a breath before she was slamming herself back down on her sub’s face.

This time, though, she positioned her ass over Ha-eun’s mouth, so the younger girl’s lips were pressing right up against her asshole. A thrill shot down her spine as she took in the new sensation, so dirty, so sexy, so powerful. She’d performed for audiences of thousands before, but not even the feeling she’d had while singing at Coachella could compare to this.

It was made all the better by how enthusiastically Ha-eun was responding, moaning as she kissed and licked her asshole, sounding for all the world like there was nowhere else she’d rather be. Jennie’s hand slid down to her clit, which felt like it was on fire.

“Yes, that’s it, you dirty girl, worship my asshole,” she hissed. “You’re such a dirty, pathetic whore, you know that? You don’t even deserve this, do you know how many people would kill to be where you are right now?”

Ha-eun moaned in response, licking Jennie’s ass fervently. It was warm and sticky, and she could taste the salt of her sweat and that musky, distinct flavour that ass tended to have, and she loved it.

“That’s right, you dumb slut, you’d better appreciate having my ass in your face,” Jennie spat out, her hand rubbing her clit frantically. Ha-eun was alternating between rubbing the flat of her tongue against her ass and drawing little circles around it, enjoying the feel of it fluttering against her face.

“Mm, fuck, put your fucking tongue in it,” Jennie ordered breathlessly, then cried out when Ha-eun did just that, stiffening her tongue and probing gently at her asshole. She was barely able to get the tip of her tongue in before it clenched hard, trapping her there, but she just stroked Jennie’s hip soothingly until the older girl slowly relaxed a little more, allowing her to drive a little more of her tongue up her rectum.

“Yes, shit, fuck, oh my God, your fucking tongue is in my asshole, that’s so fucking dirty. You like making out with my butt, whore? You know what comes out of there, don’t you, and you still kiss it so sweetly, aren’t you pathetic,” she gasped as she frigged herself to the most intense orgasm she’d ever experienced in her life, groaning loudly as she came to the feeling of Ha-eun moaning into her asshole.

When she was done, she pitched herself onto the bed bonelessly, unable to do more than lie there, trembling. Ha-eun sat up, pushing Jennie’s legs out of the way as she turned to look at the older girl.

“You okay there, unnie?” Ha-eun asked cautiously, observing Jennie’s fucked out expression. The older girl just nodded into the sheets, her eyes closed.

“All right, glad you enjoyed,” she said, patting her flank as she started to move off the bed.

“Nooo,” Jennie whined, grabbing Ha-eun’s wrist and tugging weakly. By now Ha-eun was attuned to the other girl, though, and knew what she wanted, smiling as she lay down next to her and let her snuggle close, trapping her between the wall and the rapper’s body.

Smiling, Ha-eun stroked Jennie’s back as they drifted into a well-deserved nap.

When Jennie woke up again, she was ravenous, and shook Ha-eun awake. “I’m going to order some food, do you want anything?” she asked the younger girl when she cracked an eye open.

Ha-eun yawned and sat up. “Oh, I made some food, I’ll go heat it up,” she said groggily as she stumbled off the bed.

“Wait, you - what?” Confused, Jennie trailed after her, standing at the kitchen counter and watching her flit around the kitchen, lighting the stove to reheat the soybean stew and pulling various Tupperware containers out of the fridge and popping them into the microwave.

“Can you keep an eye on these, unnie? I want to brush my teeth,” Ha-eun asked, and when Jennie nodded, still a little shell shocked, Ha-eun smiled and went off to the bathroom.

When she re-emerged all minty fresh, Ha-eun helped Jennie set the table, arranging the side dishes in the middle and scooping out the freshly made rice (none of that instant trash tonight, thank you very much) from the rice cooker. Once the stew was bubbling merrily on the pot, she brought it to the dining table.

“This tastes amazing, thank you, Ha-eun-ah,” Jennie moaned around a spoonful of soup, and Ha-eun grinned back at her.

“I’m glad you like it! I know you missed Korean food while you were away and I wanted to surprise you.”

“You sure did,” Jennie murmured, flushing slightly at the memory of what had transpired earlier.

Ha-eun giggled. “I just wanted to let you know how much I missed you, unnie,” she said playfully, grabbing a piece of kimchi and putting it in her mouth with a bit of rice.

“I missed you too, sweetie,” Jennie said, smiling softly at the other girl. This picture of casual domesticity, more than anything else, was making her heart do strange things in her chest. The sex was great and all, but it was part of Ha-eun’s job scope, after all, and the girls had been assured that she was very good at her job before she’d been hired. They sure hadn’t exaggerated, and Jennie was grateful once again that YG spared no expense when it came to keeping Blackpink happy and healthy.

It was just… how cute Ha-eun was when she wasn’t engaged in any lewd acts with the girls that was making things really confusing for her. And it wasn’t just her - Jisoo had confided in her during one of their late night calls that she was concerned she was starting to like their escort a little bit too much, and she was pretty sure the maknaes had already thrown caution to the wind.

There was no one else they could turn to, though. If they told Ha-eun, she might just quit, and the management would definitely replace her if they ever caught wind of what was happening. They just had to figure this out by themselves.

[thegoldenavenger]

guess who watched given and immediately had to shove tony waist-deep into this fucking thing because [they forgot they already ”wrote” this au]

it’s me

unedited as always, light spoilers for given if you havent seen that and wanted to. 

anyways, tony stark is the high profile son of a business mogul based in LA because the mcu loves giving tony centric plot points to howard stark industries is capitalizing on the silicone valley fever.  after a major manic episode tony uproots his life and goes to school in new york, as far as he can physically move away from his stifling family and the pressure. 

tony’s done with building robots for his father’s business, he’s done being manipulated by the adults in his life and he abandons everything from the stark life.  he picks up a guitar, learns how to play it, and never looks back. 

tony finds he likes the life of a garage band.  he glides through classes and focuses on his fingering (not that kind) and absent-mindedly writing down notes for songs he doesn’t really think he’ll write. He really likes being that guy, bringing out a guitar and everyone groans but people request songs anyways.  besides, he’s never really been a fan of wonderwall. 

of course he plays piano, it was that or violin and his dad thought strings were for girls. he’s used to playing in front of a crowd, stiff collared and sweating under the calculating gazes of his parents’ party guests. just another new trick to show off. 

there’s something so indescribably different about playing guitar under cheap lights in a garage, the casually gathered crowd gaining interest and beer and his fingers feel like splitting over the strings of his instrument.  The noise, the whine as he coaxes his guitar to sing, amplified through speakers that thump with his bassist’s steady beat and he can feel the sweat slick down his back making his shirt sticky. 

tony’s lucky to have met the bandmates he had.  Pepper’s a riot on the drums and Rhodey is tony’s constant, reliable bassist and both of them have deigned to take him under their wing even if he’s less experienced and more annoying then they should have to deal with.  Being able to play with them, it’s more than tony could’ve asked for. 

he’s happy with his life, which is why he’s a little less than pleased when he runs into a short, scrawny blond holding a guitar with white knuckled fingers.  tony runs into him, and the boy jolts violently, the guitar slipping the grip like he’d tossed it. it’s a nice guitar, so tony instinctively reaches out for it. 

“why are you keeping the snapped strings on like this?” he asks, taking the chance to inspect the guitar. 

“Give it back.” The boy says. well, demands. Tony does nothing of the sort. Instead he straightens it out and sights down the fret board. 

“it’s a nice guitar, but leaving your strings like this is a bit--”

“I said: give it back!” 

The boy’s grip is surprisingly strong for someone so small, tony thinks distantly.

“Okay! No need to bite my head off about it,” He lets go of the guitar, but doesn’t leave quite yet.  “Look, these will work to replace those...” Tony digs in his bag for a second, taking out an unopened pack of his own replacement strings. Maybe not the exact match, but they’d do well enough. “Get them done as soon as you can, it’s a shame to see something that nice look like that.” 

He gives the packet of strings away and leaves. 

Tony doesn’t think much of this incident.  But he guesses he made more of an impact than he thought because now he’s been ambushed by the same blond boy.  

“Look, I can’t figure out how to change the string. Just show me!” 

“Can’t you, I don’t know? Youtube it or something?” Tony asks. 

“Don’t be an ass! I just--” Tony notices how startlingly blue the boy’s eyes are as he glares to the side. “I can’t undue the pins.”

It feels like pulling teeth, the way the words force their way past the kid’s lips. Like he’s spitting out something bad, admitting that he can’t do something. 

“I don’t have the right tools and I--I don’t want to break it more.” 

His fingers grip the guitar awkwardly, and Tony knows that kid hasn’t played even one chord before.  Probably hasn’t played even a guitar themed rhythm game with how unbalanced he’s holding the body.  

Tony rubs the back of his neck.  

“God, I don’t know why I tried!”

“It’s fine--” Tony blinks as he cut into the kid’s frustrated venom.  

“It’s fine,” he starts again, “I’ll help. Here.” He holds his hand out and is handed the guitar very reluctantly. 

He remembers his first snapped string. The shock, the sharp sting as it flicked against his hand.  But learning to play guitar was painful.  From the blisters to the muscle aches, the endurance. He finds himself smiling. 

He narrates what he does, his hands gliding over the sleek body of the guitar.  “See, you need to keep track of the pins. it’s easier with tools, I can lend you these ones I have an extra set. My name is Tony.” He shifts the guitar so he’s holding it properly, plucking a string and adjusting the peg.

“What? What are you doing?”

“Listen,” He says, as he twists a peg.  The blond gets that look on his face again, the squinty one with angry eyebrows.  Tony laughs, and strums the guitar. 

The chord comes out sharp and clear. 

“There you go, it’s all fixed.” 

Tony thinks it should be the last he sees of him.  Tony’s pretty sharp, so he noticed the graphite smudges on his fingers and the large portfolio on his hip. An art student.  There’s no reason to cross paths again when Tony’s classes are all music based and he should probably start paying rent for how often he’s fallen asleep in the computer labs.  

But apparently that kid isn’t finished with Tony. 

“Teach me to play this.”

Tony blinks. 

“I don’t even know your name.”

“If I tell you, will you teach me to play?”

Tony shrugs. 

“It’s Steve.”

Tony tries walking away. It’s not very effective. 

He can’t really dodge Steve, and finds himself followed all the time now.  Honestly, tony would be a little flattered if Steve didn’t look like he was swallowing a lemon every time Tony catches a glance at his face. 

To be fair, Tony is kind of relishing the attention.  He complains to Rhodey and Pepper and they both roll their eyes at him before they start jamming. It’s after one of these jams that he runs into Steve again. 

He’s standing outside the door, his face with angry looking eyebrows but his eyes watery. His face is red, he doesn’t have a jacket and Tony is getting reacquainted with the cold himself now that he’s let himself out of the steaming jam room. 

“Teach me how to play like that!” 

Tony tries ignoring him, but Steve is determined to follow him, even through the cold, dry night. Even when his breath hitches and his voice turns reedy.  

