Kitten And Grizzly

Kitten and Grizzly

Summary: Sy finds out what his kitten really wants

Word count: 941

Warnings: mentions of primal play, mentions of masturbation

What Sy held in his hands was not what he had expected. Not quite. He thought his kitten would read tearjerkers.

She rarely allowed this form of girly hobby in front of other people. Hid them outright. He remembered once coming home from a binge earlier than he thought because one of his friends had broken his leg and finding her on the sofa watching Bridgerton. Her cheeks flushed abruptly, but she just said, "Shut up." and turned back to the TV.

He had sat silently watching along with her. Actually, he shouldn't say something like that, but he liked the show. So when the second season came out, he just turned it on for their weekly movie night and pressed (y/n) against him. "I want to see what happens to Eloise," he shrugged.

They were both treating it like their little secret.

So he would have expected that this secrecy around her Kindle was simply related to the fact that she just preferred to keep this girly preference to herself. Without comment from the outside.

But when the little device was switched on and lying forgotten on the bed and he read the first sentence of the page, he realized that he had been mistaken.

He wasn't stupid. He had heard of Fifty Shades and had also seen the movie, but it had amused her rather than being a serious read.

But after what he had now read, he realized why. Fifty Shades was probably rather laughable against this. Before he knew it, he was lying on the bed, immersed in this new world. Got to know a whole different side of his kitten. Neither of them were prudes, but she had never been so explicit about what interested her. Was she actually interested, or was this just a more outlandish outing for once? He hesitated, but then looked at the considerable library on the device.

He read through the summaries and some reviews. One theme seemed to run through. Primal Play.

He memorized a few titles and put the Kindle back in its place as he had found it, only this time turned off.

He said nothing about it for now. The next few days, when his kitten was at work, he spent reading more and more of the books he had found. Not only once did he have to interrupt himself to get relief. If she liked that sort of thing, he was definitely into it.

Little fantasies crept into his head. How he caught her. Burying her underneath him. How she would live up to her nickname and scratch his back until red streaks decorated the skin. How he would growl when she bit him as hard as she could. Animalistic lust.

He wanted it. He wanted her. He wanted her that way.

He needed to talk to her. Today.

He waited until they were lying on the sofa together, watching a horror movie.

He cleared his throat hesitantly. "Kitten we need to talk," he began. She broke away from his embrace and looked at him uncertainly.

He looked back uncertainly. "First... It's important to me that you know I didn't WANT to snoop," he began, holding his index finger up to her nose. "But your Kindle was on the bed, turned on, and I picked up a phrase and then I just couldn't stop." He looked at her searchingly. She let no emotion flit across her face. Her walls completely intact and set on a defensive course.

He sighed. "Why didn't you ever say you liked that kind of thing?" He stroked her calf gently with his thumb. She shrugged her shoulders. "Kitten. Come on. If there's one thing I can say, it's that these ideas don't leave me cold, and I really, really want to hunt you." He grinned at her, but that grin fell from his face as she got up and left.

"Kitten!" he called after her, following immediately.

"Sy. This isn't going to work." she sighed still walking.

He grabbed her wrist and held it tightly. "Why?"

She slumped her shoulders. "Because my head won't cooperate," she sighed.

Sy was confused. She let her back fall against his chest. He held her tightly. "It's not about the hunting," she began. "It's... In the books... It's just feelings and actions. It's no thoughts. It's not overthinking. It... Damn you know me Sy. I always think about everything way too long until my thoughts are no longer thoughts. It... I want someone to rip this burden out off my mind. I don't want to have to think. I want to be able to just be, if only for a short time, but I can't. And I never will be able to. All I have left are the books." She literally fell against him. "If you want to chase me through the forest like Little Red Riding Hood, we can do that. But that's not really what this is about for me."

He turned her around and she dropped against his chest in surrender. He just held her close and stroked the back of her head.

"I just want you to feel good," he mumbled softly.

"I want to. But I'm afraid that if I do, I'll just be disappointed.", she murmured humbly into his chest. "After all, you're made for this.", she said and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Sy grinned. "I'll be your grizzly if you stay my kitten."

She sighed. "We'll try."

He smiled and continued stroking her hair. "You just wait kitten. I've managed to handle a few other missions."

She smacked his chest.

They laughed.

Gray Hair

Summery: Napoleon reveals his biggest fear

Trigger warning: mention of Alzheimer's

English is not my first language so be gentle.

