#i’m not the worst thing i’ve ever done and neither are you!

[gardenofnoah]

part one: you’ve been running behind, i’m afraid you’re too late

wc: 5.7K chapter tags: MDNI, dark content (domestic abuse/physical abuse within a romantic relationship (not between reader and shinsou), general violence, nonconsensual quirk use??, graphic descriptions of injuries), ptsd, healing and forgiveness, undefined relationship between reader and shinsou, gn reader (no pronouns), pet names (“angel”, “baby”), probably inaccurate description of shinsou’s quirk idk

Kyoji was good to you. He was older, he was handsome–he exuded a confidence that you’d not yet been privy to. He spoiled you, really–with gifts and dinners and glimpses into a lifestyle that your young naivety latched onto–you liked him for that. You were taken by his charm, and how he always knew exactly what to say. 

The very things you adored seemed to turn to sharpened weapons that nicked at your skin. But he was careful not to draw blood until he knew he had you.

You’d met at UA, you in your second year and he in his last. You were inseparable from the start–you hung off his arm like a little trophy he could carry around. What he’d ever done to earn that, you’ve no idea now. 

Hitoshi had been weary of him from the start. 

“I don’t know, angel,” he told you, sprawled across your extra long twin bed while you did your hair in the little mirror that sat on your desk. “He seems a little…” pausing between words, treading carefully, “off.”

You’d gotten angry with him at that. You told him that he just didn’t like that you were happy and not hanging out with him–that he was only jealous that he couldn’t follow you like a lost puppy anymore. Your words had very clearly wounded him, but he recovered before you could think too much of it–the hurt bleeding back into his practiced indifference. 

“Just be careful, okay?” he asked quietly as you all but tossed him out of your dorm. “Call me if you need anything.”

You’d brushed it off, along with everyone else's thinly-veiled warnings, and continued to see Kyoji. Things were going well enough–he graduated and took you with him. There might have been something foreboding about it, but it was fleeting and you didn’t put up a fight–didn’t dig your heels in at all as he was picking up the boxes made up of everything you were before him and loading them into the back of his car. You completed your last year at UA from the bedroom of the apartment you were suddenly sharing–all tall ceilings and chrome appliances. All for show, sparking and without a sign of life–just how Kyoji pictured it. There wasn’t a sign of you anywhere–all of your boxes had ended up in a storage unit not far from UA. They hadn’t even made it the whole drive to the apartment–it hadn’t taken long at all for him to convince you that he could buy you things that were far nicer than what you had in them. 

You still saw Hitoshi, but your interactions were rare. If he caught wind that you were on campus for any reason, he’d seek you out–joyfully ignoring the cold shoulder you usually tried to give him. He’d loop an arm around your neck, laughing at the way you bristled at his touch. You pretended not to notice how forced it was–how he raked his eyes over you, searching for something you didn’t want him to see. Both of you caught in a bizarre performance of make believe in front of your other friends, who all regarded you with the same, thinly-veiled apprehension. Scanning for something that wasn’t yet there, but that surely would be. All of you a group of dangling marionettes, creaking clumsily toward the final act.

Kyoji didn’t like Hitoshi. He’d made that clear from the beginning. He thought that your relationship with the purple-haired hero was strange, going so far as to tell you that Hitoshi was “toxic”– someone who was “isolating you from the people who cared for you”. The fact that Hitoshi behaved like he did–mostly aloof, eager to wound with his quick tongue–made it an easy sell, despite him only ever regarding you with a gentle fondness. Kyoji stressed that he was only worried, because clearly Hitoshi had manipulated you into some semblance of friendship with him–one that was surely only transactional to him. It had always been clear, to Kyoji–who was wiser and older and only ever wanted the best for you–so you let him steer you away from Hitoshi. You closed your eyes when he turned you away from your other friends, too–letting him take the wheel. He knew better than you did, you were sure. 

Now you know it was bullshit, but you were in love, supposedly–you believed him because you had no reason to doubt him. And he loved you–he told you so, in all of his elaborate, and often very public, displays of affection. Each overblown effort made you uncomfortable, but he’d gone through so much trouble–and made sure you were aware of it. So you let him love you like that, even if it left you feeling a little hollow. 

You scoff at the memory, now. Curled up in the corner, locked in your bedroom. Bruised and weak, you reach for your phone on the floor next to you. You scroll until you find his name.

He watches your face pop up on his phone on the coffee table. Half asleep, he reaches to pause the movie he’d been watching, and presses the green button by your name.

“Hi, angel.” he murmurs through a yawn. 

“Hitoshi,” you croak, and he’s upright immediately. By your tone, he knows you’re not safe. He curses himself for not catching this sooner–he should have known that things had gotten worse when you stopped answering his texts a few weeks ago. He’d given you space, hoping that time show you what kind of person Kyoji really was, but it’s apparent now that it only served to isolate you further. He’s made up his mind, though–the gears in his brain slip into place automatically, and he won’t let himself feel remorse over what he’s about to do–not yet, anyway. He’ll ask his questions–give you the chance to lie to him, like he knows you will–but he’s already decided. He hopes that you won’t hate him for it. 

“What’s going on?”

“Just–” a sharp intake of breath, like it hurts you, “so tired. I’m so tired of this.”

He takes a breath himself–deep and rattling in his chest, pleading with himself to keep a level head. He needs to, or he won’t be able to do this. He just needs to get you out–to get you somewhere safe. He squeezes his eyes shut, and pictures your reality–alone, hurt, and curled into yourself. He feels his pulse pick up, and tries to think of something else.

Questions be damned. He needs to do this now. 

He says a quick, silent prayer to whomever is listening. To please let this work. To make you understand–to maybe forgive him, one day. 

He steadies himself, and opens his eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

“Um–no, I don’t know, I–”

He’s flooded with pain, all at once. Sharp and radiating, in his eye and over his rib cage, and across his throat in a way that feels suspiciously like–

You were hurt, then. 

He’s overwhelmed by the full range of your emotions, too, as intimately as if they were his–shock, at first. He jolts as you startle, like the lights have just flickered out during a heavy storm. He feels the moment the recognition hits you–when you realize what he’s done–and he feels it when you start to fight it. 

“Please stop,” it’s a whispered plea that comes from him, into the receiver he keeps up to your ear. He hears your breath hitch.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he says, and he’s moving now–already down the front steps and out the door.

It’s effort, like this–he wasn’t sure if he would even be able to use his quirk over the phone. He’d asked Aizawa about it, who eyed him for a long time before he’d answered simply, “You should really think about it.”

And he has, but he sees no other option. Hitoshi knows, very acutely, that he is hurting you– that he’s not doing a good thing right now. The thought of it turns in his stomach, but he can’t stop. Not until he knows you’re safe. 

He envisions your body in his mind. It’s fuzzy, at best–the outline of you is warbled and distorted, but he can do this. 

“We’re gonna move now, baby,” he rasps, suddenly fatigued by the exertion of keeping himself moving and keeping you in his grasp. Like a villain, he thinks, and promptly ignores.

He starts to move you and the feeling is nearly blinding–you’re in pain. His own rib cage seizes and it knocks the breath out of him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he tries to placate you, even though he knows it’s shallow, “We just need to get you standing. Can you do that for me?”

It’s stupid of him to try to ask anything of you right now, and he hears you echo the sentiment–you’re still fighting him, though not as valiantly as before. He can feel how exhausted you are, and it’s not your injuries that make his chest ache now. 

He hurries past a gas station and realizes he’s closer to you than he thought. He hadn’t been paying attention, not really–hadn’t even bothered to disguise himself with more than his black hoodie pulled over his head. He hears voices to his right and realizes that he really didn’t think this through–that he could easily be caught off guard right now, with all of his focus on you. Driving wasn’t an option, though–it was dangerous enough just for him to try to walk and do this.

He catches himself trying to create distance in his mind. To call it this, instead of naming it. Because if he allows himself to recognize what he’s really doing to you, he won’t be able to keep you under his quirk, and he just needs to get you out–

He feels a bump to both knees, and he realizes that he’s gotten you up and moving. He sees the vague outline of your bedroom window, and thanks whatever god is up there that you live on the first floor. Now that he’s closer to you, your body is more in focus. He can manage like this.

He comes to a stop at a street corner, less than a block from your house. He takes a breath in, and focuses again. 

“Okay angel,” he says, keeping his voice soft, “we need to get this open. I’m going to be gentle, but it’s still going to hurt.”

It does–immediately. Having to lift the window with one arm to keep the phone to your ear–the only way to keep up the connection–is putting too much strain on the fractures of your ribs. He feels you thrash in his mind, and he almost wishes he could hear your voice, just so you could scream at him. He wishes he could at least give you that. 

All at once the pain is cut off and bleeds into something different. Panic, he recognizes. Hitoshi feels the adrenaline spike in your body and realizes he’s run out of time. 

He needs to get you out now.

He takes off in a sprint toward the direction of your apartment. His hold on you falters, only for a second, but it makes you stumble. He feels his own fear spike. 

“I’m coming,” he tells you, and it comes out like a plea, “I’m right there baby, just hold on–”

He hears the yelling as he rounds the corner. He sees you then, half way out the window, and he knows if he lets go of you now, you won’t make it out. 

He feels a bruising pain wrap around his wrist, and he goes cold.

Hitoshi makes it to the window before he knows it and lets you go. He wraps his arms around your middle as you go limp, and when he looks up, he is face to face with the man who did this to you. 

Kyoji, who is still crushing your wrist in his hand. 

“What the fuck,” Hitoshi grinds out, and it is lethal when it leaves him, “are you doing?”

“What am I do–” 

He doesn’t give Kyoji any time to give a real answer before he’s in his head. The fatigue is stifling, but his adrenaline fuels his quirk. The grip on your wrist falls slack. He pulls you the rest of the way out of the window, careful not to aggravate your ribs further. You whimper, not yet fully conscious, as he sets you down gently in the grass.

“Give me one second, angel,” he tells your limp form, brushing your hair back from your eyes.

He takes a step forward, as does Kyoji–rigid and clearly unwilling, but he moves despite himself, because he’s no longer in control. Through the window, Histoshi takes a long look at him, and feels nothing but contempt. He lets it bleed into the connection between them–feels only a white, hot anger coming from the man in his hold, and it makes him smile.

“You won’t make that mistake again.”

He watches from outside himself, then, as he leads Kyoji’s hands through the open window. Hitoshi feels nothing as he slams it down over his fingers. He lets the bastard go right as it connects.

Hitoshi hears the crunch of splintering bone, and only watches as his victim comes back to himself. Feels nothing as he watches him process what has just happened. And then, as a howl of pain breeches the silence, a sick part of him howls back—feeling more than a little justified. 

He watches for a second more, and then turns his attention back to you. Still limp in the grass–whether you’re still unconscious or you’re pretending to be, he isn’t sure, but he couldn’t blame you if it was the latter. Hitoshi gathers you in his arms, and you don’t fight him. He wonders if you have any fight left. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, rubbing his cheek against your temple in some vain attempt at comfort as he walks, “I’m so sorry.”

Hitoshi is a nervous wreck. 

He fumbles through his own kitchen like he’s never been in it before. He opens cabinets, closes them, and opens them again. He’s opened the fridge at least three times in the last five minutes, like something will be different each time he opens it.

He has no idea what to do with himself. 

He comes to a stop, finally, in front of the counter and braces his hands against the cool stone. He lets his head hang and takes in a deep, shuddering breath through his nose. The only thing he can focus on is the knowledge that you are asleep in the next room.

He’d brought you in and set you on his bed, checking to make sure none of your injuries were life threatening. When he was satisfied that they were not, he turned on his heel and all but sprinted out of his room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him. Sleep wasn’t an option for him after that. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, knuckles straining in their grip on the countertop. He was nothing if not cowardly. 

He nearly comes out of his skin when his phone rings next to him. He spares it a glance, and feels his stomach lurch when he sees who it is. He hits the green button, and it’s not a second after that the voice on the other end lays into him. 

“You fuckin’ idiot,” Bakugou seethes, “what did you do?”

Hitoshi has never experienced Bakugou as quiet as he is right now. The silence on the other end of the line stretches and expands like a living thing–it’s suffocating, but he allows it to drag on. He won’t be the one to break it.