“Teach me! Teach-- Te--” Steve starts gasping every other breath and Tony spins around.  Steve’s flushed cheeks from the cold have drained away and now he’s pale, pale, pale. 

“Steve!” Tony stops, right there, his hands hovering over Steve like concerned birds, unsure where to touch. Steve looks, if possible, angrier than ever, still trying to speak even while gasping. 

“Please, Steve shut up!” Tony puts his hands over Steve’s mouth, he doesn’t know what to do. “I’ll teach you, or whatever, just! Do you have an inhaler or something?” 

Steve points to his bag, and after Tony is done rifling through it and hands Steve his uncovered rescue inhaler, he’s grinning the smarmiest grin someone having an asthma attack can possibly muster. 

Tony finds himself feeling distinctly played.  He doesn’t mind it as much as he should. 

Steve is an incredibly stubborn student and Tony is perhaps not the most patient teacher.  He grabs Steve’s hands more than once to force them into the right position and demands he try again, and again, and again.  It almost gives him flash backs, but Steve almost dares him to be less than serious about the lessons.  Like it would kill Steve if Tony treated him the least bit kindly. 

Tony brings him to his and Rhodey’s and Pepper’s jam sessions.  He grins and points and says “this is how a real rock star does it,” and plays with a loose fluidity he hasn’t felt in a while.  He sees Steve’s foot tapping and grins widely, like he’s won something.  He feels like he won something.

Steve learns the chords and how to read tabs and even how to restring his own guitar, though Tony finds himself doing it more often then not.  There’s something really endearing about the ferocious way Steve devotes himself to learning guitar.  

They sit next to each other, out of class but on campus.  Tony is demonstrating a fingerstyle more suited to an acoustic guitar even though Steve is learning on an electric. It sounds like shit, but they’re both grinning anyways.  

“Then what kind of music do you like?” Tony asks, shaking out his hand. 

“Just, you know. Stuff.”

“Come on, you have a favorite song, everyone does!” Tony says, blustering. “You already know what I like.”

“I wonder...” Steve says, trailing off. He stares into the middle distance for long enough that Tony is about to laugh to break the sudden tension and switch topics but Steve interrupts him. 

“It’s like...” and he humms something, his hand doing half-aborted conductions as he feels his way through a tune. He trails off and looks into Tony’s startled face.

“Did you, did you write that?”

“Not, I mean, not really. That’s just what came to mind.”

“Freestyle, just now?!” 

Tony can’t tear out his notebook fast enough, transposing the notes steve had hummed onto the page. Steve finally looks something other than stubbornly angry or determined as Tony pries him for another verse, to repeat this melody, to hum that again.

For once, Steve finds himself following along with Tony, watching as his hand rushes to keep up with their conversation, as the notes spill across the page and Tony grabs his guitar half way through to pick his way through half written melodies. 

Tony’s dark hair is short, relatively speaking. It curls at his neck. But his dark, dark eyes are the same and his eyelashes sweep against his cheek as he leans over to check his fingering on the fret. He’s sitting cross legged and when he looks up to grin at Steve, Steve is already walking away. 

“He’s a genius!” Tony starts as he barrels into the jam room. 

“Ohoh?” Rhodey laughs and Pepper dutifully plays the rim shot as Tony slides his carry case off his shoulder.

“I’m not kidding, look, listen!” he demands

tony does his damndest to get steve to write songs for the band.  he reaches out and compliments him and buys him lunch, and new pencils, and compliments him some more and well, he’s out of practice with the whole shmoozing thing now. it’s fun though, and tony thinks steve at least enjoys the attention. 

at least steve enjoys the attention enough to keep brainstorming with tony as they go through their guitar lessons.  steve has a certain way of composing, tony notices.  he pulls notes from the air that tony wouldn’t choose, but it compliments the way he and rhodey and pepper play.  still, tony can’t help but think the notes are being written for someone else. 

tony knows this life can’t go on the way it has been.  He’s been expecting a shoe to drop for years now. but he’d been preparing for his father to fly in and tie him back down to the californian mansion, or maybe someone from his past coming in to wreck his life. 

he’d been a mess before the move. even after it.  he’s always expected it to catch up, or for his touch to ruin the good things in his life now.  between being half in love with the three people who care about him, and spending too long hoping three thousand miles was enough distance to outrun his past, tony knew his number would be coming up soon enough. 

at least he’d been happy for a while. truly, genuinely happy. 

he was the son of a household name, popular in the tabloids for getting in trouble, and the internet was forever he’d been told.  so he was prepared for the past to come up. 

He had just been expecting it to be his past to come knocking. 

bucky barnes is tall, broad, and missing one arm. he’d be impossible to miss and yet somehow tony didn’t notice six feet of pure american beef stalking across the campus. it must be the arm, or lack of arm. maybe how he kind of hunches down to hide it? 

He approaches with only the sound of boots to announce his presence and Tony looks up startled, but it’s only Steve this man has eyes for.

“That my guitar, Stevie?” 

Steve has kind of locked up, his fingers white against their grip on the guitar. His face is turned away, but Tony can see the tenseness of his thin shoulders.  Tony isn’t good for much, but he’s not gonna sit back while Steve faces whatever this is on his own. 

“Well, I don’t see you playing it anytime soon.” Tony says. 

It’s like shattering a mirror, the moment Tony sees the threads holding Steve snap.  He looks at Tony with something like disgust as he jolts to standing. “I’m sorry,” he says, before bolting. 

He leaves the guitar behind. Tony knows it wasn’t him that Steve was apologizing to.

“Was it something I said?” Tony asks the air. 

Tony doesn’t know his name yet, but Bucky Barnes takes the seat across from him.  

“Might’ve been me.” he says, like a confession. 

turns out bucky barnes and steve might’ve been a thing. tony finds out through less than reputable means, but bucky says himself steve feels guilty about the accident that led to bucky’s hospitalization and amputation.  

he used to play guitar

the one tony’s been thinking of as steve’s.  

bucky’s hand is callused the way a working man’s is.  If tony tried he could probably find the places strings wore at until they hardened, but tony doesn’t try.  he can imagine well enough.  like he can imagine the summers spent listening to guitar plucked on windowsills or whatever sickeningly cute domestic childhood things steve and bucky got up to

and, because tony’s never been one to let himself go without a good rubbing in, he’s found a couple ancient recording on the internet of bucky’s old high school recitals.  he can hear the strings of bucky’s guitar through the tinny audio and though and suddenly he knows just who’s fingers the notes for steve’s song was meant for.

tony won’t let steve go without a fight. whether the songs were meant for him to play or not, tony wants to play them.  he wants the chance.  so he drags bucky into the band whether anyone wants that or not. 

bucky can’t play the guitar--right now, tony suspects with enough research and bugging of that cute radiophyscist that could change--but he still wants to reconnect with steve and it’s easy enough to use that to tony’s advantage.  bucky’s kind of a puppy once you get past the six feet some inches and what seems like solid muscle. 

tony takes him aside one day, with his guitar and set him down. “listen,” he says, and plays the skeleton of the song steve had been helping write. 

bucky blinks, recognition in his eyes and tony nods as he plays.  bucky gets it, tony thinks.  steve is supposed to be writing these songs.  he’s good at it, in a way that tony thinks he used to be good at things. like he was creating something worthwhile. 

“this is steve’s?” bucky asks, softly. tony doesn’t have to answer him.  “I remember. it’s familiar like... hmm, how did it go...” bucky’s hand twitches like his fingers want to find a fret board. “like... i never liked the winter / the cold never leaves soon enough / and i’m tired of waiting / for the sun to call your bluff... something like that...” 

Tony’s fingers have stopped strumming, and he stares at Bucky with widened eyes. 

“what?” Bucky asks and Tony whips his arms out, gripping Bucky’s shoulders as if to stop him from bolting.

“you can sing. no one told me you could sing.”

“well, it’s nothing much.”

“No, shut up.  it’s amazing. you have to sing with us.”

It’s almost harder than convincing steve to write with him was. but eventually tony has all his pieces lined up.  steve writing songs, bucky singing. him, pepper and rhodey doing all the hard work. 

tony can sing, but he’s never been drawn to it the way he had been with playing guitar.  RIP to his father’s weird brand of masculinity, but tony just liked strings. Still, he knew enough to help bucky strengthen his voice. to sharpen his consonants and find where his head voice and chest voices lie.  

he plays scales on the guitar and leads bucky through vocal exercises.  It’s like working on fingerwork with steve, only bucky’s got less of a temper.  He’s surprisingly earnest, taking criticism easily and turning around with the proper work.  tony almost feels out of depth with the ease he has coaching bucky.  

where steve would shove and huff and yell when he didn’t get something right, bucky would nod and clear his throat and ask questions before trying again.  steve would roll his eyes and grab tony’s card so he could pay for his half of the lunch. bucky would smile that half smile and thank tony when he picked up the tab. 

it was cute. 

or, well. 

tony makes steve play the scales for bucky and spends a couple weeks jamming with just the band.  he’s rusty, he says, too much teaching means not enough practicing.  bucky seems understanding if melancholy and steve’s face is stubborn as always. 

it’s while all of them are in the jam room that pepper announces they have a gig in two months.  

“it’s a good opportunity to debut some of the new songs we’re working on.” she says. 

“we should start doing group practices at least twice a week,” rhodey says, narrowing his eyes at tony.  

“ah, we don’t actually have lyrics for most of our songs.” tony says, haphazardly. 

“we have some, you can teach bucky those. or you can sing them like always,” pepper says, brightly. 

Bucky seems to perk up, catching tony’s eye. “you have songs?” 

“nothing that special,” tony says. 

“I’d like to learn them with you,” bucky replies. tony blinks. 

“two months is enough time to write lyrics.” steve asserts. “bucky and i have been working on them anyways.” 

“okay.” tony finds himself agreeing with the rest of them. 

They spend some times going through their set list.  Pepper and rhodey bring up some songs they like that bucky and steve will need to learn. they rearrange the order to accommodate the new song steve and bucky have been working on. 

tony bites his lips.  it’s perfect.  steve writing songs for his band. bucky singing in his band.  pepper and rhodey, perfect and constant.  tony’s hands on the neck of his guitar. it’s as perfect as it can get. 

tony’s glad that the impending deadline is at least forcing steve and bucky to come head to head.  he doesn’t know what happened exactly, to drive a wedge between the two in the first place. he doesn’t want to ask. he doesn’t want to know. but being forced to volley lyric timing and melodies back and forth is eating away at the distance between them. 

it’s also driving home the fact that tony’s the last thing on either of their minds.  he can hear it in the chords he picks out, that steve has written for someone else’s hands. and even though he isn’t going to school for literature he can read symbolism when the lyrics are as plain as what bucky’s been mumbling under his breath for hours now. 

