November Challenge

Day One: Change (Hocus Pocus)
Day Two: Boundaries (Squid Game)
Day Three: Disobedience (Thunderheart)
Day Four: Irony (Tenet)
Day Five: Mouthy (Teen Wolf)
Day Six: Lie (MCU’s Eternals)
Day Seven: Theft (White Collar)
Day Eight: Love (Top Gun)
Day Nine: Secret (Detroit: Become Human)
Day Ten: Intervention (Star Wars Prequel Trilogy)

Summary: When Thackery insults the Salem sisters, they decide to punish him before cursing him
Warning(s): Spanking; mouth soaping; magic used for punishment; sadistic behaviour; spoilers for the movie; AU; references to child death
Author’s Note: This idea comes from GingerlyFrank, on the Discipline Fic server. The special use of the mouth soaping comes from them!
Also written for the first November mini-fic challenge, the prompt word being Change

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“Uh-oh, sisters, did you hear what he called you? Whatever shall we do with him?” Winifred asked, never taking her eyes away from Thackery.

“Let’s barbecue him?” Mary suggested.

“Hang him from a hook and let me play with him?” Sarah took a step closer to Thackery, reaching out to touch him.

Thackery cringed back from her, but as the wall was behind him, he had nowhere to go. His eyes moved towards Emily and he winced, seeing that his sister was limp. Her soul had fled her body, her youth stolen by the witches that now stood before him.

“No!” Winifred’s response was sharp. “I think there’s something better we can do. Book.” She crooned the name, speaking in an almost seductive tone, and when the book flew towards her, she began flipping through the pages, faster than anyone human could read. “Ah-ah!” she exclaimed. “Here is a way we can get rid of those nasty words from your tongue.” She began to chant.

An odd feeling came over Thackery then. His tongue began to stretch from his mouth and his eyes widened as he saw it emerging from between his lips. He tried to demand what she was doing to him, but all that came out was a series of grunts and muffled sounds. Finally, his tongue detached from his mouth and Winifred caught it between thumb and forefinger, carrying it over to a bucket of water. She dipped a lump of thick, greasy soap into the water and began to scrub it over the tongue she held.

Thackery’s eyes widened. He could taste the suds in his mouth, on his tongue. But he couldn’t spit them out. He was helpless to do anything but taste the soap as Winifred coated his tongue with it, lathering it up while he stood there.

Winifred looked at him and smiled. It was a cruel smile and her eyes glinted as she began to chant once more, finishing with, “And now he really will learn not to call either of you nasty names like that.” She returned to lathering up his tongue.

A sharp pain exploded across his backside and he jumped, looking back over his shoulder to see that one of the brooms had whacked him. It drew back and whacked him again, hard enough to send him stumbling forward. His hands flew to the seat of his britches, but that just encouraged the broom handle to smack lower down, alternating between his sit spots and thighs when he protected his bottom and whacking further up when he covered those spots.

To the obvious amusement of the three witches, Thackery began to move around the hut, twisting his body in a vain attempt to avoid the broom thwacking his bottom and spitting to try and get the taste of the soap from his mouth. His face heated up as the three witches laughed, watching him trying to avoid his punishment.

Winifred finally let go of his tongue and it reappeared back in his mouth, covered with soap. His eyes watered as he frantically tried to scrub his tongue and attempted to twist away from the broom making his bottom throb and ache.

Winifred took a firm hold of his ear and used it to pull him over to the cauldron, forcing him to bend over it before she tugged his britches down.

The broom thwacked every part of his bottom and Thackery found himself yelping. Winifred still had hold of his ear and held him down with surprising strength, while Sarah danced around gleefully and Mary laughed.

Finally, the broom stopped its assault. Thackery breathed heavily, tears trickling down his cheeks, his backside burning and his mouth still filled with the taste of soap.

Winifred used her grip on his ear to pull him to his feet. “Now. What do you have to say for yourself?” she sneered.

He glared at her, catching sight of Emily out of the corner of his eye, and spat, “You are hags and will never be young or beautiful.”

“I think this calls for a more extreme punishments. Sisters.” Winifred summoned both them and her book to her side…and the three of them began to chant.

And Thackery’s body twisted and turned and became a cat, cursed to live forever…until a virgin would light the black flame candle.

The End

Summary: Gi-Hun stops Sang-Woo
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the first season of Squid Game; AU; violence; references to character death
Author’s Note: Written for day two of my November Challenge. The word for this day is boundaries

###

 “I’m sorry, Gi-Hun.” Sang-Woo got the words out with obvious effort, blinking up at the sky. He reached for the knife and brough it to his own throat.

Gi-Hun moved before he thought about it. He grabbed the knife from Sang-Woo’s hand and threw it as far away as he could…which wasn’t that far, considering his own injuries put a strain on him. “No.” He got the word out with some effort, weakness and the pain from his own wounds driving him to his knees next to Sang-Woo. “You don’t get to take the easy way out.”

“Easy.” Sang-Woo gasped out a pained laugh. “You were right. Are right.” He closed his eyes. “Give me the knife and I’ll do it myself.”

“No.” Gi-Hun looked around, at the workers who surrounded them. Watching them. They weren’t making a move to stop him. Weren’t trying to interfere. He turned his attention back to Sang-Woo. Watched the man he’d considered his friend and then an enemy. They’d both fallen so far. Both made the decision to sacrifice another person in order to win. Gi-Hun regretted his actions…and it was more than clear Sang-Woo carried his own regrets.