He hears Bakugou sigh and lets out a breath of his own.

“The injuries–” he says finally, sounding tired in a way that Hitoshi hasn’t heard in a long time, “are they–”

“Not life threatening,” he grits, hearing the strain in his own voice, “I can take care of them here. But Bakugou–”

“I get it,” Bakugou cuts him off, gruff. For the first time in Hitoshi’s life, the constant of his harsh inflection is a comfort. “Was fuckin’ stupid, and you’re real lucky I was the one to respond. But I get it.”

Hitoshi says nothing. He can’t say anything. Bakugou sighs again, long and resigned. 

“I’ll handle it,” he says finally, and Hitoshi can barely breathe, “Just take care of your shit.”

“I will,” he whispers, but Bakugou has already hung up.

He stares at the phone in his hand then, like it might come alive at any second. Now that he knows what he can do with it, he thinks he ought to throw it down and crush it under his heel. 

His mind goes back to where it always does–to you. He knows that it’s a vile thing he’s done, and he doesn’t know how he’ll face you now. He just couldn’t stand the way your voice cracked every time you called–he isn’t too proud to admit that he was afraid. He’s responded to so many of these calls, and he knew of the few that heroes didn’t make it there in time–he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost you like that. He couldn’t sit and wait for that to happen–that was never an option. 

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. He tries to resign himself to what's coming when you wake up. Tries to tell himself that it will still be worth it if you hate him–and he knows that it is, because you’ll be alive. But he will be another man that you can no longer trust, and as much as he deserves that, he can’t stand it.

He swallows thickly, setting the phone down and pushing off the counter. He supposes he could at least make himself useful and get some food ready for you while you slept.

You don’t know how long you’ve been awake, but it feels like far too long.

Every jagged intake of breath rattles an ache through your rib cage. It shouldn’t feel like that, you think, but the thought fizzles out of your mind with the rest of them. It’s enough effort to force your lungs to inflate. You reach out a hand, slowly, ignoring the pain that radiates up your arm when you close your fingers around the sheets beneath you. They’re soft, and they’re not yours. But you knew that.

You don’t have the luxury of survivor’s amnesia. You remember everything. 

You won’t cry. You wish you could, and you think it’d do you well–but to cry requires energy that you just don’t have. So you blink your eyes open through the sting, watching the fuzzy outline of the ceiling fan come into focus. It whirls around lazily, and it seems silly that it’s not doing much of any cooling, but you think that maybe Hitoshi couldn’t stand for things to be still when he put you there, so he turned it on. 

Hitoshi.

You suck in a breath, gritting your teeth at the flash of pain. You feel it everywhere, and you are catapulted back into the feeling of your limbs moving against your will. It makes you want to curl into yourself, but you have a feeling you’d risk puncturing a lung if you did, so you lay there and let the feeling wash over you, pinning you to the bed. 

You might be angry at him–you can’t be sure. You feel what could be anger, broadly, but you have a feeling that it’s true target is beyond Hitoshi, beyond Kyoji, beyond the way you’ve been rendered immobile more times than you care to count. You can’t reach it yet, but it is certainly there. 

You know that your injuries are severe, but that they will heal. The physical ones, anyway. You don’t know how to go about healing what lurks beneath the surface–what’s been circling in the dark for years now. You’d reached a point about a month ago, when the verbal abuse became physical–a new place, one without much feeling at all–that had startled you at first. But you found it was better when you allowed yourself to lean into it–the physical pain from a throttled neck or a broken bone paled in comparison to the vast emptiness of the quiet void you could escape into. But the feelings come back, as you lay here, and you yearn for the dark nothing again. You know suddenly that it’s not the broken ribs keeping you here in this bed.

Despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to stop, you push yourself to a sitting position. It takes a while, and you have to twist like one of those wooden snake toys you had as a child. You feel your bones clink off one another similarly, and you breathe out something that sounds to you like a laugh. It’s ridiculous, the whole thing–to be reduced to something so fractured and still feel the need to stand up and keep going. It’s hard for you to see the merit in that right now, but you do it anyway. 

Hitoshi nearly comes out of his skin for the second time that day when he sees you standing in the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

He looks at you and he knows he should stop, because he’s not in control of his face right now and he wants to be composed for you. But he is not, and he knows you can see it. 

He can’t look away. There’s a bruise that spans from your cheekbone to your eyebrow that he’s fixated on, which feels like the safest place to look right now because he knows if he looks at the one across your throat, he will lose out to the animal growling in his chest. Knows he will walk out the door and not stop at Kyoji’s broken fingers. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. When he looks at you again, he can’t tell what you're feeling. You are more devoid of emotion than he’s ever seen you, and it scares him. He opens his mouth, because the tension is crushing him.

“I–”

“Overstepped.”

He blinks, unsure if he’s just hallucinated. It isn’t until he watches your mouth move around the words that he’s sure he didn’t.

“You overstepped,” you say again, flatly. 

“I know,” and he does. He thinks that’s an understatement. “I’m sorry.”

He watches the corner of your lip curl into something he doesn’t recognize. 

“You’re sorry.” You repeat him like you’ve never heard the words before. “What is it that you’re sorry for?”

“I know that I shouldn’t have used my quirk on you,” he says, too quickly, “I just knew that he hurt you and I was–”

“You were what?” the tone of your voice is a warning when you cut him off, “hoping to be the hero that saves the day? You were inside me–did you think that wouldn’t hurt me?”

“No–I know it did,” he hears the plea in his voice and hates it. He knows he has no right to ask you to hear him. Really, he shouldn’t say anything, but he keeps talking anyway. “I know it did, and I’m sorry, I just knew you needed help–”

You cut him off with a bitter laugh, and then a hiss, hands hovering over your abdomen like you’re trying to wave away the pain. He feels it in his own body, quirk or not. 

“I never asked for your help, Hitoshi.”

He’s quiet then, feeling the phantom ache spread to his limbs. He knows you didn’t–it’s not often that abuse survivors do. It didn’t matter how close you were to him–you were out on that island alone, all the same. 

“Would you have ever?”

You glare at him. You open your mouth and close it just as quickly–he hears your teeth clack together like you’re biting down on what you really want to say. He watches you think about it. 

“No.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. He knew the answer, but it’s not any less jarring to hear you say it. 

“I didn’t feel like I had a choice,” he whispers, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

You let out a laugh–clipped and indignant. A knife, thrown right at him. 

“You didn’t have a choice?” you snarl, and he wants to grab his words out of the air and swallow them, but he knows he’s too late. “You took over my body and you want to talk about choice?”

He can’t say anything. He watches the emotion flood you and knows it’s his doing. 

“Jesus Christ,” you laugh, “did you ever consider asking me what I needed, before you did that? Or did you think that being a hero meant you knew better?”

It’s startling, how on the mark you are. The shame lumbers over him like a tidal wave– he’s never asked anyone what they needed, not really. He just acted. He was always just acting, never thinking first. Until now, the former made him a great hero.

“What I really need is for everyone to get their fucking hands off of me and to let me have the control that I deserve to have over my life.”

He can’t look at you, and he knows for that he is a coward. He knows that he has done something so unforgivable and he hates the way he wants to get on the ground and beg for your forgiveness anyway. He knows this is the part where you walk out of his house and never speak to him again. He considers telling you that he’ll call someone to come get you so you don’t have to stay here.

And that thought gives him pause, because there he goes again–deciding what’s best for you. 

He wants to stop doing that. He’s been looking at you as a statistic, and that alone breaks his heart, because you are his best friend.

You are his best friend—the love of his life—and you are hurting right now.

So he gathers all of his resolve and meets your eyes. He tries very hard not to flinch away from the anger you pin him with when he asks, “what do you want to do right now?”

Your face twists with an emotion he doesn’t recognize for an instant, and then it’s gone, and there’s that blank, unfeeling look staring back at him. You sigh, and it surprises him when he hears it tremble. 

“I–there’s blood. On me.”

“Yeah,” his voice is a whisper, “do you want to shower?”

You sag against the doorframe, like someone’s let go of your strings for the first time. He smothers the urge to go to you and hold you up himself. 

“I don’t think I can stand,” you rasp, eyes shut tight. 

“Can I run you a bath?” he asks gently, rising to his feet.

You nod tightly, watching him as he approaches you. He stops a foot in front of you, cautious. 

“Can I help you to the bathroom?”

You eye him like you think it’s a trap, and it’s a twisted knife in his chest. But he doesn’t waver—he waits. He leaves room for a no. 

He bites back the relieved sigh that wants to escape him when you reach for him. 

It takes a minute to figure out how to support you without hurting your ribs. You settle for looping your arm through his, and he covers it with his other hand, careful of your wrist. He gets you to the bathroom and sits you on the toilet while he turns on the faucet. 

“Hitoshi.”

He almost doesn’t hear you, over the water, but the shake of your voice has him whipping around, posturing to protect–

“Don’t do that again.”

And it’s him, then, who has hurt you– who continues to hurt you. He watches the tears pool in your eyes and feels so, so sick. 

“I won’t,” it’s quiet, but he hopes you understand that he means it, “not ever again.”

The water that ripples around your body is tinted pink. You wonder how long you’ll have to watch pieces of you slip down the drain until you’re whole again. 

For a while you just sit–the warm water offers some small comfort if you close your eyes and pretend that this is a regular day for you. That you’re not coming apart at your seams. But the temporary lull is interrupted when the water grows cold. 

“Hitoshi,” you call, quietly. You have a feeling he’s sitting just outside of the door. 

“Mm?” He is.

“The water is cold.” 

“Do you need help getting out?”

“No, I–” you struggle a bit, to vocalize what you need, despite so adamantly wanting that not 20 minutes ago. All of your bravado from earlier has slipped down the plumbing with the rest of you. “It’s cold.”

You think you can hear his brain go through the mental gymnastics routine you’ve tasked it with, and you try to feel a little sorry for him, but before you can get too carried away he catches up.

“Can you pull the curtain closed?”

It’s hard, and it hurts, but you manage. “It’s closed.”

You hear him come in and kneel beside the tub. You watch him reach into the water–the water that’s saturated with you–to grab the plug from the drain, and your heart kicks in your chest. 

“Hitoshi, the water is all–”

“It’s okay,” he says gently, and you hear the seal break with a little bubble beneath the surface, “It’s alright.”

He lets about half of the water out before he twists the faucet. You feel the water warm up again and you sigh, trying to relax a bit. Hitoshi dips a hand into the tub, moving the warmth around.

When it’s full, he twists the faucet back and moves to stand.

“Do you—” the words taste uncertain when they leave you, “do you think you could sit here with me?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, and it makes you feel a little better. You hear him move to sit next to you–you watch his outline through the curtain. When you look down, the water is clear. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you whisper. Not quite willing to apologize, but still feeling like you should say something.

“Yes, you should have.”

You pause, and when the tears come, you let them. “I’m tired, Hi.”

He lets out a breath at the nickname and you wrap your arms around yourself, needing to feel some sort of comfort.

“I know you are, angel.”

The silence is stretched between you, but it’s permeable this time. He’s trying to extend an olive branch—you decide to let him. 

“Will you help me out of here?” you ask quietly.

It takes some maneuvering to get yourself standing, and when you gather the bravery needed to draw back the curtain, Hitoshi is already holding up a towel and looking starkly away from you, the tips of his ears a little red. You’d laugh if you could, but instead you just lean into him and let him wrap the towel around you. It’s warm, and you realize he must have put it in the drier at some point during your bath. The consideration has you stepping out of the tub and further into his arms–wrapping yourself around his middle before you can think better of it. He goes rigid for only a second before you feel his arms around your shoulders, caging your head in and pulling you closer. It’s startling how familiar it feels–how safe it feels, despite what he’s done–and you don’t fight the sob that tears through your throat when he presses his cheek to your temple and runs his fingers through the damp tangles of your hair. 

He sways gently, rocking you like he’s consoling an infant. You don’t have it in you to be anything but comforted by it. You let out a broken whimper of his name through your tears.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs as you gather the material of his shirt in your fists, “I know.”