“i thought you were done marching to someone else’s tune.” pepper says to him as steve drags bucky through another practice. 

tony shrugs his shoulders. “i think... i think i’m happy we’re all here. together. i think this is happier than i’ve ever been.” he looks down at his hands.  he’s got the calluses from guitar blisters like every other wanna be rock star, but his hands are rough for other reasons.  his knuckles littered with scars from welding, his thumb and forefinger smooth in the places he’d strip wires.  there’s a burn on his palm from touching something that hadn’t quite cooled.  

he might’ve loved building once. that could have been his life. but he’s sure he would have missed out on this: real friends, who cared about him. who wanted to play with him.  he’s not sure he would have had that, if he’d stayed.  

it’s happier than he thinks he deserves, really. 

the date of the gig draws closer and while steve has been writing and rewriting the song chords--and tony and rhodey and pepper all drag themselves through rememorizing the new versions--bucky hasn’t submitted any lyrics.  

it’s troubling but tony can’t help but feel relieved each time practice comes and goes without bucky’s voice rising in some new chorus or verse. 

each time, tony claps his hand against bucky’s shoulder and grins at steve and says, “you can do it!”

“why don’t you help?” rhodey asks one time and tony shrugs. “i think they need it?” he answers. 

and, increasingly, tony is sure he doesn’t want to help write someone else’s love story.  it’s bad enough seeing steve strike through the tabs tony had just played and know it’s because he wasn’t doing it the way bucky would’ve. steve keeps writing for someone who won’t play again. 

tony doesn’t mind standing in that much. a replacement is what he’s been his whole life. 

but having to sit next to steve and bucky and help spell out why they’re having such trouble? tony’s never been a saint. he can’t just say “you like each other!” without any thought to himself. 

ah. 

he thought it. 

“it’s fine, we’ll just use the instrumental version and lead with Star Driver.” he says. 

“I’m fine with it,” Rhodey agrees. 

“Well, Bucky doesn’t have a part in Star Driver.” Pepper points out. 

“Ah, then we’ll start with uh, Monaco, Bucky you practiced the lead for that one, right?” 

Bucky nods but Steve cuts in. 

“why can’t we do it as planned? That’s the way we practiced!”

“because we spent the whole rehearsal playing the same first chords waiting for someone to start. We’re playing tomorrow, there’s no more time!” 

steve, angry faced as always, steps forward like his short, skinny body was ready to fight tony right then. 

“what happened to ‘you can do it!’ did you not actually believe that?”

“Steve, c’mon...”

“we’re out of time! it doesn’t matter if i believe in you or not if you don’t follow up yourselves!” tony says. 

pepper looks to the ceiling like a prayer.

steve scoffs, “it’s not like you ever believed in us in the first place! you just take whatever new shiny thing there is to put in your band so you don’t get bored and have to fly back to california!” 

tony’s fist clenches and rhodey pinches his nose.  

“we don’t have time for this,” rhodey says under his breath but no one listens. 

“whatever.” tony hisses and spins.

the next day is fraught with tension as they prepare for the show.  none of them are willing to back out, even if they’re a mess. 

“did we decide on a set list.” tony asks rhodey.

“well,” rhodey trails off. 

“we’re doing it as planned,” steve interrupts. 

tony gives him an unimpressed glare, “well, i’m good enough at improvising, whatever actually happens.” he says. 

steve clicks his tongue and turns back to his guitar, tuning it. 

tony pulls a face. he glances up at bucky in the middle of it, and feels kind of bad.  bucky’s been nothing but nice, it’s steve that has a bee in his bonnet. but tony’s words probably hit just as hard if not harder for bucky. 

tony clenches his jaw. 

“Ah, Bucky, I...” He trails off as Bucky meets his eyes.

tony can sing. he even writes lyrics.  he’s the front man of the band, or was before he drug bucky into it.  so of course, after steve and hummed the song to him the first time he’d written some lyrics on the back of a napkin because he couldn’t get it out of his head. and when bucky had started outlining a sketch of verse, tony’d rewritten those lyrics like the impressionable boy he’d tried to grow out of. 

he just likes playing guitar more.  he’s always like working with his hands more than talking in front of a crowd.  but as the hot, heavy lights turn on them, and the crowd in the cafe all face them he remembers the first time he’d ever played.  not just guitar but anything at all. 

plucking the ivory keys of a piano, the discordant clanging echoing through the big house.  his mother had clapped and he frozen up, suddenly frightened at the thought of someone looking at him, of seeing him maybe fail.  his mother had slid into the seat next to him, her finger showing him where to hit. 

his father had swung in and scoffed, said if he was old enough to fool around he was old enough to actually learn. none of this coddling, maria, get the boy a real tutor. 

Pepper taps her drumsticks and lays out, her foot keeping a steady beat. Tony automatically joins in, his fingers following muscle memory.  tony’s used to the lights now, he even likes it.  the heat and the attention. 

he hears steve join in, the dual guitar melody working even though steve isn’t very talented yet.  Rhodey jumps in, the bassline smooth and grounding.  

They play the intro, then loop it when bucky misses his cue.  the second time they loop tony glances away from the crowd to see bucky, sweating by the mic. he catches steve’s worried eyes, sees white knuckled fingers again, and he takes a step forward. 

he gets close enough to bucky he can lean into the mic, and bucky jumps at his presence.  tony grins at the crowd. this is planned, he says with his grin and waits until the cue comes up again. 

“how did it go?,” he says into the mic, “i never liked the winter, i’m tired of the sun. as days go on, i fall apart, and i thought this might be fun.” he steps back from the mic and plays breathing in for the next part. 

“I never liked the winter,” bucky’s voice cut in, and if tony hadn’t been expecting it, well. “the rain won’t go away. but it’s fine, you see, because this is just the start.” 

tony let his fingers follow the frets as he leaned into the song. it was a mistake not to practice this. it was a mistake letting bucky debut a song no one in the band had actually heard the full version of. but tony hadn’t been lying when he said he was good at improvising.  

he followed steve’s lead well enough--hell, he knew enough of steve’s style he could ape a riff or two if need be.  and he’d written down enough of bucky’s half thought poems mumbled through jam sessions that he might well have had the whole song compiled in his notebook somewhere. 

He leans back in for the chorus as bucky’s voice swelled. “And even if you let go, there’s something holding on to you!”

the concert is a blur, with the stage lights and the crowd.  tony backs off as bucky finds his feet, manages to get back to his own mic and sing back up from there. it isn’t like he’d imagined. somehow, there’s room on this stage.  hearing bucky sing, for real, for the first time. it’s tugging something inside tony’s chest.  and even though the riff he’s playing wasn’t written for him he finds that there’s a flair here and there, a little space for him to improvise. 

there’s a place for him here. 

he can hardly believe it’s over, just the cheers of the audience that make him aware that his fingers have stopped moving and no one is playing any more.  it’s a rush to get back stage where rhodey and pepper clap his back and yell, and bucky and steve both look ready to have some kind of attack.

“that was good, right?” bucky asks

“good?” steve says, incredulously.

“that was amazing!” tony exclaims. he throws his arms over both their shoulders. “that was something else!” he grins back at pepper at rhodey who are hugging as well. 

“i want to...” bucky starts, then stops. 

“play it again, right?” tony says.

steve is the one who answers yes. 

“we will! we have to!” tony shouts.  he can barely stop from jumping for literal joy.  the sweat under his shirt makes the fabric stick to him when he moves and now that he’s not under the stage lights his skin is chilling fast but hell if he can focus on that. 

“i want to write more songs.” bucky says

“i want to, too.” steve says and they both look at tony, like if he tells them yes or no they’ll listen. 

like maybe they want him to have a say in this.

“i want to play them,” tony answers. he bites his lips. 

“i want to play songs your write for me. and, i want to play songs we write together.” 

he closes his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. he can feel it again, the weight of someone watching him, the potential of failing in front of someone he cared about, 

“okay,” 

he blinks his eyes open. steve is staring, stubborn and determined, into tony’s face, like tony was a new fingerstyle he had to learn. bucky looked slightly confused.

“i did write the song for you... well, you and steve but--” 

tony inhaled sharply, looking at bucky for what felt like the first time in a long while. exhaling, he lowered his face into his hands. “nooooooo.” he whined. 

“this is why you can’t have nice things, tony!” rhodey yelled from somewhere behind him. 

“you’re always over thinking it!” pepper agreed. 

someone’s hands patted him on the shoulder. “i thought you knew, you were there when i came up with the first lyrics,” 

tony shook his head. 

“it was pretty obvious,” that was steve.

tony stuck a hand out to swat him, but found it caught instead. he looked up. “i guess it’s my fault.” steve said, “i’m not good at explaining things.” 

“neither am i.” tony grinned. “but i think i get it now.” 

“good”

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Summary: Oh the beauty of a powdered sugar love. Rating: M Warnings: Sub!Cafe Owner!Kim Seokjin x Dom!Psycology Major!Reader, cuffs, ties, plastic cock, oral (female and male receiving), slight edging and begging, sub worship cause Kim Seokjin is a pretty sub Word Count:  2k+

On most days, you wanted nothing more than to collapse into your dorm room. The long days of lectures in the morning followed by labs at night, really managed to wring your body of all its energy. But today, on the way back from your Chem Lab, which was, for some reason, began at seven pm, something drew you to the small shop hidden in the rush of your university. It was disgustingly pink, but it was still reputed to be the best in town. Pushing open the door, you were hit with the soft essence of vanilla bean and coffee, blending together in a way that brought back Christmas as a child.

The interior was soft pastels and seemed to exists in that space where time was no longer a factor. It didn’t stop, but it...just...didn't...matter as much as it used to. This was an escape from the incessant ticking of the minute and hour hand that never seemed to care about the millions watching them. 

As education-driven women, you focused on the clock more than you would like. Always glancing at the face on your wrist and giving it so much more importance than you really should. This shop existed outside of that world, and you felt at peace for once. The once infuriating tick tick tick seemed to melt away, replaced with soft ding of a timer going off and the oven opening. 

He stood tall and proud, with his tray of cookies in one hand and a class of milk in the other. “You looks like you could use a break.” His smile was warm, the same chocolate of the cookies reflecting in his soft eyes. Placing the glass in front of you, you watched the steam rise out of it. Warm Milk. 

The faint strands danced and sang, performing for you all the way until they disappeared into a world you were not privy to. His voice brought you back Spiced Warm Milk. Christmas morning, cookies and all.

For the rest of the time the shop was open, you remained there. Sat at the counter, still nursing that warm mug while carrying on a conversation with the owner. Jin, you had found, was actually your senior having graduated the year before but stayed on campus grounds to run his cafe and be a teaching assistant to an intro economics course. Multiple times, you had seen freshman students. the tell-tale signs of exhaustion painting their faces as they ran in. It only took them a moment to find Jin and to accost him with questions. 

But he didn't mind. Jin never minded anything it seemed to you, and for a moment you marveled at how good he was at maintaining a mask. As a psychology major, it seemed filthy habit to just 'notice' things about everyone you met. And sitting there for the last hour had given you ample time to figure out the sandy-haired man who seemed to never stop smiling. 