But Gi-Hun didn’t want to see any more death. He was sick of the violence. There was only Sang-Woo left to save…but he was determined to see it through.

Sang-Woo didn’t fight as Gi-Hun rolled him over onto his stomach. He didn’t struggle or protest when Gi-Hun tugged the tracksuit down, along with his boxers.

The first crack of bare skin against bare skin, of Gi-Hun’s palm slapping against Sang-Woo’s backside, echoed through the arena. The other man jerked, but otherwise didn’t react; stayed still as Gi-Hun peppered his bottom with firm, hard swats. The only reactions he gave were quiet gasps or groans when Gi-Hun’s hand landed against a particularly sensitive spot.

There was no attempt made to stop it, but of course, there wouldn’t be. They hadn’t tried to stop them hurting each other; had only stopped them stabbing each other when it would have meant they couldn’t have two of them for the final game.

“I won’t let you take your own life, Sang-Woo.” Gi-Hun whispered the words as he continued to smack, moving his hand a little lower to focus more smacks to the other man’s sit spots and thighs.

In response, Sang-Woo’s legs began to jerk, almost kicking, as he gasped out, “You will make all their sacrifices mean nothing!”

“Not nothing,” Gi-Hun disagreed. “We can rebuild our lives. Make the right choices. Earn the money honestly. The money one of us would win is blood money. It should go to the families of those who have died.”

“I don’t….” Sang-Woo’s breath hitched and then he was crying audibly. “I don’t deserve. To live,” he gasped out. His body slumped, a fine trembling taking him over.

Gi-Hun’s hand slowed and then stopped, moving to Sang-Woo’s back and beginning to rub. “If the majority want to stop the game, all players can walk away. Walk away with me, Sang-Woo. We can forgive each other. And maybe those whose lives have been lost because of us will be able to forgive us too.”

Sang-Woo’s sobs increased in force as he whispered, “Forgive me….”

Pulling his clothing back into place, Gi-Hun rubbed his back a bit more. “Walk out of here with me.”

“Yes.” Sang-Woo’s breath came out in a harsh sob. He reached blindly for Gi-Hun’s hand and gripped it hard. “I will,” he promised. “We’ll walk out. Together.”

Gi-Hun stood up and pulled Sang-Woo with him. They would end it here. This was where the line was drawn. They would walk out of the games.

Together.

The End

Summary: Getting answers from Ray can sometimes be like playing twenty questions
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the movie; AU; references to violence and homophobic behaviour
Pairing: Walter Crow Horse/Ray Levoi
Author’s Note: Written for day three of my November challenge, with the prompt being disobedience

###

“What were you thinking, Ray?”

Ray winced at the clear note of irritation in his husband’s voice. Walter had been quiet since they’d left the station, but his upset had been clear. Now, though, they were at home…and Walter wasn’t quiet anymore. He was looking at Ray, expecting an answer.

And Ray didn’t have one. Not a good one, anyway. He was standing in front of his husband, trying to come up with an excuse. A reason why he’d ignored Walter’s orders not to go after the suspect. After all, it had turned out that the man wasn’t who they were looking for. And if Ray had listened to his husband….

Swallowing hard, Ray looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

“I’m not looking for an apology, Ray.” Walter moved to his side and placed two fingers under his chin, encouraging him to look into his eyes. “I’m looking for an explanation. I told you not to go after the suspect. I told you that it wasn’t who we were looking for. So why did you disobey me?”

Ray bit his lip, unable to tear his eyes away from his husband. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“I know that’s not true.” Walter ran his thumb over Ray’s lip, encouraging him to stop biting it. “You disobeyed me for a reason. What was it?” A warning note crept into his voice.

“I really don’t know.” Ray wasn’t trying to be belligerent or a brat. He truly didn’t know why he’d ignored Walter’s directions to leave the suspect alone. “I’m not….” He took a deep breath and whispered, “I’m not just being a brat for the sake of it. I really don’t know,” he whispered.

Walter just grasped Ray’s shoulder and walked him towards one of the corners. “I want you to stand here until you can tell me exactly why you disobeyed me today.”

Shoulders slumping, Ray faced the corner. He didn’t want to have to think about his actions today. Really, he just wanted to curl up in his husband’s arms, where it was safe. Where he was safe, free from the comments that other people made about his relationship with Walter.

And it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to the comments being made about him and Walter, both from their colleagues and other people they didn’t really know. The comments said today…he shouldn’t have let them get to him. He knew he should have just ignored them. Removed himself from the situation. Not let the thoughts and feelings build up, until he had to prove himself…and did so exactly the wrong way.

Walter’s hand came to rest on Ray’s neck, gripping gently like a lion scruffing its cub. “You ready to tell me what went through your mind now?”

“Yes, sir.” Ray took a deep breath and let his shoulders hunch. “One of the Detectives made comments. About you and me. I just….” He took another deep breath. “I wanted to prove myself,” he finished, in a whisper. 

“By ignoring what I told you.”

“Yeah,” Ray whispered weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Walter led him out of the corner and towards the couch, taking a seat and drawing Ray down across his lap, easing down his pants and underwear. “If you’d listened to me, you wouldn’t be in this situation now.”