Before either of you know it, weeks have passed. You haven’t mentioned leaving and Hitoshi wouldn’t dream of asking you to go, so you stay. He takes every day as an opportunity to gain your trust. 

It’s a fickle thing–he notices every time you flinch away from him when he accidentally brushes against you. He notices how far you sit from him on the couch, and how quiet you’ve been. It hurts tremendously, but he knows it is his fault. He’ll give you all of the time and space you need. 

He cooks for you–both because he’s not sure how else to care for you right now, and because he just likes to know that you’re being looked after. He remembers how often he’d call in the middle of your “dinner”–something frozen and microwaved because Kyoji hadn’t bothered to follow through on the plans you’d made and you were left alone. Hitoshi thinks this is the best way he can help you heal–to make sure your body gets all of the vitamins it needs. It’s a small thing, really, but he hopes it means something. 

He sees you out of the corner of his eye–leaning against the doorway, watching him. He smiles softly at you before he continues slicing the vegetables he’s picked out.

“What are you making?”

“Soup,” he tells you, sliding the cubed carrots off the edge of the knife and into the broth that boils beneath it, “seemed like a good day for it.”

He hears you hum, a sweet little affirmative that makes him smile again. He pulls a potato from the vegetables in front of him and turns it over a few times in his hands–checking for blemishes and wondering if he should cut it differently than the carrots, to give it some variety–if you’d appreciate the extra effort.

He startles when he feels pressure between his shoulder blades–goes rigid when he realizes it’s your forehead pressed against him. 

“Angel?” he croaks, cautious.

“I’m trying, Hi.”

He lets out a breath, setting the knife down in front of him. “I know you are.”

“I just,” you start, pressing a little harder into him to emphasize your frustration, “I don’t want you to think that I’m punishing you–”

“Hey,” he calls to you softly, trying to interrupt whatever self deprecation is happening in your brain, “I don’t think that. I know that it’s going to take some time.”

You sigh, a strained thing, and when you wrap your arms around his middle, he indulges himself in the unbridled relief that comes with the knowledge that you want to forgive him. He looks down at where your hands cross over his abdomen–the bruise on your wrist is nearly faded now. A tiny yellow stain on your skin. He wants to smooth it away with his thumb, but he doesn’t–he keeps the ball in your court and his hands glued flat to the countertop.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” you pause, thinking about it, “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of you, “you want to go find a movie to watch? The food’ll be done soon.”

You hum, untangling yourself from him to do just that. Hitoshi finds that the weight of your absence is far heavier than he expects it to be.

It’s a start. There are undoubtedly things you still need to say and questions that you need answers to. He’ll give them when you’re ready. For now, he reaches to turn up the flame on the stove, stirring the broth with new intention.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

[writerpetals]

the ghost and the flower | 🔞

; optional male lead smut |  ☁️

a/n: so this story is inspired by Simon “Ghost” Riley, but it’s not ACTUALLY him obviously because I write optional main character stories so you can picture anyone, and this plot wouldn’t make sense for his character anyway (but i’m the writer i make the rules lol). It’s easy to picture him if you want, but you can picture someone else, too. Just keep note this story is about a big, strong special ops soldier with a monster dick (because I wanted to write about a monster dick) so yeah :’)

w: enemies to lovers, they hate each other and fight a lot, minor primal play kink, major mask kink LOL, a little bit of military/special ops talk (i don’t know shit about military rankings but i did my best hehe), mention of guns and knives, controlling mmc, a little possessive, a little jealousy, unprotected sex, alcohol and being under the influence, lots of dirty things done in a mask and gloves... oh and this story is 20k words lol

[. playlist for story that helped me write .]

*

“I want you to know how much I hate this.” Your eyes narrow as you stare down your father’s expression, serious as ever, hoping he’s joking when he says the military brute standing next to you is in charge of you until further notice. Your father, the commander, remains stoic behind his office desk. “This has got to be a joke…”

You side eye your supposed bodyguard as he towers over you. He doesn’t look your way or even pretend to care about the situation. Not like it would matter considering you can’t even see his face or body in the protective gear he adorns. A balaclava mask covers everything on his face but his eyes, a white painted skull covering most of the fabric. The hood over his head hides his hair and ears, the rest of him covered by all black tactical equipment, but it doesn’t hide the fact that he's definitely strong, and big, and a little scary.

“No joke, sweetheart,” your father sighs, and you turn your attention back to him. “You know with my line of work and the investigations I do things can get risky for you. This is my only choice until we wrap up this case. Now that’s all I’m going to say about it. The lieutenant here is going to keep you out of harm’s way. That’s all.”

“Ugh,” you stomp your foot and huff. “And with my line of work, I have to travel all over the world at a moment’s notice so tell me how I can do that with this…”

You turn to the intimidating Lieutenant next to you, finally seeing his eyes peer down at you. He says not a word.

“...man hovering over me?” His cheek puffs out a little, as if he’s smirking under that creepy skull mask of his. You don’t have time to think anything of it. Not with the rage coursing through you. You’ve worked so hard to become the pop artist you are today. You’ve just released one of the best selling records in your country. You have a tour to plan, TV shows to appear on, interviews, fan meetings. Not to mention rehearsals and vocal practice. You can’t hide away just because your father decided to make his career out of taking down the worst criminals in the world. “I don’t need protection. I need to make music and meet with my fans. That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”

"Your little music thing can wait, alright?" Your father dismisses you like he always has. You know he's never cared much for your music, too busy catching the bad guys. He's never been to a concert because he's always in another country. Maybe he's never even listened to a song you wrote, but he definitely makes time to scoff at the outfits you've planned out or the current actor or singer you're having a night out with.

"My little music thing?" His words cut you deep even though you should be used to it by now.

“Commander….” The brute finally speaks, his deep voice taking you by surprise at your attention jerks toward him. “Am I really suited for this? No disrespect, but aren’t I a little… overqualified to be some pop star’s bodyguard?”

“Ugh!” Your eyes narrow, but neither man pays you any attention. "He doesn't even want to be doing this! Can't I just hire a team like a normal celebrity?" You grow more offended by the second. Heat practically radiates off your body at the two of them disregarding you.

“You know why you’re in this position Lieutenant.” Your father’s voice grows stern, disappointed even. He pays no mind to your offer of hiring your own bodyguards. At least this way you would have more control. “Allow me to remind you of the last mission you went off schedule for just because of that damn temper of yours.”

“I had a hunch.”

“You have anger inside you and you needed someone to take it out on.” Your father slams his fist on his desk, rattling the pens and causing a picture of you when you were younger to fall to the side. You jump back, but the soldier next to you doesn't move an inch. Maybe he's used to your father's outbursts. “You risked everyone on your team. So now this is your task until further notice. Keep my daughter safe. No one lays a hand on her. She will be under your strict supervision. Got it?”

It takes a full ten seconds before another word is spoken. You see the Lieutenant's jaw tighten under the mask. Then the tension leaves his body. “Affirmative, commander.”

***

The reality still hasn't sunk in yet on the way to your place. Your father insisted his duties begin immediately. Now he steers a borrowed SUV with the windows blacked out for extra protection after putting your address into the GPS. Clearly the soldier has done his research on you. Maybe he was only at the meeting with your father to try to convince him this is a terrible idea. You wish he would have tried harder. You don't need protection. You need to live your life. How can you do that with this stranger watching you at all times?

"What's with the mask?" You question while in the passenger seat scrolling through your phone. "What happened at your last mission? Why did you freak out?" You don't want to sound too interested in him, but you're annoyed at the fact you have to even be near him. You don't know him, can't even see his face. All you know he's a big, strong soldier with anger issues. Did your father really think this through?

"That's classified." His short reply in a deep, yet aggravated and cold tone makes you roll your eyes.

"Classified?" You set your phone down in your lap and shake your head. "What is? The mask thing or the mission thing?"

"Both." You grow more irritated every time he speaks.

"Do you always talk to women like this?" You narrow your eyes as you ask, looking at him finally. He keeps his focus on the road. If you weren't asking questions, he would probably forget you were there.

"You're not a woman to me, you're a mission," He says, sending a wave of anger through your body to fill your chest. "Best to remember that."

"So unbelievably charming," you retort with a huff. "I bet the ladies are lining up for a chance with you."

You want to get under his skin as much as he's getting under your own, but he doesn't so much as roll an eye or huff a breath. He doesn't care at all. Maybe he thinks if he stays quiet long enough you'll just disappear.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" You ask, turning in your seat to look, hoping he would at least glance your way. "Or is that not part of the mission?"

Finally his eyes meet your own for a split second. Then back to the road. It's clear he's not going to respond. It’s a long enough glance to see something deeper there. It’s not that he’s annoyed, or you’re getting under his skin. He looks faraway. Lost and lonely.

No, no, that's crazy. You’re not going to instantly feel sorry for him. Not after being forced into this situation.

This is going to be so fun, you think.

When the two of you arrive at the parking garage to your condo, he grabs a bag out of the back of the SUV while you grab your things upfront.

"Pack lightly, Lieutenant?" You tease with a bitter edge to your tone. You aren't sure why every second being around him makes you want to make every second of his miserable. Maybe to make him drop his mission and you altogether.

"I have what I need," is all he says as he reaches to close the back door. When he does, his leather jacket rises for you to see the gun in its holster at his waist.

"Wait, you can't bring that thing in my home!" You step closer, pointing at his waist.

"What?" He freezes, then looks down to where you're pointing and back up. "My gun or something else?"

If you were in any other situation you would appreciate a good dick joke, but it only makes you angry again. You’re aware he’s probably not even joking. He just wants to piss you off.

"The gun, obviously," you reply with a tightened jaw. "That's dangerous. What if it goes off? What if—"

"Trust me," He interrupts, stepping forward to where you have to look up to match his eyes, "I know what I'm doing. You don't have to worry about that, sweetheart."

For a split-second your breath becomes trapped in your throat. He's bigger than you realized earlier. He's hovering over you. He's calling you pet names you would normally find charming or cute. Coming from him it sounds like a promise and a threat. You can't explain the pressure in your chest or the shaking in your knees in the moment, so you blink a few times to rid yourself of any oncoming thoughts about what he just said.

"I don't trust you," you whisper. His eyes flinch for a moment. Is he actually surprised by that? How could you trust a stranger?

He says nothing, but he doesn't back down, so you do it for him and turn on your heel. Together the two of you make it up to your condo. You take your shoes off at the front door, looking down at his big, black boots hoping he will do the same. He doesn't make an attempt at all. You'll be mopping your floors in no time. Another thing to annoy you.

"Here's your room." You guide him toward the back of the condo, past the spacious kitchen and connecting living room, and even the guest bathroom to reach a smaller bedroom. There's only a full size bed on the far wall. A dresser you didn't want, but didn't want to get rid of, and a closet on the opposite wall. You didn't bother decorating or adding your personal touch when you just bought the place and haven't been home much considering your schedules. "Hopefully the bed isn't too small," you say, before turning to walk away, but you stop.

"Problem?" he asks, tossing his bag on the bed and not even bothering to look at you.

"Are you going to be with me all the time?"

He says yes without hesitation.

"My schedules? Meetings with my team?"

He turns around to look at you. "Yes."

"When I'm sleeping?" Your heart begins to race.

"If I need to."

"When I'm showering?" Warmth begins to swirl in your stomach.

Behind the balaclava, you notice his brow raise. "Are you asking or hoping?"

You narrow your eyes. "I, w… ugh!"

Good one, you think as you turn around and storm off. This is going to be a nightmare.

***

Having the soldier in your house is even more awkward than you imagined. He's always lurking around you, answering phone calls with code names and keywords you don't get, and flipping through folders of what you assume to be other cases while keeping his eyes on you. If you're in your music studio that was once a small office from the previous owners of the condo, he's sitting by the door while you scribble in your notebooks while sitting at a piano and recording voice memos of melodies you don't want to forget. You notice his eyes on you every time the sweet and soft humming fills the room. It's hard not to feel hot beneath his gaze. He's still so intimidating, but hopefully you've shown him you can stand up to him and refuse to be a helpless little girl that needs protecting. It’s all so ridiculous, anyway.