He knew someone was watching him, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Still he finished helping his student before turning to see the girl that had so intrigued him. just looking. No expression on her face but narrowed eyes giving away what she was doing. 

"You're studying me." He was blunt, letting a bit of his mask unknowingly slip as he tried to figure out your motivations for doing so. 

"And?" You were in no way phased. One of the first things you had learned was that most people didn't like being evaluated, it became too personal too fast, and no one liked that. 

"What do you see?" 

Leaning over him, hunger in your eyes, you whispered your answer to that question he had asked so long ago. "I see a beautiful baby boy, just waiting to be devoured." He moaned at your answer, not that he could do much more around the panties stuffed into his mouth. Feeling his body shiver below you, you leaned down to the erect nipples, admiring the way they looked, blush pink against the milk coffee of his skin. 

He tasted of the bakery too, his skin sweet like it had been coated in confectioners sugar and his mouth tasted of the little macaroons that he displayed behind the glass case. You moaned against his nipple, the taste too good for words. The vibration against his nipple went straight to his head, arching his back in a way that made your pussy weep. You hadn't even gotten to the best bits yet and he was already mewling like the perfect kitten. 

"You sound so pretty, gumdrop." From the get-go you had picked up on his little kink for nicknames. To his, it was praise of the highest degree and he loved hearing every single one spoken over his prone body. Your voice sounded soft and airy, like meringue or mousse. Flavor erupting from every word, but still light enough to make him fly.

A soft tug on his nipple as you pulled away, made him groan, the panties still muffling the full sound. His voice had turned husky with you, like the kind you would sooth with ginger tea, the tang softened by silky honey. 

Reaching for the bedside table, you brought out the plastic strap-on that you had wanted to use on him since the first time you had seen him. It was a soft pastel pink and reminded you of his shop and his whole aesthetic. He was your soft, pastel boy. 

After securing the ties, you straddled him once again, cooing at how pretty he looked with your marks dotting his skin. "Look how beautiful." Soft fingers traced the surface of his skin where you had left your own claim on his pastry persona. Shifting forward, you leaned over to remove your panties from his mouth. His saliva making it more damp than your arousal had. Tossing it to the side, you leaned down to taste him once again, his mouth open and eager as it had ever been to caress your tongue with his own. 

Pulling away, you allowed the spider-web of spit the both of you had created to fall on your cock. It would look so perfect with his cherry lips wrapped around it. Moving it closer to his mouth, you allowed it to tap gently on his lips, the color contrast already looking like cake and frosting. 

"Open up baby. I wanna see how well these sweet lips can take this cock." And in proper fashion, you didn't have to tell him twice. With a renewed hunger, he accepted the plastic tool, his teeth damn near yanking it closer so he could take it deeper. As you fucked his mouth you could feel the strap rub against your swollen pussy, causing it to weep even more. 

His reddened eyes look up at you with tears brimming the edge, threatening to fall. But he still didn’t stop. You felt his throat swallow around the plastic cock as he continued to bob his head. The sheen of sweat making his skin glow like liquid gold under the lights of your bedroom. Hair slick with exertions snaking around your fingers as you guided him gently.

The jingle of handcuff made you check his wrists. There was nothing he liked better than to be tied down with the cold metal as you had your way with him. It was stress relief. It was love. He saw it in your eyes , wide and blown out. He felt it in your touch, velvet hands tracing his muscles. He heard it in your voice, cooing at him with sugary praise. 

“Sugar baby.” Sweet boy.” Everything he wanted to be for you. And he smelt it - oh god he smelt it - your scent was intoxicating. And he could see the reflection of the light on your thighs where your arousal dripped down your legs.

As he bobbed his head, you reached your hand behind you to grip on his cock, feeling with your thumb the few drops of pre-cum already spilling from the tip. The rest of your hand felt the veins that traveled up and down, snaking around his length in places that you knew would be your undoing. 

You wanted to see that cock cum, and you wanted it now. Without a word, you removed the plastic tool from his mouth and discarded it. Initially your plan was to fuck him into oblivion, but you decided to opt for a more sensual route. One where he would look more messy and you would be able to taste his orgasm. 

You crawled towards his cock, turning so you lay between his legs, watching his face from around the phallus. Slowly exposing your tongue, you drew a long swipe up the base, tasting every dip and ridge of skin that was all Jin. Brining up a hand, you wrapped it around the base, making sure every square centimeter was being pleasured. You continued like this, nipping and tasting, relishing in the candy cane taste of his length. 

“Please.” The word was a whisper, his voice too far gone to really manage anything above a whisper. His tongue snaked out between long pants, picking up the delicious remnants of your orgasm on his lips and chin. His cheeks were a deep red, and you couldn't help brush your finger tips against the soft color, feeling the heat travel through your skin. 

“Speak up baby. I can’t hear you.” With a loud pop you tore tour mouth away from his cock, relishing in the strangled gasp he let out. His hands were tied to the headboard, soft silk becoming one with the downy of his skin. Tears had finally fallen, the denial forcing him into further submission as he now relied on your orders; to speak, to move, to cum.

“Cum for me baby boy.” In moments he was shaking below you, finally losing himself in the bliss that he had craved for so long. Finally losing himself in you. You felt his orgasm coat your face, the white strands dripping your way down your lips onto your chest. Pouting you looked down at yourself.

You couldn't resist the temptation and tasted some. sweet, salty, and all Jin “Look at what a mess you’ve made. Mind cleaning it up sweetness?” His eyes widened in excitement. You still hadn’t finished. He would be able to taste you. Taste you and him together. Taste bliss.

Somewhere between when his mouth latched onto your weeping pussy and your climax, you wondered if either of you knew the time anymore. This was the beauty of your powdered-sugar-love. It was fragile enough to keep testing you both day after day, but was abundant enough to never fear it running out. 

“Just like that.” His long tongue swept between your folds, and you had no trouble believing that he knew exactly what he was doing. In a moment of rare mercy, you had removed the ties, allowing his large hands to hold you in place, fingers long enough to grip your thighs with bruising pressures. 

The heat from his body radiated up, sending shocks up and down your spine. He groaned softly, relishing in the way you melted against his tongue and the subtle taste of sugar that coated your every drop. You were addicting in the best way possible. The sound, vibrated on your cunt, causing you to arch your back above him, hair caressing your back. His tongue went deeper as you pressed down from above him. You were getting closer and closer. Each moment stretching forever as you began to grasp for that perfect release. 

And finally he gave it to you. With one hand on your hip, he curled his thumb around to rub your clit, the little nub already sensitive from the amount of times his nose has brushed against it. “Thank you baby boy.” With a shiny chin and panting tongue, he smiled up at you. 

“Anything for you.”

[pika-ace]

ITH/SPN - Miracles Do Happen Part 1/2

A special request for @kikabennet and @thisstableground. We got to talking about how in an ITH Supernatural AU Ruben would be Castiel, so I’ve decided to do a little condensed two-shot about it! Hope you enjoy!

Usnavi was killed and brought to Hell. Four months later, he’s brought back to life. And the culprit seems a bit friendlier than anyone was expecting. 

Usnavi never imagined his life would end up like this. 

Well, the whole thing about supernatural entities being real was something he was used to, but waking up after being certain he had died and gone to Hell? That was definitely a new one. 

First, he was in Hell, being tortured, and then the next thing he knew he was in a pine box and clawing his way up from six feet of dirt from a barely marked grave. 

Now he was staggering back towards home, as his grave was in a place he recognized. Well, he did remember dying, so the grave made sense. But that meant he got resurrected and that meant...oh hell no. 

No, he didn’t, Sonny wouldn’t be that stupid, not after Usnavi did the exact same deal for him a year ago! Maybe Vanessa or Benny? No, surely they knew better, right? Right?! 

Usnavi picked up the pace until he somehow made it back to the barrio and found himself in front of the bodega. It was locked, of course; still just a bit too early to be opening time. Then again, the place hadn’t had many consistent hours lately. 

Thankfully, Usnavi (somehow) still had a spare key in his pocket. The last thing he wanted was to break into his own store. He staggered inside, relishing the familiar scent and feel of the building before helping himself to two bottles of water, chugging them in record time. He even grabbed a few candy bars and munched on them when his eyes fell on the newspaper, specifically the date. Usnavi picked it up and stared at it; it had only been four months since that night?! 

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Usnavi felt his body, specifically his chest and stomach. He had felt it; felt the Hellhound’s claws rip into him, the tools of torture from the demons in Hell. And yet...he felt no pain. 

Lifting his shirt and looking down, any injury he should’ve had was gone! He did, however, feel a slight sting on his right shoulder. Usnavi went to the small bathroom and gazed at his reflection as he lifted his sleeve, revealing a large handprint, burned into his skin. That was certainly new… 

“Hello?!” Usnavi froze at the familiar voice. Sonny…? “Whoever’s in here, I got a bat, and I ain’t afraid to use it!” That’s right, it was opening time now...and Usnavi had left the door open. He had taught Sonny well. 

“It’s okay!” Usnavi called; he heard Sonny suck in a sharp breath. Usnavi slowly exited from the bathroom with his hands up to see his baby cousin. Sonny’s eyes were wide and disbelieving as he slowly lowered his bat. 

“Hey, mijo…” Usnavi said tearfully. Sonny said nothing, and Usnavi was ready to move forward for a hug, but he should’ve realized how it probably looked when someone who you saw die suddenly reappears. 

Sonny yanked out his small silver pocket knife and charged at Usnavi. 

“Sonny!” Usnavi yelped and ducked out of the way. Sonny ran at him and Usnavi barely stopped him from running him through. “Mijito, it’s me!” 

“Fuck you!” Sonny spat. Well, guess it was safe to say that Sonny wasn’t behind his resurrection (thank god). 

Usnavi threw him off him and hurried behind the counter as if it was a barrier, “Wait wait wait,” He held up his hands, racking his brain for a way to convince him. “Your name is Sonny Mateo De la Vega, my parents took you in when you were born after your Mom was killed by a demon, you’re the closest thing I have to a son!” 

Sonny seemed to hesitate, his eyes shining with unshed tears, but the kid was stubborn. 

“Sonny, I’m not tricking you!” Usnavi rolled out of the way as Sonny kept running at him. 

“Stop hiding behind my cousin!” Sonny screamed, tears starting to leak out. “My cousin’s dead! Has been for months!” 

Usnavi finally managed to grab Sonny and wrestle the knife out of his hands, causing the boy to fall against the counter. “Sonny, it’s really me,” Usnavi said calmly. “Look, if, if I was a monster...could I do this?” He showed Sonny his hand, and gently cut himself with the knife, drawing blood. Sonny stared at the sight. 

“I’m not a shapeshifted, ghost, revenant, nothing,” Usnavi continued. “I’m not even a demon, you can test for that too if you want.” 

Sonny slowly got to his feet and shakily reached into his pocket, pulling out his flask of holy water. He splashed some on Usnavi’s face, and nothing happened. 