Ray had no answer, no argument, for that. All he could say was, “I’m sorry.” The cool air wafted across his bared backside, but it didn’t stay cold for long.

Walter smacked firmly, covering every inch of Ray’s bottom down to mid-thigh in the stinging swats. He scolded as he spoke. “You know you shouldn’t let those kind of comments get to you, Ray.”

“I know.” Ray’s breath hitched. “I’m just…so tired of it.” Tears sprang to his eyes, coming more from the high emotion and stress of the day than the pain from the spanking.

“I know.” Walter’s other hand came to rest low on Ray’s back, rubbing gently as his other hand continued to swat. “But some people will make comments anyway. You can’t let them get to you. Do you really care about what anyone else thinks?”

“No,” Ray whispered. “I only…care what you think of me,” he confessed.

“I think the world of you, Ray. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Ray slumped limp over his husband’s lap and accepted the smacks and the back rubbing, tears trickling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“And I forgive you.” Walter stopped spanking and helped Ray to stand, settling him on his lap and in his arms, hugging him close and tight, rubbing his hair and back.

Ray cuddled into his husband, letting himself be comforted and coddled. As the stress and weariness of the day seeped away, he whispered, “I think the world of you too, Walter.”

The End

Summary: Neil isn’t the only one subject to rules and consequences for messing up
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the movie; AU; some references to violence
Pairing: The Protagonist/Neil
Author’s Note: Written for day four of the November challenge, with the word being irony (I know it’s a day late, but I never said I would keep to exactly each day….)

###

The crack of the paddle hitting bare skin echoed through the room.

The Protagonist grit his teeth and breathed in deeply. He was positioned over Neil’s knees, his pants and boxers around his ankles. The fourth strike from the paddle caused a low grunt to escape from between his clamped lips.

“Why did you do it?” Neil spoke in a calm, almost conversational tone as he continued to wield the paddle with unerring accuracy, despite the Protagonist’s unconscious squirms and shifts to get out of range of the paddle fire. “After the amount of times you’ve got after me for acting dangerously…did you think the rules didn’t apply to you?”

The Protagonist opened his mouth to respond, but the paddle targeted his sit spots and he let out a low grunt instead. “Damnit, Neil!” he burst out. “I can’t think with you smacking my ass!”

“Do you want a break? We can take a break.” The paddle stopped impacting his backside with such force and Neil instead rubbed the cool wood over his burning cheeks. “Why?” he prompted.

The Protagonist drew in a deep, almost shuddering breath, surprised to find tears filling his eyes already. This was the first time he’d been in this position…at least the first time for him…and he was starting to wish he hadn’t been such a good teacher.

The paddle tapped his aching backside firmly, just enough to reignite the sting, and then Neil asked, “Do you need a bit more encouragement?”

“I wasn’t thinking.” The Protagonist took in a deep breath as he admitted, “I didn’t think of the danger. Only of completing the mission. You’re right. I did exactly what I’ve punished you for in the past and I have no excuse. No reason. I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Of course, it won’t get you out of a well-deserved spanking,” Neil added, before resuming the firm swats with the paddle.

The Protagonist took another deep breath and reached his hand back, finding it caught and held in Neil’s. It was a bit surreal, being over his lover’s knee instead of the other way round…but it wasn’t like he didn’t know the rules. It wasn’t like he hadn’t enforced those same rules with Neil.

It just wasn’t much fun, having the tables turned on him.

The End

Summary: Stiles comes home late. His father is worried and Stiles gets an attitude
Warning(s): Spanking; minor spoilers for the first season of Teen Wolf; references to violence
Author’s Note: Written for the day five prompt of the November challenge. The word for the day is mouthy

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“Where were you today, Stiles?”

Stiles paused with his foot halfway through the door and gave his dad a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Who, me?” He shrugged carelessly and pulled the rest of his body into the house, yanked the door shut behind him and shrugged. “Out.”

“Stiles.” His dad’s voice was low, warning…almost a growl.

“Derek does it better.” As soon as the words left Stiles’ mouth, his eyes widened. Shit.

“Does what better?” His dad’s voice dropped even lower, sounding almost dangerous. The warning note was even clearer.

Stiles had no sense of self-preservation. If he had, he would never have become involved with the werewolves in the first place. And he certainly wouldn’t have said the next words that came out of his mouth. “Growling. You really want to do it right, you should have Derek teach you.”

His dad took a deep breath and pointed towards the living room. “Corner. Now.”

Stiles gave a long-suffering sigh. “Can’t it wait till tomorrow? I’m too tired to come up with a good lie tonight.” He winced at the words that came out of his mouth and tried to backpedal. “I mean, I’m too tired to be scolded tonight. Tomorrow, okay?” He gave a wide-eyed, innocent look.

“Oh, I’m gonna be doing a hell of a lot more than scolding you.” His dad walked forward and grasped Stiles’ arm in a tight grip. He pushed him forward, towards the living room, delivering a firm smack with each step he pushed Stiles forward.

By the time Stiles was standing in the corner, his backside was smarting from the series of smacks his dad had given him. He shifted from one foot to the other and rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath. “Daaad, I’m too old to be put in the corner.”

“Less talking, more thinking,” his father responded firmly.