(gif is not mine)

Napoleon Solo is a man who paid insane attention to his appearance. He paid meticulous attention to his clothes, his hair, his shoes, the watch he wore. His hair knew its place. None would just jump out of place for no apparent reason.

His skin was well-groomed. His face always shaved.

He didn't overeat, never drank too much, and trained his body with an iron conviction to mold it to the image he deemed appropriate. Every morning without fail before the rest of the world even got out of bed.

Napoleon was a man who knew how he affected others and how to act to change that effect. He was a born manipulator. So it wasn't unusual for him to take longer in the bathroom than I did. But today it went too far even by his standards.

I sat on the bed, bored, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. I was used to waiting. Napoleon took his missions more seriously than I would have thought possible at the beginning of our partnership. He proved me wrong. He let me into his world, into his heart. Which led to me to also opening the little locked door to my heart for him.

I had learned over time to love and respect this man. With all his quirks, but even I had my limits.

Annoyed, I stood up and walked to the bathroom door. "Napoleon?", I knocked at the door.

No response. "I know you take your appearance very seriously, but you've been in there for over an hour now. What are you doing?"

"Just... Just 5 more minutes... I'll be right there," I heard the frantic reply before a muffled clink sounded. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

He was stuttering. He never stuttered. Even when a gun was held to his head, he still had a casual line on his lips. The clink. With him, every move was spot on. He wasn't the best pickpocket in the world for nothing.

"Are you sure about this? You sound kind of... confused? Should I tell Illya and Gaby? Should we cancel the mission?"

"NO!.. No. I... I'll have it in a minute."

But after five minutes, still nothing was happening, so I grabbed the hairpin from my hairstyle, which was purely for decorative purposes, and stuck the deliberately sharpened end into the door until I heard a soft click. I pushed the door open just as quietly. What I saw was definitely not what I expected.

Napoleon clung to the sink and looked in the mirror in panic.

"Napoleon?", I asked timidly.

His head shot around to me and big eyes start at me. His right hand shot up and abruptly rested on the right side of his head, where it covered his hair.

I drew my eyebrows together in irritation. "Napoleon what's wrong? Talk to me!" I walked toward him. He stalked away from me until he bumped into the toilet behind him and sat down surrenderd on the lid. His hand still pressed to his head. I squatted in front of him and gently tried to dislodge his hand from his head. He refused at first. Did not look me in the eye. I pulled on it jerkily and I had a clear view of the covered area underneath.

My face reflected more confusion. No wound. His hair laying as it always did.

I looked irritated at his face, but he just had his eyes squeezed shut and his face turned away from me.

"Napoleon you have to talk to me. What's wrong? I don't understand? Are you hurt? What? Napoleon are you crying?"

I gently turned his face toward me and wiped away the tears.

"Napoleon what-"

"How can you not see it?" he snapped.

"See what?"

He looked at me out of wet, hysterical eyes. "The hair!" he said, as if that explained everything.

I glanced at his strands of hair. At the part he had been so panicked to cover. There it was. A delicate silver shining hair in a sea of black. THAT was the reason for this reaction?

"Leon.", I sighed. "That's just..." I stroked his cheek with my thumb. "Honey I know you... You know you're only human. An outstanding, talented, insanely good looking humanbeing, but still just a humanbeing. That's perfectly normal."

He shook his head. "I need more time. I... This can't be happening already. I still have so much to do. I still have so much to show you. I need... I need more time." He clung to my wrist hysterically. He was completely out of it. I reached for the mic on my garter and turned it on. "Illya Gaby? We can't go with you... I sprained my ankle. You'll have to go on your own."

"Understood." came the short and practical reply from Illya.

Napoleon was still in his own world. "Honey you... you're not going to die tomorrow. It's just a gray hair."

He shook his head. "I'm going to forget everything. I'm going to forget you. The paintings. Me. That's... That's how it starts. First comes the gray hair

and then..." he shook his head to stop himself.

I reached for his face again. "Look at me. Napoleon come on. Look at me. Good. Now breathe with me. In and out. In and out. Good... Good."

He was slow to calm down, but it worked. "Now, I need you to tell me what's going on."

He took a deep breath. "My father...he was the smartest man I knew. He... hell he was a janitor, but always the smartest man in the room. He was one step ahead of everybody. Until the gray hair came. Until he forgot who I was. Who he was. He was in a wrong time. He didn't know what world he was in anymore. Age took away everything he was."

I looked at our clasped hands. "Alzheimer's?", I asked. He nodded.