When you're on the phone with your assistant Marjorie, he keeps his ear trained on your words and eyes focused on you. You give him as many dirty looks as you can, but he doesn't seem fazed. It's clear he takes his mission seriously. Then the thought of you only being a mission gets to you and annoys you all over again. How could your father put you in this position? He’s never cared about it with his job before, but you quickly make the connection that the more your career takes off, the more eyes will be on you. Even those eyes of dangerous men that can link you to your father.

Still, you think it’s all so unnecessary. You’re a private person for the most part. How would dangerous men even know where to find you?

You roll your eyes and shake your head of useless thoughts, not wanting to be late for your date that night with Elijah. You’ve been seeing him for a few months casually, but lately have grown to really, really like him, and soon you know the tabloids will be buzzing with the rumors of the two of you being an item.

At least, that’s what he’s mentioned to you from time to time. He’s a music producer that landed a highly valued position at his father’s record label early on. Safe to say, he’s a big deal, and handsome as hell. You don’t care about how this could affect your career either way. You just enjoy being with him.

You put the finishing touches on your make-up and slip on your black dress before making your way to your front door to grab your purse and heels.

However, the Lieutenant is there in a flash right along with you. He’s staring down at you behind his mask, but you can see his brow raised.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes, actually,” you reply, not even bothering to look at him again while slipping your heels on. “I have a date. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“A date? You should have told me. I’d wear something more appropriate.”

You stop in an instant. There’s no way this man thinks he’s going to accompany you on a date like a parent. You turn to look at him, seeing him in a thin black t-shirt to match his cargo pants and boots, but now you notice one strong, tattooed arm folding across his chest with the other.

“Um, no! No way!” You shake your head and toss your hands in the air. “I don’t need protection while on a date. It’s personal and plus, Elijah will be there!” No, of course Elijah isn’t as big and scary as the Lieutenant, and obviously doesn’t have the combat training, but he would still protect you. You hope so, anyway.

“Who the fuck is Elijah? Any my mission—”

“Yeah, I know I’m just a mission to you, but you can’t possibly think I can show up to a date with someone like you and expect him to be okay with it.”

“Don’t give a fuck what he’s okay with. My job is to keep my eye on you. So either we’re going on this date with loverboy together, or you’re not going at all.” He steps closer, looking down at you as if to make his point more clear.

Heat burns inside of your chest, raging with your jaw clenched at how impossible this man was being. “I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t care what your mission is!”

“That may be so, sweetheart, but I will do my job whether you want me to or not.”

“Why? Because my father says so?” You narrow your eyes, stepping to him to show you aren’t afraid and you can take the challenge. “Are you really that much of a lapdog? My father says jump and you say how high? Is that what all you brainwashed stupid special ops soldiers do?”

He doesn’t say a word. You grow even more angry. You don’t even mean the things you tell him. You just want him to get as upset as he’s making you. There’s no way you can bring him to the date, and you don’t want to cancel on Elijah. He’s been out of town and you haven’t seen him in weeks. You certainly just can’t ask him to come here with the Lieutenant lurking in every corner of the room you’re in. What would he think? He’d certainly be jealous, knowing the Lieutenant is bigger, stronger, scarier… more intimating…

No, you tell yourself. What are you even thinking?

“Fine,” you whisper, clenching your jaw before finally tearing your gaze away. “I won’t go.”

You can’t believe your life has come to this…

***

“Sweetie, I have some bad news.”

Your assistant Marjorie unexpectedly shows up at your home the next day. She looks stressed. Her brown hair in messy curls around her face. The glasses on her eyes a little crooked. There’s bags under them, too. She’s clutching a folder full of papers to her chest.

“I’ve been working with the publicist since early this morning. Did, uh, something happen with Elijah?”

You frown as you let her in, stepping to the side and closing the door behind her. “What’s wrong?” Together, you make your way to your living room as she spreads the papers across the coffee table. Neither of you even noticed him sitting there, arms crossed, brow raised as he stares at the two of you. He looks over Marjorie and isn’t concerned in the slightest with her. Obviously she’s not a threat so he doesn’t even more, or make an attempt to speak.

However, the moment Marjorie spots him, she lets out a little shriek and jumps back, placing a hand on her chest. “Who—” She gives you a concerned look before she eyes the big guy out of the corner of her eye. “—is that?” Her voice trembles. It’s clear he’s intimidated her at first glance. You understand completely. If you weren’t so angry at your situation, you would feel the same.

“Sorry, I should have told you.” You place a hand on her arm to sit down on the couch with her. He still doesn’t speak even though it’s obvious to him she’s scared. “It… has to do with my father.”

That’s all that needs to be said. She knows your story. Knows you grew up around a commander that spent more of his life on work than spending time with his daughter, leaving you to be with nannies and play with maids. She knows all about the line of work he’s in, but you’ve always told her it doesn’t matter to you. It will never interfere with your dream… until now.

“I see,” is all she says. She gulps and smooths her hands over your skirt while straightening her back.

“What is the bad news, Marjorie? And what about Elijah?” You sneak a side glance at him while you ask. He seems more attentive now that your soon-to-be boyfriend’s name was mentioned.

“Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, hon’.” She opens the folder with all the papers. “I’m sorry. I know you really liked him.”

You glance down at the mock-ups of soon-to-be published articles across the table. Articles showing pictures of Elijah out with someone else. Headlines saying you are old news to the famous producer. A quote describing how Elijah working with you won’t be in his future. He’s just not much of a fan of your music, anyway. The text plastered over the image of him with an arm around a model’s waist. The same model that is friends with pop stars more popular than you. Of course he was only thinking about a paycheck.

“I was working so hard to not get them published. They were demanding outrageous things of you in return to not run the story. They wanted to know more about your father and family history in an exclusive interview. I knew you couldn’t do that…”

“No…” Your heart sinks. A heaviness settles in its place. You really did like ELijah. He told you plenty of times how much he loves your music and wants to work with you on your next project. How quickly men change their mind when it benefits them.

You look over to the Lieutenant as Marjorie goes on about things you can do to make you look better in this situation. You don’t listen. You focus on his eyes reading the headlines before they rise to meet your own. You want to blame him and be angry at him, but your heart hurts too much in the moment for anything else.

It’s not really his fault, you realize. Elijah is clearly a snake and dates whoever helps his career. You would have found that out eventually.

“But don’t worry,” Marjorie interrupts your thoughts. “You still have the award nominations coming up. A tour to plan. Fan meetings and interviews. Don’t let this get you down, sweetie.”

“I guess so,” you reply, taking a deep breath and a slow exhale. Why do you feel like crying? He wasn’t even your boyfriend, yet. Though, it doesn’t feel good to be pushed aside so quickly. For once you would love to actually be important to someone…

“So, let’s talk tour…”

Marjorie pulls a tablet out of her bag and quickly skims through possible costume designs and sets for your upcoming tour. You’re barely paying attention. You try to look over all the glittery designs and expensive props your label wants to use. She tells you they’re looking for stadiums to book across the country, but you can hardly be excited about this being your biggest tour yet. You’re barely paying attention, hurt bubbling inside of you, mixing with anger as the realization you were cast aside sets in. How could he?

Your attention is quickly drawn to the other side of the room as the impossibly silent shadow of a Lieutenant finally makes a noise. He sighs… long and drawn out… like a ghost just always lurking until he wants himself to be heard.

“Are you bored?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “You know you don’t have to sit here, right? You can fuck right off somewhere else.” You speak with more venom in the words than you actually mean. Maybe you’re just redirecting your hurt and anger to someone that can take it, because he doesn’t care about you either.

“Oh, sorry, pop princess,” he remarks, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. Marjorie jerks her head up to look at him, eyes going wide. Your nostrils flare at his words. “Can’t help it I’m not into this little flowery, pretty music and glittery Barbie outfits with all the flowery shit on them.”

What he says makes you rage. You’ve never wanted to slap someone more. “Right, you’re into fighting and being a fucking dick.” Marjorie gasps next to you. You’ve never been so hateful around her. Of course she’s shocked, but you’re pissed. And heartbroken, but the dumb brute doesn’t need to know that. You can give it right back to him. “Maybe you just lack taste.”

His cheek thickens as if he’s smirking beneath the mask. “Trust me, little flower, you’re not my type.”

You huff, opening your mouth to speak some vicious retort, but Marjorie beats you to it.

“Your loss,” she says quietly, looking between the two of you, then down at her lap where the outfits are still on the screen. “She’s amazing, talented, and works so hard. Her… her fans adore her.” Her voice is still shaking, but she wants to stick up for you. The anger settles a little. You know Marjorie will always be on your side, and it makes the situation a little easier to handle.

Then suddenly his little nickname hits you like a ton of bricks. Little flower? Who does he think he is?

“Little flower?” You glare at him, trying not to let the words he says affect you. “Give me a break…”

You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to Marjorie, finally putting your focus on your work and nothing more. You don’t need men distracting you any longer. Your father never caring about your music and still thinking you’re a little girl. Elijah dumping you once he saw a better opportunity for his career. Now this moody, grouchy soldier saying your music is terrible. You don’t need any of it. You’ve worked too hard to let men like them get to you now.

“Show me that super sparkly out fits a few pages back, Marj.”

You won’t be hurt by any of them.

***

“You can wait in the car.”

You hop out of the SUV after he pulls up to your label’s office building. You have too many meetings with execs today, too many things to plan, too much to worry about and the last thing you need is him drawing attention or cutting in with his snarky remarks. This is too important to you to ruin by being distracted and angry.

He follows you just as quickly as you try to outpace him while walking into the building. The girl at the front desk smiles at you before dropping her expression the moment she lays eyes on him. See? Distracting. Annoying. In your way. You don’t need it.

“If I did that, flower, I’d be disregarding my mission, wouldn’t I?” he replies as you stand to wait for the elevator to take you up to the floor where the meetings will be held.

“Oh, like you did last time you went berserk commando and risked your mission to get us both in this situation?” You huff, and you swear you hear him growl beneath the mask. He doesn’t like when you bring up his mistakes. Not at all. You smile to yourself on the inside, until you realize he’s still calling you the dumb little nickname. “And what’s with calling me that? Relax.”

He growls again. Not even trying to hide it. “Trust me, little flower, you would be in this situation regardless, and you’d much rather me than some of the other guys I’ve been with in the field.” You step onto the elevator with him right behind you. You scoff at his response while you start to rise to the top floor.

“Oh, right,” you say, turning to him to glare for a few moments. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of a glance in return. “Because you’re just so fun to be around.” You’re already in a bad moon. Funny how quickly your day can be ruined by him.

“That’s nice of you to say, flower.” The words rip right through you, sending you from annoyed to angry. It makes it even worse because now there's a hint of humor in his tone. He likes making you this angry. That pisses you off more.

“Sure, because you’re obviously so kind and sweet and caring and compassionate and totally not a pain in my ass,” you say through your teeth just as the elevator dings and the doors open. There stands Marjorie along with the men that are attending your meeting. They’re staring at the two of you. The Lieutenant looks straight ahead, not bothered at all. You’re still glaring at him, hoping to burn a hole straight through his thick skull.

Marjorie clears her throat. Your attention turns toward her, finally realizing the situation. He chuckles softly next to you.

God, do you wish you could disappear.

***

Award season comes around once a year, and this year is the biggest one for you yet. You eagerly wait by your phone for Marjorie to call to give you the news if you’ve been nominated or not, and when she calls to say you’ve been nominated in five categories at the most prestigious award show in your country, you can only scream into the receiver.

As you’re jumping up and down on your bed due to the huge news, screaming in Marjorie’s ear as she screams back due to being so happy your hard work is paying off, the Lieutenant rushes into your room. Suddenly, he grabs your body and pulls you to him, making you drop your phone in the process.

“What’s wrong?” he frantically asks. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yes,” you say, pushing him away and picking up your phone. “Marjorie, let me call you back.” Your voice is full of excitement as you hang up the phone. You can hardly contain yourself. Not even the big soldier can ruin your day today. Finally, the industry is taking note of all your success. Finally it’s all coming together for you.