Usnavi wiped the water away and tears started to roll down Sonny’s face. “...Navi…?” He croaked. Usnavi only nodded and pulled the boy in the tightest hug imaginable. Sonny returned it in kind, softly sobbing into his shirt. 

They stayed in the embrace for a good few moments until Sonny broke the silence. “The others are gonna freak…” He sniffed. 

“Wait...so no one brought me back?” Usnavi asked, pulling away slightly. 

Sonny looked up and shook his head, “We tried,” Sonny said, wiping his eyes. “We tried everything but...not even demons would bargain with us...so we thought…” 

Usnavi pulled Sonny back into the hug, thoughts now swirling in his brain. If a human didn’t make a deal to bring him back...what did bring him back?

Usnavi’s reunion with Vanessa, Nina, and Benny, went about the same as the one with Sonny. Only with Sonny being there to help keep one of them from murdering Usnavi, the situation was cleared up much quicker. 

Benny and Nina both had pulled him into tight hugs and Vanessa kissed him deeply, trying to keep tears back. But after that, there still came the issue of who brought Usnavi back. 

They sought out a fortune-teller who Nina was friendly with, but the poor woman took one look at whatever did this, and her eyes were burned right out of her skull. 

After that, it was clear that they were gonna have to meet this thing face to face. 

So a few nights later, Usnavi and Benny put together a small summoning ritual in Benny’s apartment, also ready with weapons, including a special demon-killing knife that hadn’t failed them in the four years they started this journey. 

They performed the summoning ritual and waited, and after a while, just when they were about to deem the summoning a failure, the lights flickered. The wind began to howl, rattling the windows, and the presence of a figure could be felt moving slowly towards them. 

The door flew open and the lights blew out. Usnavi and Benny winced from the wind as a figure made itself known in the doorway. The being looked human; very human in fact. As the being walked inside, they made out dark hair, a goatee, and a rumpled lab coat over a plaid button-down shirt. 

As they took in his appearance, they barely realized that he had walked right over the demon circle with no effort at all. They backed away and Benny subtly grabbed the knife from the table behind his back. The being only seemed interested in Usnavi, as he looked at him expectantly. 

“Who are you?” Usnavi managed. 

“Well, um,” The being shuffled his feet. “I’m the one who got you out. Of Hell.” ...Really? This was the one who got him out? Who burned out that lady’s eyes? This puppy-eyed scientist guy? 

Benny wasted no time striding forward, “Thanks for helping my buddy,” And he raised the knife. 

The being flinched and cried out as Benny plunged the knife into his heart. The being shook and whimpered, but not from pain, from fear. “You scared me!” He exclaimed, glaring at Benny with the knife still in him. He pulled the knife out and threw it away, “Don’t ever do that again!” 

“What the fuck…?” Benny breathed, taking a few steps back. The knife did nothing?! What was this thing?! The being then moved quickly towards Benny, and Usnavi let out a gasp as two fingers were pressed to Benny’s temple, making him collapse. 

“Benny…!” 

“I’m sorry, but we need to talk,” The being said, glancing at Benny. “Alone.” He had his hands up in front of him in a cautious gesture. “No more knives, okay? Please?” There was a bit of a pleading edge to his voice. 

Usnavi didn’t answer, still too shocked by everything that had just happened. The being seemed to take that for a positive answer and started wandering around the apartment. Usnavi then barely remembered that Benny was on the floor, not moving. 

Usnavi ran over to his side and checked his pulse with shaky hands, melting when he found it. 

“He’ll be fine,” The being said, who was looking curiously at some house plants. “He’s just asleep.” 

“Who are you?” Usnavi managed. 

“Ruben,” The being answered. 

“N-No...what are you?” Usnavi asked. 

Ruben looked at him, “Oh, I’m an angel.” 

Usnavi felt his eyes grow huge in disbelief; angels? Real angels, like from the bible? “A real one?” He squeaked. 

“Well I mean, what else could get you out of Hell?” Ruben shrugged, chuckling awkwardly. “If you don’t believe me, then…” 

Thunder crashed and Usnavi flinched as the shadow of two dark wings appeared on the wall behind Ruben. Nothing they had ever encountered had wings like that. But could this really be true? 

“But you...you burned out that lady’s eyes…!” 

Ruben suddenly looked worried, “Is she alive?” 

Usnavi blinked, “Uh...yeah, just...blind.” 

Ruben deflated, “Good; I warned her not to look. Seeing an angel’s true form and heard their true voice can be...overwhelming.” 

“Then...how am I talking to you now?” 

“Oh, uh,” Ruben looked down at his body. “We need vessels to communicate with humans so...I found one.” 

Usnavi immediately backed away. “You’re possessing someone?!” 

“It’s not what you think!” Ruben resolved quickly. “Angels have to ask permission to possess someone, and even then only a select few people can hold us! This man he’s...had it rough, he was willing to let me inhabit him, I swear on his life and mine.” 

This was all way too much to take in; they just discovered a new species and Usnavi wasn’t used to learning all the basics from the monsters themselves. “

Are you okay?” Ruben asked nervously. “Am I going to fast for you?” 

“Just...give me a minute…” Usnavi swallowed. “Angels uh...we don’t really get a lot of...friendly monsters…” 

“Technically I’m an ethereal being, but I see your point,” Ruben said softly, wringing his hands. “We haven’t been sent down here in centuries; not everyone’s first job is to raise the Righteous Man from Hell.” 

“But...why?” Usnavi asked desperately. “Why did you get me out?” 

Ruben seemed to swallow nervously, “Because...God commanded it,” He said. “It wasn’t your time; you have more to do. I can’t tell you much, but something big is coming. Both for you, and your cousin Sonny.” 

Usnavi sucked in a breath, “Wait, what does Sonny-” 

There was a flutter, and Ruben was gone in a blink.

(Part 2 will have more Ruben, I promise XP)

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Suffer, Huntress

Evil walked the streets of the city. Fog strangled the spirits of people, instilling them with a fear that prevented them from straying far from the heat of the hearths. The thick fog suffocated the light shed by the gas-powered lanterns lining the cobblestone-covered streets. In the shadows of an alleyway, darker than most, a young lad clasped his hands together, mirroring the gesture of many a penitent man. But he prayed to no god.

Even surrounded by tiny flickering dots of candlelight, arranged in a specific arcane formation, this particular spot turned colder and darker than any other throughout the metropolis. The youth spoke strange syllables—uttering unspeakable sounds that no human tongue should utter—a spell that a strange man had taught him. An eerie sorcerer from far-flung lands, housed in a lavish tent in the harbor district, peddling his occult services for coin.

Reciting the deviant incantations, the boy prayed to something unholy in hopes of conjuring a power that would allow him to exact his revenge. Oh, but what a fool this lad of twelve winters was. He believed this ritual to be a tool at his disposal—but in truth, an unseen force would now use him as a tool to enter this world.

What a petty motive had driven the lad to practice such dark arts. The Baker boys had pulled down his pants in front of the seamstress girls on Miller street in broad daylight. A humiliation he could never forgive them for, as his darling, Susanne, was among the girls to witness his debasement. Not that Susanne really knew him, nor did he have an inkling if she even remotely reciprocated his sentiments. But to such a young and naive lad, the world had collapsed on that fateful day. And soon after, he sought revenge, though the Baker boys were too big and too tough for him to confront in person.

As he finished speaking the unspeakable, many disjointed thoughts crossed his mind. For nothing happened and his fears began to fill the dreadful void that followed. Had he misspoken on any parts of the spell? Had the stranger cheated him out of his hard-earned copper coin? What if the magick failed to do what he desired, and the Baker boys knew somehow of his doings? Would they do yet worse to him?

Still, nothing happened. The ringing from the clock tower bells to indicate the witching hour had long ceased to echo. The streets remained dead silent. The candles flickered, mocking the lad.

A violent gust of wind howled through the alley and blew his cap off his head, ruffling his hair, and snuffing out the lights from the candlewicks. He inhaled sharply, expecting something to happen.

And happen, something did.

He gurgled and rasping breaths escaped his lungs. A disembodied force surrounded him, enveloped him. An invisible something came from nothing, engulfing his body. It tickled all over, tingling—made him feel like dancing, but also gripped his heart with terror. It entered his heart first, spread from there into his thoughts, and finally took control.

Though he continued to see through his own two eyes, everything seemed so far away. Even his own hands, that he stared at. It was not him that gawked at his palms with curiosity, but the entity that had taken over. Cackling erupted from his mouth, not of his own volition. If his body still did his bidding, he would have screamed.

He left the alleyway—not the boy, but the creature in the boy’s body. Staggering at first, gaining familiarity of its vessel with each step, recalling how to move human legs again.

It had a mission. It wandered the streets, uncaring of the cold that bit at the digits of the body it had possessed. It had not felt so alive in a long time. After all, it had just escaped a prison between the worlds.

It, too, sought to exact revenge. Though its intent was of a much more murderous nature than the stupid boy’s. A lesson to be taught, a mortal to be punished.

It gazed at the street signs, finding its way. Ignoring the boy’s pleas for release, it homed closer and closer to its chosen destination. A stone tower standing tall above the houses around it. Massive fortifications with iron spikes and barred windows adorned its front. It exuded something merciless.

The creature marched towards the entrance. A man in a constable’s outfit stood guard outside the heavy wooden door leading inside. That officer displayed admirable stoicism, unflinching and with his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets. He glared at the boy approaching him.

The constable hissed at him, “What in the devil’s name are you doing here, boy? At such an ungodly hour?”

The creature reached out and feigned innocence when it answered, “Sir, I am lost and am afraid to walk home alone from here.”

It grabbed the man by his wrist, wrestling a hand out from his jacket pocket with a sudden surge of inhuman strength. Shock and awe of this peculiar situation paralyzed the man. They locked eyes with each other and both froze. Time stopped, with a split second dragging on like half an eternity. The creature released the boy, leaving behind a cold emptiness and a young soul scarred by the dread of helplessness.

The constable shivered and his vision glazed over. Thicker than the fog in the streets was the mist in his very own being: his adulterous thoughts and pangs of guilt towards his wife that had been on his mind all night aided the creature in taking control of him. In a haze, the constable was lost in his thoughts while the entity forced his lips to curl into a devious smile.

The boy gasped, emitted a clipped shriek, and ran off into the night. The constable’s body, now no longer within his own control, cackled as he turned to enter the tower.

Although it was cold inside this prison’s walls, the air within was warmer than the freezing night outside. The demon savored this change in temperature but wasted no time. The shroud of confusion that kept the constable from fighting back would not hold forever. The constable even entertained some murderous thoughts towards people who might reveal his sinful secret, giving the creature cause to chuckle.

Another officer inside gave him—it, or them—a funny look, but then averted his eyes to continue reading the penny dreadful he held in his hands as the possessed constable walked past him.

Tapping into the vessel’s thoughts, the demon knew where to go next. It traversed the prison’s lower chambers, arriving outside the office of the head warden. The constable knew—and by extension, so did the entity—that the head warden had stayed here late this eve, drinking himself into a stupor, just as he was wont to do on many such nights as of late.