I stroked the top of his head. "Gray hair doesn't make you old. I know a girl who went gray at twenty-two." He rested his head against my shoulder and I continued to stroke his strands of hair. "Not every person who gets old has Alzheimer's. I can't promise you it won't affect either of us, but you have more than enough time before that could even be an issue. Leon. You still have time. For the world. Your paintings. Me."

He was silent. "If you find out, you'll have to take me away." He lifted his head and looked me straight in the eye. "I don't want anyone to see me like this. Not even you. If it starts and you notice, you'll take me away under a fake name and leave me behind. I want people to know me as a man. Not...not as a decay."

I was literally struck by his fear, but nodded bravely.

He dropped his head back against my shoulder. "What am I going to do now? I'm supossed to be the young bachelor out there. I can't have gray hair."

"I'll just get hair dye. You're in luck as usual my good man. Black is an easy color."

I scratched the back of his neck. He put an arm around me and pulled me closer. He smelled my scent. "I love you. I can't imagine ever forgetting that."

Mood Ring

Summery: Eddie and reader share a quiet moment on the trailer roof. (bestfriend with a crush, may miss it if you blink)

Trigger warnings: light use of drugs

Eddie looked up at the starry night sky.

Every day he wondered anew if he might have turned out all right if he had had other parents. Parents who would have actually cared for him and not disappeared from his life at such an early age.

He blew the smoke of his cigarette into the cold autumn air and let his mind wander as he often did.

What would have become of him if his father had had an office job, or been a doctor? His mother a teacher, or kindergarten teacher? Boring people, just living their boring lives in a small town, in a small house with a white picket fence? Would he still be himself? Would he appreciate it? Would doctor-kid-Eddie know what he had, or would he just artificially complain about the bad, bad world like most teenagers?

He did not know. He was not the son of a doctor or a teacher. He was the son of a drug dealer and a woman who was afraid to leave the house. He had moved in with his uncle. The uncle who scraped together his little money to feed him.

And yet, this man had been the one to teach him how to ride a bike because his parents had never done it. His uncle was the man who had taught him how to shave. He was the man who had given him a home when the world had not wanted him. To his uncle he owed everything he had.

How selfish was he to wish for anything else? To want more, when in most of the parallel worlds of his life he would not even have what he had now. How ungrateful was he to still be on his back?

He should have just quit after the first screwed-up graduation and gotten a job. He could make money, but his uncle had objected. He shouldn't waste his talent. He would be intelligent. Eddie didn't notice much of that. He stumbled from one test to another. He was bad. Really bad. He didn't have to kid himself. He knew it wouldn't get him into college. And for what, anyway?

History. Sang the little voice in his head. He shook off the thought. What was there to do with it? Become a teacher or a professor? He and teacher? He grinned. Probably not. But otherwise, all that was left was to be a cab driver and continue to sell drugs. He sat up with a sigh.

A light shone intrusively at him from the side before it dissipated in a flash. Once more.

He turned to the left and looked from the roof of the trailer, where (Y/N) was standing with a flashlight and waving at him.

She had gotten into the habit of calling attention to herself that way because she didn't want to be too loud. In genrell she was one of the quietest people he knew. He pointed his head in front of him where the ladder was still leaning against the wall of the house.

(Y/N) wordlessly climbed onto the trailer roof and dropped down next to him. Without saying anything, he held out his lighter for her to light her joint. She plopped down on her back and stared up at the sky. Eddie did the same. 

"Head-chaos?" asked Eddie into the silence.

(Y/N) blew the thick smoke into the air. "It's like a damn train that just won't stop," she muttered, taking another big drag.

Eddie turned his head toward her. "What was it this time?"

She shrugged. "I was going to do math. Then I wondered why we have to studying something like that in the first place. Then I thought about Mr. Miller. Then of my teacher in elementary school. Then of a comment from a girl I went to elementary school with. Then of her now living at some fancy boarding school. Then about me being here. Then I thought about my relationships with other people and came to the conclusion that none of my friends actually ever really liked me." She continued to stare at the sky. "Now I'm thinking that I should work out more and watch what I eat so that maybe someday I'll be attractive to someone." Her eyes flicked to him.

"Hobbit.", he sighed. "We all like you."

She dropped her head to him. "Why?"

"Just like that. For no reason. Because you're you."

She shook her head and looked back up at the sky. "I don't even know how I feel." She was silent for a moment, thinking. "What if I'm a psychopath and I don't have any feelings at all? How do you know you have feelings?"