“Are you sure? You screamed rather loud. I thought someone broke in.” While he speaks, he scans your body over, from head to toe, to make sure you aren’t lying. He even runs his gloves hands along your arms, genuinely looking concerned for your safety as he inspects.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you giggle, suddenly in such a good mood you don’t even want to fight or argue with him. “Sorry, I got some really great news. I need to call my father.” More than anything, you’ve always wanted to call him up with some great news or terrific achievement so he will finally take your career seriously. For so long, you’ve been waiting for this moment. You can hardly contain yourself as you click on your father’s contact to press dial.

The Lieutenant understands, nodding and taking a step back to fold his arms over his chest. He stays put in your bedroom, but you don’t even pay attention to him. You put the phone on speaker while you begin scrolling the news articles already talking about your nominations.

“Hello? Commander speaking.”

“Dad, it’s me,” you laugh, smiling wide to yourself. Of course he's only focusing on work, answering the phone without even looking to see who was calling.

“Everything okay?” He’s speaking in sharp, short words. Quick to get to the point.

“Yes! Everything is great, actually!”

“Good, good. Sweetheart, I’m really busy right now…”

“But dad—”

“Can we talk later?” There’s commotion on the other end, hearing shuffling and mumbled voices. He’s not paying attention to you at all.

“Dad, I got nominated for five awards today and I just—”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he interrupts. “I really have to get going. Talk soon, okay?”

“Dad—”

The phone hangs up. The excitement drains from your features. You drop your hands in your lap, staring down at his contact picture. Suddenly there’s a heaviness in your chest. It’s tight, gripping hold of your heart. What were you even happy about to begin with? You fight with yourself to keep the tears filling your lids from falling. Blinking, you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

“Five awards, eh?” Suddenly, his voice fills your ears, reminding you he’s still standing there. Great, now you have an audience once again to your heartbreak. Except this time, you have no fight in you at all.

“It’s stupid to care so much…”

“Don’t say that, little flower,” he says, earning your tear-filled eyes on him. “The only awards people like me ever get are ones when we’re already dead. It’s not stupid to be appreciated for working hard. Don’t count yourself short.”

His words take you by surprise. Raising your brows, you chuckle a tired sound and shrug. “Weren’t you just insulting my music?”

“Don’t be like that.” Suddenly, he steps toward you to take a seat on your bed next to you. His weight shifts the mattress. He’s so big next to you like this. “I didn’t really mean what I said, flower. And… I feel bad for saying it. I know you’re angry too about being in this situation. I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that. Plus, I’ve seen the way you’ve handled those bosses in your meetings. You’re tough and you know what you want.”

At that, you release a genuine laugh. “Yeah, I hate being ran over. I want complete creative control. I have a vision, you know?”

“A sparkly one.”

Now you’re giggling. “Yes, that does include sparkles, sometimes.” He chuckles. Genuinely. Your heart feels a little warmer. The heaviness in your chest feels lighter. You realize he’s trying to make you feel better. You appreciate the gesture. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

“Oh, is that what I was doing?” He looks down at you, and you look up at him through your lashes. “I thought we just advanced to a new level of bickering and being annoyed with one another.”

You can’t help but to laugh. You realize he can be kind of sweet if he wants.

“I just want to be taken seriously.” You tell him with a sigh. “My father sees me as a little girl that needs protecting. Elijah saw me as an opportunity for his career. The execs at the label try to make up their mind for me until I stick up for myself. Hell, even you just see me as a mission.”

He blinks a few times, taking in your words. Then he sighs. “I didn’t mean that, either, flower.”

For the first time, you’re glad he’s there with you.

***

Even though you and him shared a sweet moment when you were hurt over your father’s dismissive attitude of you, it still irritates you when you can’t go out and do what you want. You don’t want to be careless, of course,  but you just don’t see the need in being watching 24/7 like a hawk.

Especially when you got word Elijah will be attending a party, and you want to show up looking good enough to regret leaving. You have your skin tight, red dress already on, putting the finishing touches on your lipstick as you play in your mind the perfect scenario of him begging for you back. The dress cuts low into your cleavage, and rises high on your thighs. With some killer heels, he’ll be on the floor in no time.

If only there wasn’t a grumpy soldier in the way of you and the front door.

“I don’t care if you have a mission to do,” you tell him as he blocks your way, “this is important to me and I need you to get out of my way. I can’t be a prisoner forever.”

He looks you up and down, spending an extra second on your chest, before meeting your eyes. His gaze makes you hot in the moment, and now you’re unsure if it’s actually anger. “Clearly it’s important, but important or not, flower, I can’t let you out of my sight if you leave this house.” He folds his arms over his chest. “And you’re not a prisoner forever. You’re being guarded until it’s safe for you. That’s all.”

“Well, I feel like a grounded teenager.” You roll your eyes at him, folding your own arms over your chest with your heels in hand.

“Acting like it, too.”

“Fuck you.” Just when you thought the two of you were going to get along, too…

“If that’s what you want, flower.” Without warning, the big brute picks you up with ease and tosses your body over his shoulder.

“Hey, what—” You start kicking and punching his back, but he isn’t fazed at all. “Put me down!” You’re thrashing all over his shoulder, you’re not even paying attention to him bringing you to your bedroom. Without a word, he puts you down on the floor in the middle of the room before backing away.

“Want to act like a spoiled brat, you’ll get treated like it,” is all he says, stepping out of your room and closing the door behind him.

“I’m an adult!” you yell through the door. “A grown woman! I can do what I want!”

Clearly, you can’t. When you try to open the door, it doesn’t even budge an inch in your direction. But clearly he didn’t think this through. You still have your heels in your hand. You can just go out the escape ladder from your window. You sneakily tiptoe towards the window, pushing aside a few bottles of purfume that were resting on a dresser to budge the lock.

However, it doesn’t take long for him to hear you and catch on to what you’re attempting. He is a specially trained operator, after all. He bursts open the door just as you crack the window, barrelling over to you without thinking to grab you by the waist. You release a squeal when he practically tosses your body onto the bed.

Not thinking again, clearly, because now you have an exit through the bedroom door. You make an attempt to scurry across the satin sheets of your bed, but he’s close behind. Another scream echoes into the room as he grips your bare ankle, pulling you back across the bed with ease before you can even think straight. Your heels go flying across the room as he manhandles your body and pulls you all the way to him.

“An adult woman trying to sneak out of her bedroom window?” he asks, mocking you while pressing his body between your thighs, putting weight over you so you can’t escape.

“An adult woman shouldn’t need to,” you correct him. He grabs both wrists, pinning them above your head and pushing himself closer to you. You feel all of him against you. His broad chest pressing into yours heaving from trying to catch your breath. His hard stomach over your body. His hips parting your thighs. Something hard presses against your panties. A shiver races through your body, heat following to fill every inch of skin. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Is my little flower going to behave if I do?” His tone mocks you with the question. You stare into his eyes, the only part of him you can actually see. He stares right into your own, not backing down. You don’t want to back down, either. You're burning hot with rage at the control he’s placed you under. You want to fight him, hit him, yell and scream at him. But your body… your body loves how weak it feels beneath him. You hate it. Hate how much he’s affecting you in the moment. Warmth swells between your thighs. You tremble beneath him. You feel so betrayed by both him and yourself.

“No,” you finally reply, clenching your jaw, narrowing your eyes. If looks could kill…

“Then I can do this all night, flower.” His tone darkens as he draws his face closer. So much closer. The closest to him you’ve been. Your breath catches in your throat. “As long as it takes for you to be a good girl.”

Your eyelids flutter. God, why was his voice suddenly going straight between your thighs? You shudder, knowing you would find your panties wet if you were to look. You’re so hot beneath him. You can’t stand it.

You lick your lips and beg your hips not to roll against him. “Let me go,” you repeat.

He raises a brow beneath that damn mask of his. “Are you going to try to run from me again?”

You know there’s no use fighting him. He’s bigger, stronger, and tougher than you. He made that clear. You don’t want to give in to him. You want to tough this out just to see how long he can last, but you aren’t convinced your body will agree the longer you lay in this position with him.

“Getting all dolled up to go make a boy jealous, huh?” he begins to taunt you again, just to see you worked up. It’s what the two of you do best.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You push yourself against him, your hips bucking into his as you try to yank your hands away from his grip. He only presses into your harder, and you realize yes, he is definitely affected by the position the same way you are. He’s thick and hard and you feel it between your thighs. The fact has you burning up. His body wants you, too, even if his words are vicious.

“You deserve better than to chase some dickhead that can’t see what he has right in front of him.” If you weren’t so angry at him, you would almost be touched. All you see is red in the moment, however. You want to fight him. You want him to feel bad… if his cold heart even can.

“Like you would know,” you spit back. “I’m just a mission to you, remember?”

“I told you I didn’t mean that.”

“Really? You’re sure as hell acting like it.” You struggle again to get loose. He tightens his grip, leaning into your body so his mouth is right next to your ear.

“I have a mission to protect you, flower,” he begins, sending a chill down your spine as he speaks his dark, tempting words, “but believe me, if I didn’t, there’s not a single thing here I wouldn’t worship on you and I’d take nothing for granted. There’d be no mistake you belonged to me.”

With that, he finally releases your body from his hold. He stands straight, peering down at you as if his eyes are promising the things his words said. You quickly straighten out your dress over your thighs as you settle on your knees. For a moment, neither of you speak. Your breath is heavy. There’s tension in his body, tension filling the entire room.

You wait for his next move, not knowing what to do or say or even think. His words caught you off guard. You thought he hated you, and hated being around you. You were surely convinced you hated him in return, but with the way your body reacted, and now your heart drumming away in your chest over what he said, you aren’t sure. Did he really care about you? Did being so close to you have such an effect on him as well?

He says nothing, only turning toward your window to close and lock it in place, before walking toward your door. “Good night, little flower.” Before reaching the hall, he turns to look at you over his shoulder. “I trust you won’t be careless and try to sneak out again. I won’t let you off the hook so easily, next time.”

He leaves, and your body is hot all over again. His words which used to induce rage inside of you now begin to make you quiver. Could you just be taking them the wrong way? Does he really mean the hint of temptation you’re getting from each syllable?

You aren’t sure. All you can do is run to shut your bedroom door before he comes back to drive you crazy once again. Or before you do something stupid, like try to sneak out just to test him because you’re dying to see what he would actually do now. Your body begins to crave it, no matter how much you try to fight the feeling.

What started this all anyway? Finally you remember wanting to make Elijah jealous, but that seems so pointless now. Now all you can think about is what the big, strong Lieutenant would do if you disobeyed him. Something tells you he makes good on his promises, and your body aches at the thought.

Before you can let your thoughts become carried away, you take a hot shower to wash off your makeup and the mistakes you almost made. Maybe all you need is a good night’s sleep. You only hope you can stop thinking about how it felt having his body pressed against you.

***

After that night, you hate how quiet you are around him. Suddenly there’s tension, and not the rage-inducing kind you’ve grown used to. Anytime you look at him, you can’t help but to outline his muscles beneath the thin t-shirt, study his tattoos and veins along each arm, or wonder how good he is with his hands. He tries to ignore you stealing glances at him, not saying much to you, either. You decide it’s better than way. The other night was too risky. The two of you got too close, and it’s clear both of you were reacting in unfamiliar ways.

Later, Marjorie shows up with a team of a few people to bring a wardrobe for an event you’re scheduled to attend. A movie is premiering with your song as the main track on the soundtrack. You know you have to make an appearance, but lately you’re just not up for it, not wanting to explain why you have a masked man watching over your every move, as well as anyone that gets close to you.

“I don’t know, Marjorie,” you tell her, slipping on a glittery, purple dress with a low-cut V-neck and even lower cut in the back. The sleeves are long enough to reach your wrists, and you have to say it’s beautiful. You think you’ve found the one… if you wanted to actually attend. “I’m not up for premieres and parties.”

“Why not? Is it that scary man out there? Did he do something?” She lowers her glasses while narrowing her eyes. She gives an evil look toward the living room where you told him to wait after guiding the team to your bedroom.

“No,” you lie. It is because of him. And all the tension. And the fact that you don’t want anymore negative press about you. The breakup to a non-boyfriend was hard enough on your image. It’s all anyone wanted to talk about. Anything to get their quick clips and quotes for the news. Elijah absolutely embarrassed you.

Then you remember he will be at the event as well. You don’t want to face him now that you’ve had time to think about it. Trying to sneak out and make him jealous was stupid. He’s not worth it.