It rapped the door with brute force, marveling at the delicious pain from the borrowed bruised knuckles not its own. Then it entered before the warden could respond.

The head warden looked up from sloppy notes in a journal, saying, “Come—”

He glowered at the constable. Tiny reflections of candlelight danced in his eyes together with venom. Brandy wafted out on his every breath. “Ah, yes, I see we’ve abandoned all good manners,” he slurred at the possessed man.

The warden arched an eyebrow as he stared at the constable, who now grinned at him.

“What is so damned funny, Marcus? Spit it out.”

The constable’s mouth opened and a jet of vomit shot out in a stream of steaming, disgusting goop. Foul-smelling and acrid, a mixture of black and dark green fluids sprayed the warden in the face, who sputtered and shielded his eyes far too late, only after tumbling from his chair onto the cold stone floor.

The constable chortled but almost choked, coughing up more bile as he rounded the warden’s desk and knelt beside the man on the floor. The warden writhed and desperately tried to wipe the vomit from his eyes but the possessed constable touched his forehead with his index and middle finger conjoined.

Then the constable collapsed, crumpling onto the floor beside him. The entity took over the warden’s body. It swam in a sea of stupor. The world span around him, and the warden’s drunkenness made it easy to assume control. The warden would probably think that this was all just a bad dream, until the cold harsh reality of the next day set in. The sobering nightmare of learning what he had done that night, once the demon was done performing its dirty deeds—oh, how the entity relished this prospect.

It drew a kerchief from the warden’s pocket and wiped the vomit from his face. He then produced a ring of keys from the desk drawer and jingled it, enjoying the bright ring of metal clinking together. Then he found the warden’s knife in the next drawer, which he hid inside a sleeve.

It forced the warden’s lips to whistle a happy tune as it left the office and made its way up the winding stairwell. The guard sitting in the entrance shot a glance to the warden, but shrugged and continued reading the piece of printed fiction in his hands.

Ascending the prison tower, the entity imagined all the ways it could torture its target. It had spent a lot of time contemplating this specific act. It had long lusted to inflict a unique breed of bodily harm and suffering.

“It is time to suffer, huntress,” it whispered through the warden’s teeth. His mouth twisted into a hideous, inhuman grin.

It made the fingers of the warden’s unoccupied hand dance and wiggle, picturing what it would be like to peel skin from muscle, and shaping the mental image of toying with human flesh and bone, piercing it all down to the marrow, drinking in the spectacle of muffled screams, and tearing and pulling with the warden’s strong bare hands.

Even through the alcohol-addled brain of the warden, the demon could pry precise knowledge from his memories. It knew exactly what cell to visit. It stopped right outside the reinforced door and unlatched a small opening at eye height. It peered inside, past rough iron bars that would prevent any grown human from reaching through.

A woman sat motionless on the stone floor, leaned up against the wall, one knee bent, the other leg outstretched. Her head was drooped down and a mess of tangled greasy hair concealed her face. Rays of moonlight poured in from in between the bars of her cell’s tiny window to the outside world, reflecting off of a sheen of sweat on her skin.

It was her. Nora Morrissey, the object of this demon’s obsession, the target of its intended symphony of torments.

Eager to begin, it unlocked the cell’s door and entered, closing it behind itself. It drew the knife from the warden’s sleeve. His teeth glistened in the moonlight, standing out bright and white between the lips that parted for that horrid, toothy grin.

It bent down to grab her but stumbled back in confusion. A sharp pain exploded in the warden’s gut, searing hot like fire, but cold and merciless like the wintry air itself. His fingers slipped off her arm. And although the haze of drunkenness had made it easy for the demon to take control, the same intoxication had dulled its own perception of the world around it. That sheen of sweat on her skin was not a cold one—it was warm, and her skin hot to the touch.

Icy, pale blue eyes stared back at him through the tangle of hair in front of her face. It looked down and found something sticking out of the warden’s belly. A crude, pointy object with straw wrapped around it. Something made of wrought iron, whittled down into a sharper shape from scraping it against stone for a very long time.

“I waited for this moment,” the demon had thought mere moments ago. But Nora, the “huntress,” was the one who said those words out loud. Had the creature spoken through the warden, the words would have spilled out with sadistic glee. But the words she had spoken trickled out, each syllable dripping with contempt. The sentence echoed in the demon’s entire being, instilling it with something alien.

Fear.

They struggled, grunting, panting, slamming each other back and forth into the walls of the narrow cell. It slashed her with the warden’s blade across her palm, drawing blood, but she fought with a rage that welled up in her gut, summoning a strength that took the entity by surprise. While he sunk the knife into her side, just missing something vital, she elbowed him in the throat and then seized the opportunity that opened as he reeled, repeatedly stabbing him in his belly with her improvised dagger, finally wrestling the bayonet from his hands.

Although the demon was in control of the warden’s body because the brandy had dulled his senses, the booze had also dulled the the body’s coordination. The world spun and crashed down sideways until the warden’s face smashed into the wall. The warden and the entity saw stars not of any world. The creature struggled to get up, but the body disobeyed.

The demon sensed the dagger rushing towards the warden’s back. The miscalculation now dawned upon the monster. It had underestimated this wretched woman. Time ground to a halt.

She had killed one of its kin. She had foregone the rituals of exorcism, ending its existence by killing that kin’s vessel. And now it sensed the same air of murder about her. Just before she could sink the dagger into the back of the warden’s skull, it fled this body. A thick violet mist billowed out of every orifice like a cloud of living steam, dispersing in every direction.

“You made a mistake coming here,” she growled. The demon could hear these words, haunting it on its way back to the void between worlds. “If we meet again, I will destroy you.”

It wanted to tell her the same, but had no body to respond and no courage to lend credence to such a threat.

And like that, it was gone from this world.

She took the keys from the warden. He groaned but remained lying on the floor, face down. She squeezed her fingers and hand together, balling it into a fist, letting blood drip from her slashed palm. Nora allowed herself to whimper. Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked, wiping them away with the back of her uninjured hand.

She had no time to waste. It was time for her to escape. The Crimsonport Killer—as the press had dubbed her—was free. Some part of her had hoped to remain here in captivity until the day she died. Because with freedom now within her grasp, she felt the pull of a terrible responsibility, the weight of a crushing burden.

Once she stepped foot outside her cell, she could taste that burden. Once she escaped this place, she would have to hunt again, and live in squalor and in the shadows—a hopeless life of fighting the darkness with no safe haven to rest her head in. This demon was just one of many, and the demons were but one of the evils laying siege to the Red Coast.

The creature had unknowingly inflicted a different suffering than it had intended.

The ruthless huntress had returned.

The night would quake with fear.

—Submitted by Wratts

[flightfoot]

A Convergence of Apollos Ch. 3

*Apollo’s POV

We arrived in Times Square. Hopefully we could find the Celedon BEFORE she started causing havoc.

I wasn’t optimistic.

But that did remind me of something...

“Percy, Meg, do you two need something to stuff your ears with? Grover and I should be resistant to the Celedon’s music, but I’m concerned about you two.

Meg split open a seed packet and poured a few seeds into each of her ears. “I’m fine.”

Grover dug out a small ball of warm wax from... somewhere (I did NOT want to know where, or how long it’d been there) and held it out to Percy. “I always keep wax handy. Like chewing gum!”

Percy looked at the wax with disgust, but he took it. “Gee, thanks Grover.” 

We wandered around the area searching for the Celedon. I wasn’t too concerned about not being able to find her. She wasn’t here to hide, after all. Finding her before she could cause harm though... I was less certain of that.

As the four of us walked around looking for the golden woman, my mind went over the events of the past hour.

I’d known I could be callous as a god. I knew that I hadn’t put much weight on mortal lives, or mortals’ feelings. But to actually seriously threaten a young girl, just for insulting me...?

Actually, that sounded exactly like something I would’ve done before all this.

The thought wasn’t comforting.

Threatening Meg, threatening Grover. Even if I couldn’t say for sure that I’d have gone through with those threats, I wasn’t sure that I WOULDN’T have, either. And even if I could say for sure that those WERE empty threats, THEY didn’t know that. 

‘It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both.’

I’d always felt weirdly about line, and I couldn’t figure out why. Everyone loved me! I could instill fear when I needed to, but I didn’t have to choose.

That had sounded hollow and false even in my head, but I’d ignored it, like I’d ignored so many other uncomfortable truths throughout the millennia.

Subconsciously I always knew I wasn’t as beloved as I liked to tell myself. So whenever I felt like I might not be getting as much deference as I deserved, I compensated with fear. That’s why I’d stoked that rumor that I’d skinned Marsyas alive, so that no one would DARE to claim that they were better than me.

I didn’t care about the negative effects it had on the people around me. Why should I care about some random kid’s feelings?

Being down on Earth, truly being a part of the mortal’s world, and not simply a visitor... I couldn’t help but care.

I glanced over at Percy. This was only two years in the past, yet this version of -Percy seemed so much lighter. Softer. Less disillusioned. But he’d already been through so much.

At twelve years old, only a couple weeks after discovering he was a demigod, he’d been framed for a crime he did not commit, and forced to prove his innocence and return Zeus’s Masterbolt, or else suffer his wrath.

I remembered Zeus’s thundering around when he discovered that his Symbol of Power was missing, his certainty that Poseidon MUST have gotten his son to steal it for him. This despite there being no evidence that Percy had even known the mythological world existed. And being only twelve years old. And not being on Olympus at the time.

All us gods knew that Percy was innocent. That Zeus was taking his anger out on him as a way of getting back at Poseidon, who he also didn’t have sufficient evidence to suspect. But when had he ever cared about such things? He’d decided that Percy must be involved with the theft in some way, and even if he wasn’t, Poseidon surely was, and hurting Percy would hurt Poseidon. 

He never stopped to think about Percy as a person. As a kid who was dragged into this through no fault of his own. He was just a tool, one he wouldn’t mind breaking in a sibling spat.

All demigods were disposable tools, acknowledged when useful, ignored when they were not. 

I wish I could say that I had thought better of demigods than that. And I suppose I had - of some of them. Of my own children certainly. But as for other gods’ children? It was more hit-or-miss. I’d help them sometimes, but I rarely considered their thoughts and feelings important, unless I had a crush on them. Aside from that? Not really. Not until now.

When Thalia’s tree had fallen ill, all of us were concerned about the Camp’s waning defenses. Yet Hermes was the only one who had DONE something about it, who had gone down and helped, despite not having a child involved in the quest itself. He’d encouraged Percy to go on the quest, even though he hadn’t been chosen for it. He’d even given him tools to help on the journey.

I smiled a little. My younger brother was a rebel. Always had been.  He’d had the guts to go against Zeus’s general directive to not interfere with demigod quests, to help someone he barely knew, on the off chance that he could bring his son around.