Eddie chuckled. "You had tears in your eyes when ET said goodbye to go home. I think we can be sure you have feelings."

"Well now I don't know what I feel," she mumbled, pouting.

He looked at her for a moment until he pulled the ring off his left middle finger. He reached for her cold hand and placed the ring on her index finger before pressing the two metal arches of the size-adjustable jewelry closer together.

She looked at him in irritation. "What are you doing?"

"It's a mood ring." He shrugged and smiled at her. "If you don't know what you're feeling, all you have to do is look at the ring."

She looked at the now black stone. "And what does it say?", he asked.

"Probably that my hands are cold," she murmured.

He smirked. "You have no sense of magic."

She boxed him, but smirked, too. She tried to pull the ring off her finger, but he stopped her. "Keep it. You can use all the magic you can get."

She boxed him again without emphasis before lying back down next to him.

They both looked out into the nothingness of the universe. "We had mathhomework?", he asked.

She laughed.

Can I touch your hair?

Summary: Steven is curious about readers short hair.

Warnings: fluff, sleep deprived Tony Stark beeing Tony Stark

I was sitting in the common room of the avengers tower listening to my podcast, drinking my coffee. My dad Tony had only shuffled past me 5 minutes ago into his room to go to sleep. God only knows how long he had been awake again.

Steve had joined me, having already completed his usual exercise routine. He was sketching something in his pad while eating his breakfast.

He was watching me. As he had been doing on and off for the past few weeks, out of the corner of his eye. Probably thought he was being subtle.

"Can I ask you something?", I asked, stopping my podcast.

He nodded. "Why are you looking at me like that all the time?"

He faltered before shaking his head. "Nothing." he smiled politely and minimally pushed his sketchbook away from me.

"Oh come on. I'm a big girl. I can handle it," I teased. "What do I do to pique the interest of the great Captain America?"

He kneaded his hands. "Can I touch your hair?" he blurted out. Immediately he squinted his eyes and turned bright red. "Never mind. Sorry. That was...forget it," he stammered.

"My hair?", I laughed. "Why?"

He just continued to shake his head. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. You don't ask things like that."

By now he resembled a ripe tomato. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't the cutest thing I'd ever seen. "Deep breath big guy. You're very welcome, but I'd still like to know why." I leaned further toward him, resting my head on my fist.

He looked cautiously at me. "They're just so short... And I... Back in my days, women hardly ever had short hair. Not that short at least... And if they did, they were in movies, or in photos, but I never knew anyone... No woman with hair that short and...", he left the sentence unfinished.

"And you're just curious. That's okay," I smiled at him. "You asked me if you could touch my hair, not if you could touch my boobs." He seemed on the verge of collapsing at that comment. "Most people don't even ask. They just mop through it. So knock yourself out." I smiled encouragingly at him and patted his hand.

He lifted it hesitantly and gently stroked along my short bangs before reaching further up and pushing his fingertips through the short strands. "So soft." he smiled.

"You're lucky there's no gel in it.", I smiled. He slid his hand to the back of my head and then on to the trimmed out nape. Most people didn't treat me this tenderly. There was a seductive ease. There was awe in his touch and I surrendered to it. I closed my eyes with relish, enjoying the gentle caress of his fingers on my neck.

"Hey!" a shrill voice snapped us out of our little bubble. My dad was standing in front of us still with dark circles under his eyes, staring at us in bewilderment. "Film that soft porn in one of your rooms, will you!"

"Don't be so dramatic," I sighed.

Dad just shook his head. "That's my daughter! Don't you ever think about the bro-code man?" he shook his head in mock disappointment. "Don't you dare dishonor her. I want to see a ring on that finger! Got it?"

"Dad go to sleep.", I said firmly.

"I'm fine."

"Friday how long has he been up?", I asked.

"Sixty-eight hours miss." came the immediate reply.

"Go to bed!", I ordered.

"All right." he grumbled. "You're almost like Pepper.", he grumbled inarticulately into his beard on his way out.

I shook my head with a sigh. I looked at Steve, who was bright red again, and grinned. "And was I able to satisfy your curiosity?", I asked jokingly. He just nodded without looking at me and quickly took a sip of his coffee.

"Friday showed me the pictures you drew of me, by the way. They're really good."

He choked on his coffee, a small amount shooting through his nose.

I laughed. "How do you feel about dinner?"

So I'm finishing 2022 exactly how I spend it.

Overstimulated, crying, dehydrated and feeling invalid.

Happy New Year I guess.

#overstimulated #crying