The grumpy brute was right about that.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asks, flipping through texts on your phone. “Oh, the designer needs to see you in a few photos and selfies if this is the dress you want to wear. Make sure to tag them on your pages.”

You sigh, leaving your bedroom to find where you left your phone to take a few “getting ready with me” selfies. Remembering you were reading more articles about your award nominations earlier while moping on the couch, you find it in the living room where he still sits, looking over documents in a folder spread over the coffee table.

“I feel overwhelmed lately, Marj.” You grab your phone from the couch next to him. “And I don’t know if I want this dress. It’s gorgeous but I don’t feel gorgeous in it.”

“You’re kidding!” she says, then surprisingly, turns to him to get his attention. “Tell her how good she looks!” As if she realizes her sudden bold behavior in talking to him, she withdraws behind you, pushing you closer so he can get a better look.

He scans over your body in the dress. His eyes linger over your chest for a moment, then travel to your hips, and finally your thighs. Then he makes his way back up, so slowly you’re almost dying inside. He’s not answering. Only taking in the sight of you in more sparkly, skin tight, revealing things.

“You look stunning, flower.” His voice is quiet, as if he only wanted you to hear his reply. It’s deep, too, another level of hidden emotions layered within the syllables and it makes your insides quiver.

From behind, Marjorie whispers, “he’s still calling you that?” Then she giggles, and you can’t help but to smile. Heat floods your cheeks. A few weeks ago you would have been annoyed, but now it seems so natural to hear the nickname.

“So, what event are we attending?” he asks, and you want to be annoyed that he will have to be with you, but somehow you can’t find yourself to be irritated. Maybe it’s better he’s there. He could intimidate anyone talking to you in case they want to pry about your relationship failures.

“A movie premiere tonight, then an after party. Are you wearing that?” You surprise him by not making a big deal of the situation. Looking over him, you realize his usual thin tees and military cargo pants with boots won’t cut it at this event. Regardless of his mask, he’ll stick out like a sore thumb.

“Want me to get dressed up for you, flower?” He raises a brow, knowing from his tone he’s smirking beneath the mask.

“Well, you have to be presentable if you’re going to attend with me.”

He nods, as if it’s another mission to him, quickly reaching for his phone to make a few calls. You can’t worry about what he’s doing, however, when you need to get into makeup and hair before the red carpet rolls out. Marjorie rushes you back to your room where the team starts with their brushes and blow dryers, getting you dressed in full glam within an hour and a half.

When you walk out of your room fully dolled up, you notice him waiting on you with a completely different outfit. Still dressed in all black, he adorns a turtleneck and slacks with his mask and boots. The sleeves are rolled up to show off his tattoos, and you’re sure he has weapons hidden somewhere on his body. Maybe those black, leather boots of his. Either way, you decide it’s not bad. You appreciate the attempt he’s made for you.

“You look nice, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a quiet voice. “You look beautiful.”

Your heart skips a beat. You try to reason with yourself he’s just being nice, but the butterflies in your stomach wish for something more. For once, he’s actually being kind to you. It makes it so much harder to hate the situation you’re in.

“Are you ready to go?” you ask him as your assistant hands you your bag before helping with slipping on your matching heels.

He nods, holding out his arm for you to take. Smiling, you slip your hand around his bicep, resisting the urge to shudder from how hard his body is. It brings up memories from being so close to him a second before heat washes over your entire body.

How are you going to survive the night?

***

The movie premiere is less painful than you imagined. No one asks too many questions on the red carpet other than wanting to know who you were wearing that night. No one questions him, either, assuming he’s just another faceless bodyguard to the rich and famous. You’re thankful for that until you get to the afterparty. It’s not your scene, really, but you know you can make good connections with people in the industry. You mingle a bit with a few different crowds. Another pop artist here and there. Even some producers that worked on the soundtrack of the movie.

You feel a little more relaxed, even with the Lieutenant close by. He never gets in your way, and you appreciate the distance he’s giving you. Maybe it could have been like this the whole time, you think. After all, he just wanted to keep you safe. He’s not hovering over you, or making you uncomfortable. But you catch his eye every now and then. Knowing he’s close by actually comforts you.

The night carries on with you getting a few numbers in your phone with people you want to work with in the future. You make a few promises to get to the studio and record sometime soon, so happy you decided to come out.

Only until a familiar voice pulls your attention away from an intriguing conversation with another up and coming singer.

“What is it, Elijah?” You turn to face him, seeing the singer walk away from the corner of your eye. You hope she doesn’t think you’re rude. Maybe if you post the selfie with her you took, saying how sweet she was, she’ll forgive you.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he says, words slurring a little. He’s tipsy. He’s always more affectionate when he’s tipsy. “I miss you.”

You frown. “Miss me? Didn’t seem like it with your arm around a model.”

“Oh, that was nothing, baby!” He waves a hand in the air dismissively.

“And when you said you didn’t like my music that much? What was that? You talked pretty quickly to the reporters. Most people didn't even know of our relationship.”

“Tabloids being tabloids! You can’t trust them.” He laughs, wrapping an arm around you to pull you closer. “Let me take you to grab a bite of food. We can catch up, talk this out, alright?”

You roll your eyes, ready to decline when a body presses into you from behind.

“It’s time to go,” the deep, raspy voice of the Lieutenant says. He’s speaking through his teeth. You nod your head, wanting to get away from Elijah and just go home. Your heels hurt and your social energy is completely spent for the night, anyway.

“I have to go, Elijah…”

You try to pull away from him, but Elijah tightens his grip on you. “Who’s this?” He grows defensive. As if he owns you. As if he didn’t break your heart just a few weeks ago.

“Elijah, let me go.”

“No, I want to know—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before the big soldier is stepping to him. “I would back up if I were you.”

“Are you really going to let this guy talk to me like that?” Elijah turns to you as you look between both men. The Lieutenant towers over Elijah, but he’s too tipsy to back down from a fight he obviously wouldn’t win.

“He’s in charge of me,” is all you say, and both men’s attention snap to you. “My safety, I mean. He’s in charge of my safety.” You gulp, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Elijah finally releases the grip he has on you. “Safety? Are you being stalked or something?”

Huffing, you turn to walk away from him. “If you ever cared to get to know me, Elijah, you would know why I need protection.” You can’t even believe you said the words. Never have you admitted that to anyone, but Elijah is pissing you off now. What did you ever see in this guy?

“Hey,” Elijah yells over the music, pride hurt over a sudden rejection he’s not used to. He reaches to grab your wrist, but before anyone can react, the Lieutenant lashes out to grip Elijah’s throat. It happens so fast, like a viper lashing out at prey.

“Touch her again, loverboy, and I promise you that hand will be wishing you hadn’t.”

You’re frozen seeing your almost ex-boyfriend get choked out, struggling to remove himself from such a strong grasp. Eventually, he’s released and you’re being shuffled out of the party before anymore eyes are on the three of you.

On the way home, you’re silent. Your body feels hot. Your head light. What did you just witness? The man next to you showing his power, and while it should scare you just how quickly he put Elijah in his place, your body can’t help but to react. You sneak a glance at him, but you aren’t sure why you’re suddenly so intimidated by him in the best ways. A gloved hand grips the wheel, the muscles on his arms tensing as he drives. He keeps his focus straight. You don’t know if he’s aware of you staring, but now you can’t look away.

His dark, lonely eyes are pinned in the lights ahead. A large, round shoulder hides the bottom of the mask he wears. His turtleneck hugs his chest and stomach tight. Pressing your thighs tight together, your gaze drops to his lap. You remember what it feels like to have him against you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to feel it again in the moment.

You’ve never wanted to admit how attracted to him you are, but there’s no denying it now. Not when you’ve seen how strong he is. How powerful. Intimidating, even. You can’t imagine all the dangerous men he’s helped your father take down.

Big, and strong, and quick… and thick. You have to scream at yourself to stop from imagining what he’d feel like inside of you. It’s not right. Between your thighs begs to differ, though. You feel the heat pooling there. You’re wet. You need him. Not want, need.

“Stare any harder, flower, and I’ll have to pull over.” His deep, raspy voice takes you by surprise and pulls your mind from all the naughty things you’ve been thinking. Blinking a few times, you shake your head to focus in on the present.

“P-Pull over?” You gulp, chest rising slowly and falling even slower. God, the things this man does to you.

“The way you’re lookin’ at me is distracting,” he admits. “Not safe for driving.”

“Oh, sorry…”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, turning his head to meet your eyes, “I never said I didn’t like it.”

***

As the days go on, you try to ignore the tension between the two of you. It’s hard to ignore how much your body craves him. What was once honest hatred of this man has turned into lust, and even scarier, you begin to actually care about him.

Whether it meant anything to him or not, he stuck up for you against Elijah. When the rest of the world wanted to gossip and get the latest scoop, he made it clear the only thing he cares about was protecting you.

You try to remember that’s just his mission. You’re a mission to him. Even though he said he didn’t mean it, the fact is true. You can’t let yourself get carried away in fantasies of being with him. It would never work.

You spend your time at home, having enough of being in the public eye. You continue to try to write songs to take your mind off of things. He lingers close by, and even with the tension between the two of you, you find his presence relaxing. You feel safe. Even if it’s not real, you feel protected and cared for. You can let yourself indulge in that feeling for at least a little while. No one has to know your delusions of wanting to be with him. You keep to yourself, minding your business and doing what you do best. Music.

The song writing goes on a little too long one afternoon, realizing you never had lunch or breakfast. When inspiration strikes…

“Are you hungry?” you ask him, realizing you don’t think you’ve ever seen him actually eat. You assume he gets a quick meal here and there when you’re busy with music related things. Your kitchen is stocked, so he has his choice of whatever he wants. Now you feel like take-out, however. “I’m going to order dinner.”

He looks up from another remote case he’s assisting with off-site. “Sure, I can eat.” He grins beneath the mask. You’ve gotten good at spotting it. It makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“Can you even eat in the mask,” you ask, thumbing through your phone to place a quick delivery order for the two of you. You’re only half-joking, but you wonder why he wears it all the time, even when it’s just the two of you.

“I can do a lot of things in this mask, flower.” His tone darkens. A shiver courses through your body, flooding you with goosebumps. Gulping, you try to ignore the words. Just when you think you’re good at pushing away what you’re beginning to feel for him, he pulls you right back in. You wonder if he received some super secret training for that as well.

“Okay, food ordered,” you say, the words trembling from your tongue. He chuckles, enjoying the way he makes you so weak. You thought he only liked making you angry. You realize he just loves any reaction from you whatsoever. “But… really? Can you eat with the mask? Do you ever take it off?” Your voice isn’t full of venom like the first time you asked about it. You find yourself truly wanting to know him better.

“I take it off when I’m alone.”

“Why wear it all the time?” You sit next to him in the living room, scooting closer as he replies.

“To keep my identity a secret. It’s better for missions,” he responds nonchalantly. “No one really wants to know me, anyway, so why take it off? Not the real me, anyway. Just the soldier that follows commands and can kill without thinking. Nothing else matters when you’re in the middle of tracking down dangerous people.”

You take in what he says. It makes sense why there’s longing and loneliness in his eyes. No one knows the real him. Maybe no one has ever cared that he hides himself from the world, but you do.

“I feel the same,” you finally say, reaching to rest your hand on his arm, hoping he will feel your sincerity. With a sigh, you continue. “I mean, with wearing the mask and hiding yourself. It’s like as long as I do what I’m told, everyone is happy. No one cares how I feel. They hate when I want to make my mind up for myself. As if I’m a little girl that never knows what she wants for herself.”

“Well, we both know that’s not true,” he laughs. “You certainly know how to fight for what you want. You showed me that plenty of times.”

You giggle softly, not even thinking anything of it when he removes your hand to place it in his own, giving your palm a squeeze.

“Yeah, I… didn’t mean to be such a bitch to you,” you confess. “I was so angry at my father for deciding what’s  best for me. I spent most of my life figuring things out on my own while he was busy with his job. Only for him to come in whenever he wants to say I’m not allowed to do this, or go there, or date this guy. I’m only here to be a burden to him and his career.” Your voice falls as you finish speaking. It’s a weight you’ve carried for so long knowing the one person you wanted most in the world to be proud of you never cared for your choices in life. He’s never taken an interest in your career, and everything you’ve accomplished, you’ve done on your own.