My smile faded. Luke... his methods may have been bad, but he had reason to hate the gods. We’d wronged the demigods - wronged our children - wronged the children of others’ - so many times. We hadn’t cared about the destruction we left behind.

I’d only been mortal for a few months, yet I already felt some stirrings of resentment at the lack of help I and the other mortals had received. I understood why most of the gods couldn’t help me. But couldn’t they do more to help the others?

I hoped I was wrong. I hoped that the divine side of my family had helped Leo get to Camp Jupiter. That they’d helped to repel Caligula’s attack.

Somehow, I doubted it.

Percy’d snuck out to go on a quest AGAIN when my sister and Annabeth were kidnapped.

I tightened my grip on my lyre and grit my teeth thinking about it. I remembered the moment our bond had clouded over. I’d tried to tell myself that she was fine. She was my sister! She wouldn’t be taken down easily.

But I couldn’t help but remember that time Ares had been trapped in a jar for months. How lifeless he’d looked. How he’d nearly faded away...

When I’d heard that a quest had been sent out to find Artemis, I’d been relieved. Moreso when I found out that one of the participants was Percy Jackson, and another was Zoe Nightshade. I’d been impressed with Percy’s previous exploits. Not just anyone could traipse out of the Underworld and immediately defeat Ares, especially after only having had a week of training, nor could they enter the Sea of Monsters and escape with the Golden Fleece, WITHOUT losing anyone along the way.

As for Zoe, she was one of my sister’s oldest hunters, her most trusted lieutenant, and her best friend. She’d had my sis’s back on many, MANY hunts over the millennia. She must have been as desperate to get Artemis back as I was.

Still... I had to help. Even though Zeus had told me not to. Even though he’d threatened to hurt me if he caught me interfering. 

It would hurt to be incinerated with lightning, again and again, until I had trouble reforming.

Losing my sister would hurt more.

I’d helped in what little way I could, providing transportation to the group so they could get to Atlas - and my sister - faster.

I remembered seeing sis again just after they’d freed her from her imprisonment. After Percy had freed her.

She tore into Olympus as fast as she could, flickering silver. 

I understood what that meant. My sister didn’t cry often. But her aura’s flickers betrayed her distress. As soon as I saw her, I enveloped her in a hug, determined not to let her go. 

She hugged back.

“Zoe...” she’d murmured, her voice cracking.

I understood what must have happened.

I held her even tighter.

My sister may have been safe.  But she’d lost someone close to her.

I knew how that felt.

After things had calmed down, I asked her how Atlas had persuaded her to take the sky in the first place. She’d told me that Annabeth, a young maiden, had been trapped under the weight of the sky, and would have died if she had carried the burden much longer. Taking it from her was the only way to save her life. It may have meant trapping herself, but she had had no other choice.

I’d always known how far my sister would go to help girls in trouble, so I wasn’t surprised. But I’d never understood why she’d go so far to help mortals she barely even knew.

I understood now. The lessons I’d been learning the past few months, of the value of mortals, she’d learned long ago. Or perhaps she’d always known them. 

I smirked, remembering my encounter with Ares a few months later. He’d mentioned cursing Percy to drop his sword in retaliation for Percy kicking his butt during the lightning-bolt-stealing incident. (Not in those words of course, but we all knew what’d happened.) I’d given him a tight smile and left as quickly as possible, not trusting myself to speak.

I’d headed straight to Artemis, relishing how easily our bond let me find her. I’d insisted on checking in on her every other day for months after her capture. She hadn’t protested.

I told her what Ares had done. How he’d cursed Percy to drop his sword when he needed it most. Cold fury filled her eyes. She’d made arrangements with her Hunters and left with me to track down Ares.

We’d found him less than an hour later. He’d made for good target practice.

About eight months after Artemis’ kidnapping, while we were hunting down monsters that might be turned to Kronos’s cause, I’d heard that Kronos’s forces had invaded Camp Half-Blood.

And that they’d killed one of my sons.

Lee...

I hadn’t gotten to know him as well as I wanted to. 

I’d visited him in his dreams, of course, like I did with all my children. But I’d only seen him in-person a handful of times. And I REALLY hadn’t seen him - or any of my kids - much since Kronos started stirring.

I didn’t have much time to mourn. So I shoved the thoughts away, buried them under the need to party. To have the adoration of a crowd.

I’d lost many, many children over the millennia. I’d gotten good at coping with it.

Hopefully with Percy’s help, this universe’s version of me wouldn’t have to cope with Michael’s loss as well.

“THERE SHE IS!”

My head snapped upwards at Percy’s yell.

A gleaming golden woman was walking across a nearby stage to the center microphone.

We rushed over, elbowing people out of the way. Truthfully, Grover and I mostly just followed in Percy’s and Meg’s wake. Percy could have a pretty intimidating presence when he needed to, which was helping him get the crowd to move apart, and Meg was... well, Meg. I winced slightly as I heard another swear from one of the poor pedestrians Meg had elbowed out of the way. 

Just as the Celedon reached the microphone, the four of us reached the stage.

Percy and Meg summoned their blades.

Grover fumbled for his pan-pipes. 

I moved my lyre into playing position.

The Celedon opened her mouth and sang.

It was only one note, but the sorrow in it caused the mortals to drop to the ground, weeping uncontrollably. 

Meg and Percy were only a little better off. Both froze as the note rang out, though at least they remained standing.

Oh. They’d both forgotten to put in their hearing protection. Crap.

Grover frantically started playing on his pipes, trying to drown out the Celedon’s song. He didn’t entirely succeed, but he did disrupt it enough that the mortals - and our friends - began to stir.

“PERCY, MEG!” I shouted. “YOUR HEARING PROTECTION!”

Percy quickly stuffed wax in his ears, while Meg closed her eyes. Moments later, bluebonnets sprouted from her ears. 

Now that my friends hearing situation was fixed, I turned my attention to my lyre. I needed to trap her, obviously. Now how could I do that...?

My fingers started moving before I could finish that thought, weaving a familiar melody on the lyre. Walls rose up around the Celedon, twenty feet high. surrounding her - and Percy and Meg - in a nearly impenetrable cage.

Then she turned into a bird and flew out, leaving my friends trapped in a now-quite-unfortunately nearly impenetrable cage - so long as you couldn’t get out the top somehow.

Right. I forgot my Celedons could do that.

“APOLLO!” I heard Meg’s muffled shout from the other side of the wall. “LET US OUT!”

“Well, uh, you see,” I stammered, embarrassed. “I... can’t exactly do that. The lyre creates. It doesn’t destroy.”

I could practically feel Meg’s unimpressed stare. “You can’t...? Never mind. Just make a ladder or something so we can get out.”

I strummed on the lyre a melody about climbing out of deep holes. A rope manifested. I threw it over the wall and quickly secured the other end to a lightpole.

A minute later, Percy and Meg climbed out of my open-air cage. I noticed that the flowers were gone from Meg’s ears, which explained how she could hear me before.

Meg set her hands on her hips, glaring at me. “You never said she could turn into a bird.”

“I forgot.”

She grunted, looking annoyed. “Well is there anything else we should know about the Celedon that you forgot?”

I wracked my brain, trying to think of anything. I’d been getting a feeling I was forgetting something about the Celedons, but what? I mean, I used them as my back-up singers for concerts, but they could also amplify my singing for other... things...

Oooooh. That wasn’t good.

Percy noticed the look on my face. “I don’t like that expression. What else can she do?” he asked, clearly dreading my answer.

I licked my lips nervously. “Well, you see, the Celedons are my backup singers. But they don’t just back me up at concerts. They can back me up when singing anything. Healing songs, plague songs, burn-everything-with-fire songs...”

Percy’s face twisted into an expression I had dubbed the “Oh Crap” expression. I’d worn it often over the past few months.

“Great,” Meg grumbled. “More fiery charmspeakers.”

“Technically, the Celedons don’t charmspeak-”

“They make people want to do what they say. Close enough.”

Percy cut in urgently. “She could burn New York to the ground, or start an epidemic?!’

“Well they’d be a fraction of the strength of what I’m normally capable of, so she could hardly affect ALL of New York. A block at most.”

Percy paled. “We have GOT to stop her. NOW.”

I nodded. “That’s great, but we need to FIND her first.”

“She went over that way,” Grover said, pointing to a tower.

We all turned to look at him. He looked back at us, annoyed. “What? I needed to do something to help while Apollo was getting you two out of that cage, so I kept my eyes on her, so we could find her later.”

I blinked. That made sense.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Meg asked. “Let’s go.”

We took an elevator to the top floor. Luckily the Celedon had chosen a public building to perch on. I wouldn’t have wanted to explain to some secretary why four teens urgently needed to get to the roof of some private business building.

We found her standing on to rooftop, singing “New York, New York” to the enraptured crowd in Times Square. Her voice REALLY carried.

At least this song only compelled people to dance.

“So what’s the plan?” I whispered to my friends.

Percy gauged the situation. He whispered back, “We need to shut her up and trap her, this time in something that she CAN’T fly out of. Apollo, can you make a birdcage? Out of Celestial Bronze, preferably?” 

I nodded. I could see where this was going.

“You’re going to force her into bird form and then stuff her into the birdcage. How’re you planning to get her to change form?”

“Gag her, then wrestle her until she changes form, and stuff her into the cage.”

Simple plan. I respected that.

Percy turned to Grover. “You still have that blindfold from Pin-the-tail-on-the-human?”

Grover handed over a small strip of cloth.

Percy looked at Meg, “Ready?”

She nodded.

Meg and Percy reinserted their seeds and wax, respectively. They weren’t about to make the same mistake as last time.

They snuck up behind the oblivious Celedon just as she was belting out the final lyrics of ”New York, New York”.

Percy clamped the make-shift gag around her mouth as he and Meg wrestled with her.

I got to work making the birdcage, singing about strong, gilded cages. It manifested within seconds.

I looked over at the demigods. The Celedon was bucking and kicking, trying desperately to throw them off, but the two of them stubbornly clung onto her. 

She edged closer to the edge of the building and spun quickly, breaking Meg’s grip. 

Percy acted quickly, releasing his hold on the Celedon - and subsequently releasing the gag he’d been using to silence her - and dove quickly to Meg, catching her just as she started falling off the building.

I breathed a sigh of relief, my heart still hammering.

Then the Celedon began singing an ode to me.

Now you might be thinking, “Why would you mind her singing a song about how great you are, Apollo, and all of the awesome things you can do?”

The answer to that, dear reader, is that I prefer when the song about my awesomeness DOESN’T SUMMON A FIERY INFERNO TO TRY TO SCORCH MY AWESOME SELF OUT OF EXISTENCE.

I dove for cover, dropping the lyre in my haste. I quickly picked it up again, strumming a tune about raindrops, rain, and storms. Stormclouds quickly gathered and let loose, putting out the fire.

Then Percy rammed into the Celedon like a freight train.

Oh yeah. Son of Poseidon. Well this just became very one-sided.