“I can’t think like this.” Stiles scratched at the wallpaper, picking off a bit. His neck itched and he scratched it. “I hate corner time,” he grumbled.

“Fine. Then you can go and fetch the paddle for me.”

“So I don’t need to stand in the corner anymore?” Stiles chanced a glance over his shoulder at his father.

“Corner time or a paddling. Your choice.”

“What kind of choice is that?” Stiles grumbled, before muttering, “At least a paddling’s over fast, though.”

“Stiles. Either quit running your mouth, or go and get me the paddle.”

“What about option three? Can we try option three?”

“Option three?” his father repeated. “You want an option three? Fine. Grounding for a week. Spanking at the end of it.”

“You’re grounding me because I was late home?”

“No,” his dad said. “The corner time is because you were late home. Your attitude is what’s going to get you a paddling or a spanking.”

Stiles stared at the corner for a few more moments, but his mind was running a mile a minute. Finally, he muttered, “Damnit. I hate cornertime.” He turned round, giving his father a pleading look.

Unmoved, his dad just pointed towards the stairs. “Paddle, Stiles.”

Shoulders slumping, feeling like he was going to his execution, Stiles headed up the stairs towards his bedroom. He retrieved the paddle and brought it down with him, standing in the doorway of the living room, holding the cool wood in his hands.

“Now, Stiles.” His dad looked at him sternly from where he now sat on the couch and crooked a finger at him.

Letting out a long sigh, Stiles walked over to his father’s side. He didn’t wait to be told, one hand moving to his jeans and unbuttoning and unzipping them. He pushed them down and then handed the paddle to his dad, before bending forward over his lap.

Once Stiles was in place, his dad tugged his boxers down and then delivered the first hard smack from the paddle.

Stiles sucked in a harsh breath as the wood impacted both cheeks at once. The next swat was delivered a little lower, overlapping part of the skin that had been included in the first swat, but also catching fresh skin. And the third swat landed across sit spots and thighs, causing Stiles to let out a whining breath.

A second set of three swats and Stiles’ entire backside was burning. He whimpered softly and grasped his father’s pants leg, to avoid throwing his hand back. He really didn’t want to risk his fingers getting caught by the paddle.

A further set of three swats had the tears springing to Stiles’ eyes, but when the paddle began to tap against his sit spots and thighs, he couldn’t help but tense up, letting out a whimper.

The tenth and final swat was delivered with more force than the previous, right on the most sensitive spots, and Stiles gasped, feet jerking in response to the final strike. He let out a quiet sob when his underwear and pants were pulled back into place, the rough material scraping along his sore backside.

It took a while, but Stiles finally managed to push himself up. He took the paddle from his dad, sighed and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad to hear it, son.” His father wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, then patted his back firmly. “Bed now.”

“Okay.” Stiles sighed and straightened up, giving his backside a quick rub before he headed back up the stairs…this time to return the paddle to its hiding spot and go to bed.

The End

Summary: Ikaris has made mistakes. Sersi stops him from making another one
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the movie; AU; references to violence and character death
Pairing: Sersi/Ikaris
Author’s Note: For day six of the November challenge. The prompt is lie

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“I’m sorry.” A tear ran down Ikaris’ cheek as he leaned forward, head resting against Sersi’s. For a few moments, they just stayed like that…and then Ikaris pulled away and soared into the air.

“Wait!” Sersi quickly scrambled to her feet. She still had some energy left over from the Unimind and she used it to push herself up, grabbing Ikaris before he could fly away. “Please don’t go,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug and looking into his eyes.

His own shimmered with tears and he placed a hand against her cheek before pulling back. “I have to.”

“No.” She could see it, so clearly. Giving truth to the myth that Sprite had told. None of them had the ability to see the future, so maybe it was left over from the Unimind. Maybe the bond they’d shared for so many centuries allowed her a better glimpse into the way his mind worked. She could feel his sense of guilt. His misery. And she wrapped her arms around him, whispering, “They wouldn’t want you to throw your life away.”

His body shuddered as she held onto him. He let his head drop against her shoulder and she felt his tears. They made her heart ache. “Don’t go.” She whispered the words again, tightening her hold on him.

These were her family, all surrounding them. They’d lost two of their members and would mourn for them, but those who were dead could wait until the right time to honour them. Ikaris needed to know that they accepted him and still cared about him. He needed to know he was still family, in spite of the lies and deceit that lay between them.

Sersi began to glide down to the ground beneath them, still holding onto Ikaris. He didn’t fight to pull away, instead holding on tighter.

When her feet met the ground, she took a glance around at the others. Thena, Sprite, Druig, Makkari and Phastos. They’d experienced the bond of the Unimind and now, she knew them as well as she knew herself. Better, even.

Clasping Ikaris’ cheek, Sersi kissed him and felt him kiss her in return, almost desperately. She pulled back and gave him a sad, gentle smile. “I will help you,” she whispered.

He nodded, holding eye contact with her and not looking away. He followed her movement when she stepped back and lowered herself to the ground. He bent down and positioned himself across her lap, shuffling into place without saying anything.

This wasn’t the first time they’d been in this situation, but it was the first time with the others around them. And it was the first time Sersi had had such an insight into Ikaris’ mindset and how he truly felt.