“I’m sorry, flower,” he sighs. “I… didn’t have the best childhood, either. My father wasn’t the nicest to my mother or me. It’s part of the mask thing, you know? Easier to hide myself than deal with no one wanting me around or getting in the way. I’ll leave before getting left.”

Guilt sinks into your heart. He’s felt that way since childhood, and you only furthered the idea by being pissed he was assigned to watch over you.

“I… want you around,” you reply quietly, intertwining your fingers with his gloved hand. He’s so protective of himself while you always wanted to be open and free. The realization hits you hard. The heaviness rises in your throat, burning with guilt for pushing him away so hard at the beginning. “I hope you can see that now.”

“I do, flower.”

Your heart melts in an instant. How could you have hated him for so long? You’re angry at yourself for not giving it a chance and getting to know him.

Before you can reply, there’s a knock on the door with your food delivery. Regretfully, you pull away to answer, grabbing the food and quickly getting back to him. While you’re placing the containers out in front of you on the coffee table, he sneakily pushes his mask up over his mouth and the tip of his nose. You see him out of the corner of your eye, glancing once then staring the second time while handing him his food.

You don’t say a word. All you can do is take in the sight of his mouth, his lips, the tip of his nose. His strong jaw. His smooth skin. You want to reach out and touch him but you’re scared he’ll retreat. You can’t pull your gaze away, taking in the sight of him because you know it’s something he doesn’t show often. Your heart swells, warmth filling your chest. He put so much trust in you to uncover a part of himself he’s kept hidden and secured for so long. You want to cherish the moment for as long as you can while the two of you enjoy dinner together.

***

It’s not often you do favors for people in the industry, but when one of the label execs asked for you to perform at a club his friend owns, you couldn’t turn him down. Not only because it would get you more exposure and in with a particular group of board members of award shows that were closely related, but because you simply love being on stage. The club is prestigious enough that it won’t be a rowdy, wild crowd, and who knows who else could be watching you that night?

Of course, your Lieutenant is close by as you hit the stage. He watches you closely, never taking his eyes off of you while you sing and dance for the crowd, as well as take a few shots to get them hyped up and in the mood. You’re working everyone over by the time the end of your set comes. The audience grows closer to the stage, making it more fun to interact with them.

Still, you keep your attention on him every now and then. He’s in the back of the crowd, but to the side of the stage. He’s laying low, dressed in all black, a hood over his head and his usual skull mask on his face. When the last song comes on, you can’t help locking eyes with him while you sing to the slow, sexy beat about being with a guy in secret. How good it will feel, how fun it would be if no one knew. Just the two of your bodies together even if it’s bad for both of you. He holds your gaze with an intense expression. You can’t look away from him, not for a second. You’re in a trance as your hips sway to the music around the microphone stand. You see him puff out his chest as the muscles in his body tense. He’s just as affected as you.

The set ends and the crowd cheers for you while you wave goodbye, remembering now that there is a crowd and it’s not just him and you in the room. You quickly run off stage to cool off in the back, and it doesn’t take long for him to find you in a lonely hallway.

The music echoes through the walls, but it’s more quiet as the DJ continues to spin top tracks from the charts. Your mind is spinning from the performance and the few shots you had while on stage. You’re not drunk, just a little tipsy, but it doesn’t stop you from running to him with a giddy smile. You’re nearly alone, with a few people passing by — workers clocking in and out, someone taking a selfie down the hall. The only one that matters, however, is him.

“Having fun?” you ask, though you know he’s probably not. You assume he’s not one for these kinds of crowds.

“You know how to work a crowd,” he says, making sure you know for a fact his eyes were on you the entire time.

“Of course, it’s my job!” You giggle. “And I love it. I love performing! I love dancing and I love when people watch me.”

By now, you’re nearly pressed against him. The alcohol is surging through your body. You feel so light. So happy. You decide you love being around him. He’s big and stupid and grumpy, but you love it. You can’t help but to keep giggling.

He stares at you with his head tilted to one side. You laugh even harder a moment before settling.

“Do you like watching me?” you ask, biting your lip after licking them.

He stares into your eyes. Those deep, lonely eyes of his. “I didn’t hate it.” He takes a step, pressing his body against you. You wrap your arms around his neck without thinking.

“Mm, I’ll take it, Lieutenant.” It’s one of the nicest things he’s said about your music. Of course you’re going to take any and all compliments from the cold-hearted soldier.

He cocks a brow while placing his gloved hands on your hips. “Oh, you’ll take it?”

Is that humor in his voice? Is he actually flirting this time and not just trying to rile you up? You giggle more, standing the toe of your heels to try to reach his mouth.

“Yes, I can take it,” you reply in a whisper, mouth so close to his mask. Your lidded eyes stare up at him, heart skipping a beat as heat washes over you.

“Are you sure, flower?” God, the things the nickname begins to do to you. It’s honestly sweet, if you think about it, and it makes you weak in the knees. It’s painful how much you want him. “Can you take me?”

You gulp, eyes fluttering as his hands begin to caress your hips. “I’m not the delicate little flower you think I am.” The space between you closes as he lowers his head. Your lips just barely brush against the mask. You want to feel him against you more than anything. “I can take all of it, Lieutenant.” Your tongue slips past your lips to ghost over the fabric, feeling the outline of his mouth. “Every. Inch.”

He growls, digging his fingers into your body. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

You could say the same. This man drives you wild. You don’t even care to hide it any longer. You want him and you want him to know.

A scream  suddenly echoing throughout the front of the club breaks the spell you have on one another. His head jerks toward the noises past the hallway, suddenly on high alert as he blocks your body with his own from the door close by. In the other room, you hear a commotion, bodies shuffling, more screaming, fighting. You don’t have time to think.

He quickly grabs your arm to pull you farther into the back of the club. “Hurry!” he commands, and you have no chance to question him. He turns a corner and drags you along before stopping abruptly. Your body crashes into his back a second before you peek around him, spotting two masked men at the back exit of the club.

They don’t stand a chance before the soldier is on them. He grabs one in the middle of throwing a punch, twisting his arm with a kick to his knee, knocking him to the ground. The other man moves in, grabbing the Lieutenant by the waist, but is only met with a sharp knee to his stomach. The first man regains his balance, lunging toward him with all of his weight as the two tumble into the wall.

The second man moves past, aiming straight for you. You begin to back up, but he rushes to take hold of your hair in a tight fist. You scream, raising your hands to begin hitting him in the chest in an attempt to get out of his hold. You miss the shuffling of bodies straight ahead of you, the cry of pain, the thud as one of them hits the floor.

The man grabbing you is quickly snatched back, the Lieutenant coming into view. He takes the attacker by the arm, twisting it so far back you hear an actual snap of bones. He cries out in pain before slumping to the floor along with his partner.

“C’mon!” Your hand is taken and you’re led out of the club in a rush. Everything is going so fast. The world is spinning around you, heart racing, knees about to give out as you try to keep up with him on your way to the SUV. You feel so weak, so out of breath, and he quickly realizes that, turning to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder. He jogs the rest of the way while you hear the police sirens flooding the night’s air. Voices all around of people shuffling out of the club fill your ears. Your vision is blurry, going in and out and you aren’t sure if you’re going to pass out from being so overwhelmed.

Your body is thrown into the front seat and quickly a seatbelt rests over you. Blinking, you try to focus on anything to stabilize your vision. The vehicle is started. Tires screech as the two of you drive to safety.

“What… what happened?” Your voice is quiet, trembling. Just speaking the words make it harder to breathe. He doesn’t say a thing, only reaching for his phone in his pocket before tapping the screen a few times. “What’s going on?” you ask again. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything to you.

After a few silent seconds, someone picks up on the other end of the phone. You hear a deep voice, but you can’t make it out. “This is Lt. They’ve found her.”

Your eyes grow wide. “Who? Who found who?” You reach for him, squeezing his arm. He ignores you, speaking a few code names and keywords as usual. Things you don’t understand. Undercover special ops phrases, of course. Then he hangs up. “Please… answer me.”

“Those men back there work for the men your father is currently trying to capture.” He grunts, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “They were there for you.”

“What?” You lean back in your seat, sinking down while placing a hand on your head.

“What do you mean ‘what’? You knew this was a possibility the whole time! And I fucking let my guard down. You could have gotten hurt. Or worse…”

“No, I thought my father was just being stupidly overprotective as always!” The words spin in your head. It still hasn’t dawned on you. There’s no way you were actually being sought out as some sort of revenge for your father getting close to taking down a criminal.

“I don’t know how to tell you this delicately, but there are men out there willing to hurt you just to hurt your father.”

You’re speechless. You keep your head in your hands. You don’t know how to process this information. He says nothing else. Neither of you do the entire drive back to your home, other than him mumbling to himself that luckily you weren’t followed.

When you arrive home, you aren't even sure what to do with yourself. What can you do after you were attacked? Your body slumps to the door, right in the doorway, tears you've been fighting finally falling down your cheeks. Your body heaves in a sob, finally letting it all sink in. You were attacked. You could have been hurt, and there you were flirting and teasing him like nothing else mattered.

You were almost taken by dangerous men. You really did need protection. For so long, you've wanted to be independent and strong. For so long you thought you could live life on your own. Your father was right. You are just a sad, weak little girl.

You continue losing yourself until a strong arm wraps around your body to pick you up from the floor. He pulls you in without hesitation. Wraps your body up against him, carrying you to the bedroom.  He sits on the bed, still holding you against him as you cry into his jacket.

"I'm sorry, flower," He whispers, stroking your hair. "I know you're scared, but you don't have to be as long as you're with me. I promise I'll be dead before anyone lays their hands on you. Trust me."

You do trust him. You believe every word. You feel it as if each syllable is wrapping gently around your heart to ease the pain. You want to feel embarrassed for breaking down in front of him. Normally you would, but you're so angry at yourself for not believing them in the first place. How could you be so naive? Not anymore. You won't put yourself in that position again.

"Will you… stay with me?" You ask, sniffling while pulling away from him. "Tonight? Please, I don't want to be alone."

His eyes scan your face for a moment. "I'd do anything for you."

Your chest swells. He really is so sweet. So kind. Caring. All the things you accused him of not being, he is. You want to stay with him not just now, but forever. You're not scared to admit it anymore. You're not scared at all as long as you have him.

"I need to take all this off. I feel gross." You both look down at your performance outfit and then you motion up to your makeup. You need to wash the night away. You don't care if it's stupid to feel this way. You need to get everything off. You can still feel a sting in the back of your hand where the man grabbed you.

He nods before you slip off his lap, then he follows you to the bathroom. At first he leans against the door frame with his arms folded, until you motion for him to get the zipper on the back of your dress. He does so delicately, zipping slowly down until your bare back is uncovered. You feel his gaze on you. You know he's taking it all in. Your heart races as warmth floods your body.

You don't know what's gotten into you, you just know you want him close. You need him now more than ever. You want to feel this safe all the time.

The dress falls to the floor, leaving you in thin, flimsy panties in black. You hear a sharp inhale from behind, feeling your insides shake from knowing how much of you he's seeing. Suddenly, his fingers are on your neck, gloved knuckles brushing over your flesh, down your back between your shoulders, but he stops when he gets to your pantyline.

"Will you sit here while I wash up?" you ask, but you know he will. You want him to feel needed, because you do need him. Your heart wants him just as much as your body.

"Of course, flower," he says, voice deep, dark, demanding of your body's attention.

"I love when you call me that," you admit. "I pretended to hate it, but it always gives me butterflies."

"I love calling you my little flower," He replies, a smile in the words. "I love calling you mine."

You turn around upon hearing that, giving him a full view of your exposed breasts, stomach, the little V between your legs. His gaze lowers, taking in every inch of your body you're willing to allow him to see.

You don't say anything, too surprised in his confession to speak. You only lower your panties to the ground, giving him another part of your body to soak in. He practically groans at the sight of you naked before him. Your nipples harden beneath his heavy gaze. Heat surges through you. Yet, you're not embarrassed or ashamed. You feel appreciated by his lonely eyes. He doesn't make a move on you, doesn't even mutter a word. Now you believe him when he said he would worship you. He's doing it with his eyes in the moment.