Percy held onto her with a vice-like grip. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t shake him. She opened her mouth in an attempt to sing, but Percy just shoved water in her mouth, gagging her. Thankfully she didn’t actually NEED to breathe, so he didn’t have to worry about choking her.

As a last ditch effort to escape, she turned into a bird and attempted to fly away before Percy could adjust his grip. Since Percy had been TRYING to get her into bird form, this didn’t happen. He captured the bird-Celedon in a water bubble and threw her into my Celestial Bronze birdcage. It clicked shut, locking the squacking Celedon in.

Percy picked up the birdcage, carrying it over to me and Grover. Meg walked over to me, scowling, her hair and dress completely soaked from the rainstorm I’d summoned. Belatedly I realized I was also completely drenched, and that Grover smelled badly of Wet Goat. 

Looking at the three of us (Percy was completely dry and looked like he could run three marathons in a row. Cheater.) I asked, “So... what size clothes do you two wear?”

We walked out of the building wearing (in my opinion) incredibly stylish new outfits, courtesy of my magical lyre. Well, except for Percy. He’d declined for some reason. His loss.

I admired my sparkly golden tight pants and white shirt festooned with rhinestones and glitter. It felt good to be able to strut around for once. Maybe I didn’t have my usual good looks, but I could still pull off the glitz and glam!

Meg and Grover, sadly, had opted for far less extravagant outfits. I pouted a bit - I was sure I could make them outfits that would make them look FABULOUS - but complied. I summoned a simple tie-dye t-shirt for Grover, and a plain black shirt and denim jeans for Meg. Apparently they were really paranoid about me going overboard after seeing what I’d made for myself.

Meg carefully tucked her sopping green dress away. I smiled a little. She cared for that dress, that present, so much. It’d gotten burned, covered with mud, and torn again and again, but she insisted on mending it each time.

Together the four of us (plus one feathery Celedon) entered the subway again.

[loki-godofmischief-myking]

Love Is For The Foolish (2)

Loki x Asgardian!Reader

The story of Loki, god of mischief, and a dark seamstress. The chapter fic for Love Makes Fools Of Us All

<== Previous | Next ==>

Chapter 2: Indebted

In the solace of your shop, after hours, you looked down at the black gem that hung from the long silver chain around your neck. Black Hematite from Vanaheim. Over the past several months you had begun to learn what it was and only scratched the surface of its purpose. By now you wished to know what purposes it served you.

You could care less about how it is formed, where it is sourced, the various styles and qualities of the stone itself. For some reason, Loki kept insisting you learn all about Hematite from conception. In a way, you knew he was right.

If you had learned anything from the dark prince is that everything he ever did was calculated. That was something you were in the midsts of experiencing. The price for his knowledge was a pending matter.

"Nothing now but one day I will ask you to do something for me. Without question, you will comply.”

His words exhausted you, they echoed your mind. Perhaps foreshadowing your impending doom. No matter, a deal was a deal.

Looking down at the fabric patterns you had cut earlier in the day brought excitement. With a bit of thread and your skilled hand, these lifeless pieces would come together as one. They would become something of value. What was once mundane mixed media would become a prized possession. Something to behold and adorn.

Your smile gave way as you finally became at ease.

Even if it was late you decided to burn the midnight oil with this one. Grabbing a small stool you went to your vast collection of thread. Spools of the thin fiber lined a small section of wall to the very top. Tonight you were in need of one that was out of reach. Stubborn as always, you tried to reach it without the help of an aide or tool.

That was until you recalled your crystal. If it really had relations with magic, dark or the like, then perhaps you possessed some sort of seidr. The thought strongly urged you to pull the crystal out of your dress and tightly grasp it in your palm. Do I dare?

Loki silently appeared in your shop at the exact moment you decided to find out. “What is my dark enchantress invoking at such an hour?”

Startled you jumped nearly falling had it not been for the shelves on the wall. Your quick reflexes managed to knock off a few spools of thread allowing you to hold onto one of the empty spaces. “Have you gone mad!” The altercation sent your heart racing.

Adrenaline coursed your veins allowing you to skip formalities. After the initial shock, you stepped down to the ground floor with a deadly glare.

Loki relished in your reaction. “Did you honestly think closing your eyes would somehow help you?”

“If you must know, your highness, all the books I’ve read about magic and seidr say the person must concentrate. I happen to concentrate better when my eyes are closed.” You were a very visual person. Your eyes did all the thinking for you, the only way to silently think was to close your eyes and envision with your mind.

“Ah,” Loki approached you with a knowing smile. “So my little enchantress has been doing some reading of her own.”

“I am neither little nor YOURS,” you stressed the last part.

Using common deduction Loki correctly picked out the spool of thread you had intended. With little effort, he retrieved it for you effectively proving you were, in fact, lacking in stature compared to him. “Should I prove the rest of my statement?”

His tone was dark, most likely in thanks to the countless nights he had been spending with you instead of bedding maidens. “Again, your advances are hardly to my taste.”

“What is your taste Lady Y/N?”

“A loyal, honest man with interest in a monogamous relationship that isn’t easily sated. A man who doesn’t wish to bed every woman that offers herself to him.” Of course, these were all the opposite characteristics of Loki. Although you commended him for abstaining from his sexual desires most nights to help you with your research into your crystal. There were days, like today, when he would suddenly send word for you to not appear at his door. Those were the days he would give in to his temptations. “Someone with a lot more self-control than you have.”

Loki eyed you as you went back to your work station. He was fond of the sheer black material of your nightgown that did little to keep him from imagining what lay underneath. Although he admitted to an attraction towards you Loki had kept himself from acting.

“Believe me, love...” Loki walked over to you tilting your head up to meet your eyes.

There was something about you... By all means, you were attractive, intelligent, and stood your ground in a battle of wits against him. What started as playful flirting was quickly turning into something more. 

But he had yet to find out why you possessed that crystal. 

“...I am very much in control.” If not I would have you on your knees by now.

“I am pleased to hear it, Prince Loki.“ You could not deny your physical attraction to the dark prince. He was handsome but that wasn’t all that mattered to you. More than anything you admired his intelligence. Although he was known to be a liar, to an extent he was honest. “Now may I ask what you are doing here? Did you not ask for the night so you could attend to some unfortunate maiden?”

Loki smirked sensing a hint of resentment. “If you wish to occupy my room all you have to do is ask.”

“Tempting,” you sarcastically remarked with a roll of your eyes. A hint of a smile remained as your hands began working the thread through the machine and needle.

“I was actually looking through the familial archives.” Loki leaned against the table with crossed arms.  “How well do you know your lineage?”

The smile faded. “No one has ever asked about that... I’m afraid I don’t know much at all.”

“What about your parents?”

“I’d rather not talk about them.”

“I know you were raised by a familiar after your mother’s passing but your father-”

“I don’t ever want to talk about that man!” You didn't mean to cut him off but your resentment for the man who abandoned your mother was your whole motivation in life. The reason you did not trust men stemmed from his disappearance when your mother was expecting you. “Sorry,” you sighed, “I don’t possess the compassion necessary to refer to that man as my father.”

Loki forgave your outburst under the circumstances although he did not understand why you were so upset. “Did he not die during the battle of Jotunheim before your birth?”

“What?” your head quickly turned towards the prince. “My father wasn’t a warrior.” You shook your head at the thought. When you were old enough to comprehend the woman who raised you explained how your mother died during childbirth. How you had nearly died in the womb when your mother succumbed to stress after your father decided to run off with another woman in another realm. 

Loki waited on your every word hoping it would be useful in explaining the origins of the hematite.

“He was a good for nothing man who left my mother for another woman in...”

The wide-eyed expression spoke volumes of your sudden realization. “Vanaheim?” he suggested to which you nodded.

“I no longer understand...” you muttered to yourself.

“Perhaps the archives have the answers,” Loki suggested. The archives, of course, were not accessible to just anyone. Even he did not have full access to them but you did not know that. “It could be related to the reason you were bestowed with the crystal in the first place.”

There were moments where you thought he was far more interested in the answers than you. 

You stood to question his intentions. 

The thought of him simply wanting to help you only crossed your mind momentarily. Enough for you to be left in awe of the Prince. “I’ve been meaning to ask why you are helping me. I know I am expected to honor a favor of yours in the future as reckoning but this feels like a lot of effort on your part.”

Loki stilled for a moment as if thinking of a response. “The greater the effort, the greater the reward.”

Of course. You didn’t know why you had been holding your breath. It was obvious he was interested in his own gain. “You truly are a calculating individual Prince Loki, but nonetheless I appreciate your honesty.”

Loki’s own playful attitude fell. How was it that you readily believed him when he spoke of his ill intentions but never when he complimented or made advances towards you? 

“I thought you would be much more worried about being indebted to me.”

“I am just as surprised as you are, your highness.” For a while, you stared ahead at your work devoid of emotion.

Loki thought it was his presence that bothered you and offered to leave. “When I have concluded my search I’ll come looking for you.”

You did not respond.

Concerned he asked, “Are you alright?”

You shook your head suddenly feeling a lack of motivation. “My craft always brings me joy. When I make a dress I catch myself smiling unintentionally. When all my attention is given to the fabric I find my creations far exceed my own expectations. Now I’m afraid my mind is elsewhere at the moment.” Suddenly you didn’t know who you were. “My whole existence is in question.”

Loki placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. It was never his intention to see you like this. “I won’t be long,” he promised. 

“Mother I’ve been curious after our last trip to Vanaheim. Have any Vanir called Asgard home in the past?”

Queen Frigga looked fondly onto her son as she drank afternoon tea with him in her beloved garden. “Of course, the Vanir are the sister race to the Aesir many have come and gone in the past. You, my son, are already aware of this basic knowledge.”

Loki nodded, his mother knew him well. “Presently, are there any Vanir in Asgard?”

Frigga stilled for a moment wondering if Loki had already gotten to you. She had heard then saw you two interacting just outside the palace once before. “Only one, although she is not entirely Vanir. You two have met, correct?”

“She does not know of her heritage.” He wondered how it was possible. Perhaps it was intentionally being withheld. The only ones who could orchestrate such a thing were the queen and king. “I wish to see the archives.”

Frigga held his hand with a sigh. She would do anything for Loki, “Only if she requests it and grants you permission to look into her past.”

“She has given it.”

Queen Frigga nodded, now that you were being guided by Loki it would be much easier to confront you with your origins. “Very well, have her come to the palace.”

Loki was confused as to why his mother wanted you to come.

“I must assure it is her own will.”

“Do you not trust me?”

Frigga smiled, “This has nothing to do with you Loki, do not go making trouble where there is none. I simply wish to discuss with the young lady.”

“Very well,” Loki sighed. “I will extend your invitation to her.” He excused himself after finishing his tea.

When he got to his rooms he found Sigyn waiting for him in front of the door. She looked cross but he was not alarmed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit Lady Sigyn?”

Her usually soft features hardened as she glared at the prince, “I am no fool Prince Loki!”

-end-

A/N: This one is a bit short but I’ll make up for it next time ^^

Tag List: @drakesfiance