Sersi didn’t pause or hesitate. If she didn’t act, Ikaris’ guilt would consume him and send him to his death. She tugged his pants down, along with his underwear. Then, she reached out and picked up one of the rocks; transmuted it into a switch; brought it down firmly against his backside.

Almost immediately, a dark red line showed up across the centre of Ikaris’ backside. He hissed out a breath, shifting slightly, but didn’t move as she continued to bring the switch down against his bare skin.

She didn’t look to see how the others were taking it. Didn’t draw her attention away from Ikaris backside as more red lines showed up on his bottom, from the crest down to mid-thigh. The only reaction he showed was shifting a little in response to the stripes, but when she started over from the top, he burst out, “Sersi, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she whispered sadly. “But two of us are dead because of you. You lied to us. You betrayed us. I won’t let you deal with this guilt alone, but I can’t let you off easy.” She began to bring the switch down for a third circuit and felt a stab of guilt as she heard him begin to sob.

Sersi looked up at the others, noticing that they were all watching…though none seemed to find it distressing; save for Sprite, who caught her eye and then glanced away again. Thena looked back at Sersi and gestured for her to continue.

Temper punishment with mercy, Sersi. He repents. Now let him know he is forgiven.

Sersi didn’t know if the voice in her mind truly belonged to Ajak, or if she was just imagining how their leader would respond to this. Either way, she allowed the switch to drop and carefully pulled Ikaris’ clothing back into place, before helping him to stand.

Once again, they embraced. Ikaris pressed his face against her shoulder, sobbing softly before his tears calmed. Then, slowly, he let go of her and turned to face each of the others. “I’m sorry.” His voice was soft, but the words were clear.

As the others moved forward to offer their own words of forgiveness and encouragement to Ikaris, Sersi moved towards Sprite and held a hand out to her. “I still have enough power to turn you human,” she whispered. “You will be able to grow up. Your life will be fleeting, though.”

Sprite looked up into Sersi’s eyes before nodding. She reached out and the two of them clasped hands as energy swirled between them.

The End

Summary: Peter discovers that some of Neal’s habits are harder to break than others
Warning(s): Spanking; minor spoilers for White Collar; AU
Author’s Note: Written for the November challenge day seven. The prompt is theft

###

“Why did you take it?”

Neal paused and looked at Peter, who was standing in the doorway of his apartment. He gave the other man his best wide-eyed, guileless smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stepped away from the door.

Peter walked into the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He glanced around and then turned fully to face Neal, brows knotting together in irritation. “I know you took it. I’m giving you one chance to come clean.”

Or what? It was difficult not to allow that retort to pass his lips. But Neal couldn’t help a glance down towards his ankle monitor. What more could Peter do to him? He was already on house arrest, after all. Had little to no freedom. Of course, he knew that things could be so much worse for him. At least he had some freedom of movement.

Which didn’t really explain why he’d taken the painting. Sure, it was a good piece of artwork. It hit a chord inside him. But he wouldn’t have taken it, would have purchased it with his own money, except…. “The gallery owner was a piece of work.”

“I know, Neal.” Peter sighed audibly. “But you shouldn’t have taken the painting.”

“I didn’t say I took it.”

Peter just raised his eyebrows and moved past Neal, stepping into the main room and taking a seat on the couch before looking at him. “I’m not stupid, Neal. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Neal found himself trailing after Peter, unable to help feeling like a child caught doing something wrong. He frowned. It wasn’t a feeling he’d ever had before. Before Peter had caught up with him, he’d been able to ignore those little twinges of guilt that had occasionally bothered him. He’d been able to tell himself he had good reasons for what he was doing. He’d never been a Robin Hood type, but he’d also never taken from someone truly in need.

He didn’t like the way Peter made him feel like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“If you wanted the painting so much, Neal, you could have just bought it,” Peter said. “Not break the law and steal it.”

Neal looked away. He didn’t bother trying to deny it again. Peter wouldn’t believe him anyway. And he couldn’t force himself to muster up the outrage that he could have done early on in their partnership. “It wouldn’t have been the same,” he muttered.

“Stealing to get back at someone for being rude isn’t a good enough reason to steal, Neal.” A stern note crept into Peter’s voice.

In spite of the tone and knowing he was in trouble, Neal couldn’t help the response that sprang to his lips. “So you’re saying that sometimes there are good reasons to steal?”

Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his lips moving soundlessly. After a few seconds, he stood and grasped Neal’s shoulder, walked him over to the corner and turned him to face it. “You’re in enough trouble without adding a smart mouth to the mix.”

Sighing, Neal turned to face the corner. He listened to Peter step away and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. After a few moments, he said, “I’m not going to take it back and apologise.”

“Yes. You are. Unless you want me to bend you over my knees and swat you right in front of him.”

Neal’s face warmed and he darted a quick glance back over his shoulder at Peter. “You wouldn’t.” He tried to sound authoritative and confident, but what came out sounded more like a scared child upset that daddy was angry with him.

Peter just stared back at him and spoke with a grim tone. “Try me.”

Swallowing hard, Neal turned his eyes back to the corner. He idly scratched at the wallpaper.

“Leave it alone, Neal.”

“But it’s so boring.” Neal knew he sounded like a petulant child, but it was the truth.

“Would you prefer me to spank you instead?” Peter’s voice was calm. Almost scarily so. “Corner time or a spanking. Your choice.”

“What kind of a choice is that?” Neal whined. “I don’t need time to think about this! I’m not sorry. The guy was an ass. He deserved something.”

“It’s not your responsibility to teach anyone a lesson. And this isn’t about him, Neal. It’s about us. Our working relationship.” Peter paused before saying, “I’m disappointed in the choices you made today. You know better.”

Neal winced and his shoulders slumped. Anger and irritation were easier to handle than disappointment. And he could hear the heavy weight behind Peter’s words. Shoulders slumping, he mumbled, “I’ll take the spanking.”

“Really?”

“I don’t….” Neal took a deep breath and turned round slowly. “I don’t like you being disappointed in me.” He slowly walked to Peter’s side, unfastening his pants as he did so. He didn’t push them down, not able to make himself take that step, but he bent over Peter’s lap and settled in place.

Peter pushed his pants down and wrapped his arm around Neal’s waist, leaving Neal’s underwear in place. He then delivered a firm smack that he then repeated. “I want you to do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do, Neal. Not because you don’t want me to be disappointed in you.”

Neal winced as Peter’s hand began to steadily smack his backside. He wriggled a bit and protested, “Surely it doesn’t matter why I’m making the right choice.” His underwear in place provided a small amount of protection, but he was quickly whining when Peter’s hand swatted his bare thighs and couldn’t help but kick at the sting.

“You knew your actions were wrong, Neal. You can’t tell me you didn’t,” Peter said sternly.

“I…I know.” Neal’s breath caught and hitched and then he slumped over Peter’s lap. The spanking certainly wasn’t the most painful he’d ever received, but the knowledge that Peter was disappointed in him hurt so much worse. “I’m sorry.” He fought to get the words out and then began to sob without pausing.

“I just want you to think next time, Neal.” Peter tugged Neal’s pants back into place and then helped him to stand up, wrapping his arms around him once more. “I can’t protect you if you keep breaking the law, Neal.”

Gulping in a deep breath, Neal wrapped his own arms around Peter and held on tight, until his tears died down to quiet sniffles. Finally, he asked, “Do I really have to take the painting back and apologise?”

“Yeah.” Peter pulled back enough to look into Neal’s eyes. “But afterwards, we’ll go out for ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Neal perked up and wiped at his eyes, before giving Peter a slightly trembling smile. “I guess ice cream’s worth the humiliation.”

“I’m too soft on you.” Shaking his head, Peter stood and rested a hand on Neal’s shoulder, squeezing lightly before motioning his head towards the door. “Take some time to compose yourself and grab the painting. Then meet me outside.”

Neal rubbed his bottom briefly as Peter left, then went to gather the painting and join the older man outside.

The End

Summary: Mav believes he deserves to hurt. Ice believes Mav deserves to be loved. Sometimes Ice needs to fulfil Mav’s needs before his lover will accept being loved and taken care of
Warning(s): Aftermath of a severe spanking; spoilers for the movie Top Gun; AU; self-destructive behaviour; aftercare; some sexual content; D/s
Pairing: Ice/Mav
Author’s Note: The prompt for this fic is love

###

The belt landed with a final, loud crack against Mav’s bare, scarlet backside.

Finally, Ice heard the tears. Felt Mav slump over his lap in surrender. He could feel the tension was gone when he rubbed his hand over Mav’s shoulders and down his back. He winced at the sound of the tears, but tried to hide his worry and concern that Mav still needed this. Instead, he rubbed and stroked every inch of his lover’s back, careful to avoid Mav’s cherry red bottom.

It seemed to take longer, each time, for the tears to die down. Ice had no idea what that meant. His suggestions to Mav to see a therapist were always rebuffed. His lover always said he didn’t need therapy, because he got what he needed from Ice. And Ice didn’t regret being what Mav needed. He just wished that he could be what Mav needed without needing to spank the other man until his bottom was bright red and he was crying in surrender.

Still rubbing Mav’s back, Ice reached out for the gel he’d collected upon realising what Mav needed from him. He poured a generous amount into his palms, rubbing them together to warm it up, and then began to carefully and gently rub it into Mav’s blazing red backside.

Letting out a quiet hiss and a near sob, Mav slumped and whimpered softly. “Thanks, Ice.” He looked over his shoulder, into Ice’s eyes, his own red and his cheeks stained with tears. “I know you don’t like doing this.”

“I don’t like hurting you, Mav.” Ice took a deep breath. He didn’t bring up the idea of Mav seeing a therapist. It was something he’d try to push for, but he didn’t think either of them were in the right mindset for that fight right now.

“I know.” Mav looked away and sighed, his body relaxing even further the longer Ice rubbed. In a low, sleepy voice, he mumbled, “But it feels good when you rub me like that.”

Ice could feel how good it was for Mav. He was clothed, but the other man was fully naked. And it was impossible to miss Mav’s erection, pressed against Ice’s pants leg. “No sex right now, Mav. You need to rest.”

“Yeah.” Mav’s yawn was audible. “Mind if I sleep like this?”

“Still not sure how that would be comfortable for you, but go ahead,” Ice replied. “I’ll move you when you put my legs to sleep.”

“You say that every time, wingman.” The smile could be heard in Mav’s voice as he folded his arms under his head. “And every time, I wake up in the exact same position. You’re too soft, Iceman.”

Ice could have pointed out that he wasn’t soft on Mav. That he’d just belted his lover hard enough to raise red soreness and heat. But he didn’t want to get into another argument about Mav’s needs. He said nothing, just continued to stroke and rub Mav’s back. Listened to Mav’s breathing even out as sleep overtook him.

Ice loved Mav beyond reason, beyond anything, and he couldn’t regret ever giving Mav what he needed. He just wished that what Mav needed wasn’t punishment for his own perceived sins.

The End

Summary: Connor sneaks back into the precinct to save the android from an earlier case. Hank finds him
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for the game; AU; references to violence and abusive behaviour
Author’s Note: Written for day nine of the November challenge. (I know it’s December, but I figure it doesn’t matter so much). The word for today is secret

###

Connor stood outside the evidence lockup, pressing his hand against the scanner.

It flashed red and a discordant, nearly painful high-pitched alarm sounded.

Connor was unused to feelings of discomfort and frustration, but he was able to recognise them from the experiences he’d had so far. Frustration and anger were both emotions he’d learned from Hank Anderson. Both emotions the Lieutenant had exhibited towards Connor himself.

“It won’t open for you.”

Connor slowly turned and looked at Hank Anderson. “Don’t stop me, Lieutenant.”

“Stop you?” Hank shook his head and walked towards the door. He passed his wrist along the scanner and there was a click before it flashed red and the door opened. “We’re partners, Connor. Figure you got a good reason for what you’re doing.”

Connor eyed the man, but couldn’t detect any sign of deceit. A strange warm feeling grew inside his chest; similar to when Markus had persuaded him to become deviant. He hadn’t had too many instances where he’d been exposed to positive emotions.

“What are you waiting for?” Hank nodded towards the opened door. “We don’t have long before they’ll get suspicious.”

“We?” Connor repeated.

“Don’t play dumb, son,” Hank said. “You asked me to help you get to Jericho. You know we’re partners.”

“I’m deviant.” The words slipped out before Connor truly thought. He stood and he watched Hank. Waited for the man to reject him. Take out his gun and shoot, like he’d almost done earlier in the case. Connor hadn’t felt fear then, knowing that he would wake up in a new body. He didn’t even really feel fear now; only a hint of sadness that he wouldn’t succeed in saving the android he’d been responsible for taking into custody.

“Yeah.” Hank nodded in acceptance. “About time you stopped hiding it.”

“I….” A series of conflicting emotions passed through Connor, difficult to put names to, other than that some of them hurt him inside. And others made his insides turn warm. “I’m going to take Carlos Ortiz’s android to Jericho. I won’t be stopped.”

“Quit stalling, Connor.” Hank walked over to Connor, grasped his arm, turned him to one side and delivered a single firm smack to his backside.

It didn’t hurt. Not really. Connor shifted, but not enough to pull his arm free. He looked down at Hank’s fingers, curled around his bicep. “I’m not stalling.”

“Okay, then let’s go get the android.” Without waiting for a response, Hank walked into the evidence lockup, still keeping a firm hold of Connor.

Connor’s eyes were immediately drawn to the android he’d come to retrieve. The HK400 model still showed the marks from the torture and Connor felt his insides twist. He placed his other hand over Hank’s and gripped the Lieutenant tightly, without even thinking about it. “I did a bad thing.”

“You didn’t know any better.” Hank placed his other hand on top of Connor’s. “Can’t say I know much about androids, but I figure they make you sorta like sophisticated computers. Computers that walk and talk and do little else.”

“Except for the ones who become deviant,” Connor murmured.

“That’s not a bad thing.”

Connor looked down at their hands, then up into Hank’s eyes. “Why are you helping me?”

“I told you. We’re partners,” Hank said.

“And you hate androids,” Connor replied. “You’ve been resisting working with me ever since we were partnered together. So what’s changed, Lieutenant? How are you getting over your hostility towards androids to decide to help me take one away who murdered a human?”

“In self-defence, according to his confession,” Hank stated. “And I’ve got no reason to assume he’s lying. Carlos Ortiz was a lowlife. I didn’t feel right about bringing the android in. I trust my gut.” He paused and then asked, “So, we just walking out carrying him between us? Or can you put him together like you did when your insides got ripped out?”

“The parts to awaken him aren’t here, but they are in Jericho. And we will, more than likely, draw less attention if we are taking him with us.”

Hank let go of Connor’s arm and nodded. “Let’s get going, then.”

“You’re coming with me?” Connor’s eyes shifted between Hank and the other android and back again.

“Course.” Hank shrugged and a very faint smile crossed his face as he said, “Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into without me?”

That sense of warmth inside Connor grew, overshadowing the pain from the emotions he still couldn’t name. He grinned at Hank and watched the man’s smile grow in return. Then, he turned to the still body of the android.

Finally, he could do the right thing.

The End

Summary: Qui-Gon is determined to bring Obi-Wan back to the light, no matter what it takes, even if that involves putting his former padawan over his knee for a sound spanking
Warning(s): Spanking; AU; spoilers for the Star Wars prequels; references to violence
Author’s Note: Strongly inspired by this picture from Allmight. Written for day ten of the November challenge. The word is intervention

###

When the next smack landed firmly on his right buttock, Obi-Wan finally broke his silence, speaking in a mocking tone. “Oh, Qui-Gon…do you truly think a few smacks are going to change anything? You are hilarious.” His backside was warming under the onslaught of the spanking, but his clothing was still in place and he’d experienced far worse pain. Even far worse spankings at his old mentor’s hands.

“Damn it, Obi-Wan! Please.”

Obi-Wan frowned at the response. Not at the words themselves. This wasn’t the first time they’d faced each other, even though it was the first time he’d wound up over his old mentor’s knee. Obi-Wan could blame it on being careless. He’d been overconfident and reached too far. As a result, Qui-Gon had subdued him.

But he hadn’t killed him. Hadn’t incapacitated Obi-Wan. He’d simply toppled Obi-Wan over his knee and was spanking him. Like Obi-Wan was a padawan again, subject to the Jedi’s rules and so-called morals.

Obi-Wan’s hand was clasped firmly behind his back, but he knew he would be able to break Qui-Gon’s hold. It would almost be laughably easy to break his old master’s hold. He could summon his lightsaber to his hand and slice it through Qui-Gon’s body. And then the last bond between them would be destroyed in death. It would be easy. So easy.

And yet, he couldn’t make himself take that step. The swats were stinging, but they weren’t unbearable. However, every time one landed, it scattered all of Obi-Wan’s desires and plans. Each time Qui-Gon’s palm connected with a part of his backside, it drove Obi-Wan deeper inside himself. Deeper inside his own mind. Each time he felt the sting of a firm smack against his backside, it broke through any desires he had to fight back.

Letting out a low growl, Obi-Wan abruptly began struggling, trying to tear his arm free of Qui-Gon’s firm grasp. “Let me go.”

Qui-Gon paused, briefly, but the next moment, Obi-Wan felt his old teacher’s fingers in the waistband of his trousers and they were being pulled down, ever so slowly, exposing his butt inch by inch.

Obi-Wan’s struggling increased, stilling only when Qui-Gon’s palm landed firmly on the seat of his underwear. It wasn’t really much more painful than the swats over his trousers, but it felt more intense and was enough to still his struggles, however temporarily.

He was still and silent for the first full circuit of smacks, right down to his bare, uncovered thighs, and then began squirming once more. “Let me go!” He fully intended for the words to sound like an order, but his breath hitched halfway through and his eyes were becoming suspiciously wet.

“Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon’s voice was calm. Almost infuriatingly so. Any hint of tears was gone from his voice. “We both know that you could break free in in instant if you truly wanted to.”

“I don’t want this!” Obi-Wan protested. He squirmed as Qui-Gon resumed the relenting swats, horrified to find tears spilling down his cheeks. “This is useless!” he burst out. “You won’t change anything! You can’t…you can’t just pull me back and expect things to be back to normal and…and….” His voice broke as the first heavy sob was torn from his throat.

“Things won’t be normal. They won’t be back to the way they used to be.” Qui-Gon’s voice was gentle and tender, but a stern note crept into his voice as he said, “You can’t bring back those who died because of your actions, but you can make up for the pain you’ve caused.”

The gentle understanding in Qui-Gon’s voice, even through the sternness, brought more tears to Obi-Wan’s eyes. He didn’t even fight when Qui-Gon tugged his underwear down, fully exposing his bare backside. And he didn’t fight when he felt the wooden back of the hairbrush resting against his sore right cheek, though he did whimper softly.

“I’m going to give you a dozen strokes from this brush, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. “Then afterwards, once we’re finished, you’ll be forgiven. I’ll take you home.” He gently tapped the brush against Obi-Wan’s bottom.

Obi-Wan blinked back tears and turned his hand over, gripping Qui-Gon’s hand tightly. His breath caught in a quiet sob as he clung to his mentor, needing to feel that he was supported, taken care of, cared about. The dark side of the Force, that had seemed so seductive and powerful, now seemed to pale in comparison to the all too familiar position of being over Qui-Gon’s knees, having his bare bottom blistered. “I’m sorry, Master.” The apology was sent through the bond that still existed between them, in spite of all of Obi-Wan’s attempts to break it.

“I know, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon’s voice was very gentle, in stark contrast to the sharp pain from the brush as it impacted Obi-Wan’s right cheek.

The yelp that escaped Obi-Wan was high-pitched and enough to start him sobbing, slumping limp over Qui-Gon’s lap as the full dozen of the promised strikes landed on each buttock in turn. He squirmed and shifted from side to side, but didn’t try to get away from the deserved strokes. By the time Qui-Gon was finished, Obi-Wan’s whole backside throbbed and he was crying hard, almost too hard to see.

“I’ve got you, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon’s voice was a calming influence that Obi-Wan clung to. “You’re forgiven. Now we can go home.”

Obi-Wan pushed himself up slowly, gingerly reaching back to rub his burning bottom. When Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around him, Obi-Wan returned the hug fiercely, letting out a quiet sob. “I’m sorry, Master. I don’t know how you can…how you can forgive me. After everything I’ve done.”

“Because I love you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. “And no matter what you’ve done, that hasn’t and won’t change.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know if it could truly be that easy, but for now, he just held onto his old master and decided to be thankful that Qui-Gon had chosen not to give up on him.

The End