Finally, you turn from him to take your shower, letting it heat up a moment before you step past the glass door. He watches you the entire time, lathering up your body, washing your hair, allowing the water to drip down every inch of you into the drain. You feel his eyes focused the entire time, but it doesn't make you feel insecure. No man has ever looked at you the way he does. He has so much adoration in his eyes you feel like you'll burst. There's longing, passion, and need.

He has a towel ready for you as you step out, wrapping up your body in an instant. You appreciate the warmth he can offer, making you feel so safe in his arms. You dry yourself off with his help, letting the masked man take care of you.

You decide in the moment you don't care about anything else. You just want to be with him. You're falling in love, and there's no slowing down your heart. You don't want to try even if you could.

"Kiss me," you suddenly say, dropping the towel to the floor. "Please, you don't have to take the mask off completely. I know it's hard for you. Just… kiss me? Please?"

He stares down at you for a moment. The question sinks in. Your assurance about his own insecurities over exposing himself even more so. Then he pulls you close by one strong, tattooed arm behind your back. With ease he props you up on the bathroom sink before lifting the mask enough to show his mouth.

His lips find your own in seconds. The smooth, soft skin presses to your lips in a rush of need, desire, desperation. You melt into him in an instant, so entranced by this man you would do anything for him. You pull him closer by the collar of his jacket, wanting more, needing to deepen the kiss and receive all of him. Your tongues collide and moans fill the air. His body presses into you, feeling his hardened cock rub against your bare slit.

The feeling is electric. Warmth fills you from head to toe as he kisses you. Finally, you surrender to him, becoming weak before him, opening yourself up to him, giving him all of you.

He doesn't take the moment for granted. His mouth lowers from your lips to your neck, kissing every inch of flesh he can reach. You cry out for him not to stop, giving him access to every part of you he wants to kiss.

It doesn't take him long to drop to his knees. A gloved hand parts your thighs wide for him. He kisses your inner knee softly, trailing toward your pussy as you lean back to give him more access. You're on full display for him, hearing him groan from the sight of your awaiting folds needing his mouth.

"Jesus Christ, flower," He growls, placing both hands on the backs of your thighs to push your body back and hold you in place. "If I die right here, I'll still be the luckiest man in the world getting to worship this pretty cunt."

His words make you shiver. Never has a man spoken to you as such. Especially not one kneeling between your thighs. What he says goes straight to the pit of your stomach, swirling lower as the red hot heat of desire settles in.

"Please," you beg him, not an ounce of shame in your body as you reach for him, pulling him closer to where you need him most.

He urgently gives in to your every command, whimper, and plea, lowering his half-masked face until his tongue becomes buried between your folds. A gasp fills the bathroom as your fingers dig into the back of his head, feeling him slip his tongue down your slit, from your aching clit to your entrance dripping with need. He presses his mouth over the swollen bud, sucking lightly to have your head falling back, jaw going slack. Cries of his name spill from your lips in the process, overwhelmed within seconds of this man's pleasure you're receiving. You push against the hold he has on your thighs, but he's good at keeping you in place as you shiver around him.

He tends to your clit, massaging in delicate circles to have your walls tensing. “Oh—” Your voice is shaky, a long exhale following the word. “Oh my God…” You can’t help but you rock yourself against his motions. Your body comes alive due to his mouth against your flesh. Heat begins building in the pit of your stomach, pleasure coursing through your body.

He keeps his eyes on you from between your thighs. You look down in time to see his tongue lower to your entrance as he slips inside of you, tasting every last drop of arousal you offer him. You pull him closer, pressing your thighs against the sides of his face and his tongue delves deeper inside of you a moment before licking back up to your clit. The motion drives you wild. Your eyes screw shut. Head back. Gaping. He teases and sucks and licks until you’re trembling against his sturdy, strong palms pressing to your thighs.

“I’m… I’m getting… c-close…” You can’t help but to mutter. Your voice wavers with each syllable. Heat swarms between your thighs. The blissful coil tightens in the pit of your stomach.

“Come for me, flower,” he growls between your legs. “I want to taste it all.”

The words send you over the edge the moment his mouth is on you again. He massages your clit right as you begin barrelling over the edge of pleasure. Gasps and moans fill the bathroom, thighs squeezing around his head as you roll your hips against his motions. Shaking, you hold him close with a hand still pressed to his head, and he never lets up, using his tongue to extend the bliss all throughout your body until you can barely take anymore. Then he leaves open-mouthed kisses along your slit, tasting all of you just as he said.

Gently, you push him away with a heavy exhale. You can’t take anymore. Your entire body is trembling in the aftermath. He pulls his head away, looking up at you while licking his lips. Then he leans in to press a few kisses against the inside of your thigh, keeping his eyes on your own the entire time. As if he’s claiming your body belongs to him now. There’s no turning back, and you wouldn’t want to even if you could.

***

It doesn’t take long for your father to get word of what happened at the club.You expect him to appreciate the Lieutenant for getting you to safety without any harm to you. He saved your life while getting attacked by two men at the same time. He should be thanking him, but you instantly hear a cold, stern voice coming through the other line when he picks up his ringing phone. Your father begins to question what you were doing in such a large crowd in the first place, why you weren’t being supervised better when that was the Lieutenant’s mission.

It comes as a shock when you hear him ask why the Lieutenant has his hands on you in the back of the club. Your eyes grow wide. He says nothing to your father, only letting him rage through the phone. You trace your steps back to the previous night, knowing you were tipsy before you quickly sobered up when the attack happened. You only remember a few other people in the hallway with you… but you did see a flash go off.

Someone took a photo of the two of you while he was holding you, and it somehow got back to your father. Now he’s being reprimanded over the phone by the commander. Your heart sinks into your stomach.

When he hangs up the phone, he doesn’t look at you.

“What’s going on?” you ask, knowing it became quiet at the end of the conversation. “What did he say?”

He hesitates for a long moment, looking down at the floor as he hovers near the front door. His arms are crossed over his chest. He won’t look at you at all. That same defensive stance that used to drive you crazy has made its return.

“It’s not good, little flower,” he finally speaks. Your heart jumps. The last thing you wanted to do was get him in trouble. “I’ve been reassigned.”

“What?!” You jump up from your seat, rushing to him. “No… No! Reassigned to what? Who is going to protect me? It’s obvious I need it now more than ever.” Your heart races, chest so heavy it’s hard to breathe. You don’t want to be without him.

“Someone else will look after you.” His voice is quiet, defeated. He knows there’s nothing he can do. He can’t go against his commander. “They’re putting someone else on duty to take my place.”

“No!” You begin shaking your head, not accepting this news at all. There’s no way you can have anyone else. No one can protect you like he can. “No, there has to be something… I’ll call my father!”

“Not a good idea.” He still isn’t looking at you. You wonder how much shame would be in his eyes if he were to. “Your father saw us together at the club. I don’t know how it got back to him, but he saw us. He thinks I put your life in danger, and he’s right. I wasn’t focused on my mission. I can’t focus when I’m with you because all I want to do is touch you.”

The tears begin welling behind your lids as you listen to him. A lump forms in your throat, the breath nearly taken from your lungs as he speaks.

“So I’m back to being just a mission to you?”

He sighs, running a gloves hand over his face. “I don’t know what you expect me to say…” You can see his jaw clenching through the mask. “Two missions in a row I disobeyed orders. No one was supposed to touch you. Especially me.”

He confirms what you feared. You’re just another mission he’s failed.

“Don’t do this.” You gulp away the tears. You can’t be weak in front of him. You can’t let him break your heart like this. “You said you would never let anyone hurt me and you kept that promise. But right now? What you’re saying. You’re breaking my heart. After what happened…”

“It shouldn’t have happened!” His voice raises just enough for you to step back. Your eyes grow wide.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” Your voice is trembling. Your bottom lip quivers. It’s like you’ve been gutted with your heart ripped out all at once. Each breath you take feels like the last because you don’t know how he could say things he doesn’t mean. You know he doesn’t mean it. “You don’t have to be so cold.”

He laughs without any humor in his voice with a shake of his head. “Is that what you think?” His tone is suddenly harsh, bitter. “You’re naive if you think that. Being cold is how I survived for so long. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I should have never let my guard down last night. I should have never…”

His words fall. You know what he wants to say, even if he can’t bring himself to speak it. Your heart twists and shatters, the final nail in the coffin. He’s not just upset he’s being reassigned. He’s angry at himself for getting distracted, and he makes it clear being with you was a mistake.

He huffs and runs a hand over his face. “I should go. Someone will be here soon, you won’t be without protection for long.” He turns to leave, cold as ever.

You follow him, gathering up all the courage inside yourself. You don’t want him to leave. “You’ll regret this!”

He pauses at the door, hand already on the handle. He doesn’t look at you. Not even a glance over his shoulder. “I already do, flower.”

Then he’s gone.

***

Two men are sent to watch over you that night. Your father’s orders. Maybe he sent two this time so they could keep an eye on each other. It doesn’t matter either way. They don’t speak much, and you don’t care to get to know them.

You miss him already.

You can’t even believe you fought so much with him at the beginning, then ended up falling for him. It’s so quiet now. You don’t have him to keep you calm anymore, and everything in your home feels so different. Off.

You hate it.

Their protection doesn’t last long, however. When the men attacked you at the club, it gave your father’s team leads where to find their criminal leader. Their urge to get to you only drew your father closer to them, and eventually their organization was taken down in a huge raid. You no longer needed protection and they were assigned somewhere else, leaving you alone.

You’re thankful of that, at least. Now you can get back to your life. You wonder how, when all you can think about is him, however. You wonder if he’s hurting the same way, missing you just as much.

“Just call him, honey,” Marjorie tells you one day, but you shake your head at her.

“He made it clear he doesn’t want to see me.”

She looks heartbroken enough for you and drops the subject.

Time passes but it’s not any easier. Not when you feel so strongly for the soldier. Not when you know he made a mistake. You don’t care what anyone says. What his orders are. What people expect of either of you. You both deserve happiness, and you’ve never felt calm and happiness like when you were with him.

Your father calls eventually, telling you the team is throwing a celebration in his honor and he would love for you to come. A few reporters will be attending as well. He’s even getting an award from top officials for taking down such a large criminal organization. The thought makes you even more bitter.

You attend the party taking place in the large meeting room turned ballroom of headquarters, however, but only because you hope you will see the Lieutenant there. Your father, other Lieutenants and Sergeants, as well as the staff that worked in the background, are there with their partners when you show up that same night to congratulate the Commander. Everyone is mingling, a little tipsy already, and you feel so out of place. You don’t know any of your father’s colleagues. Well, except one. You don’t see him anywhere, even though you’ve been keeping an eye out all night.

Just when you think you’ve given up, you spot him near the back at the bar, listening to someone ramble drunkenly in his ear. It doesn’t look like he’s even paying much attention. His eyes are on you. He spotted you first in the crowd, and when your gaze meets his own, your heart skips a beat.

Of course he’s wearing the mask. Even if it’s a formal celebration, he still hides from everyone here. You can’t look away from his stare. It’s like he’s inviting you in, but you remember his words. He doesn’t want to be with you.

Fuck that, you think. Yes he does. You make a move to go to him, but he’s standing to make his way out of the room. You quickly follow. You can’t let him get away so easily. Leaving the ballroom, you see him making a right into a long hallway. Carefully, considering you’re wearing heels, you chase after him as quickly as possible.

He’s about to enter a closed door when you call after him. He freezes for a moment, as if contemplating if he wants to turn around, then he proceeds through the door. As you walk closer, you see his name on a plaque outside, noting this must be his office. You don’t even knock before making your way inside.

His back is to you when you enter. The room is dark. Moonlight shines through two of the frosted over windows, illuminating the space just enough for  you to see the outline of his face, his hair, and jaw. He’s not wearing his mask. He says nothing, and you’re nearly too out of breath from trying to keep up with him in heels. Instead, he reaches for a clear bottle of dark liquor, spinning the top before pouring a shot’s worth into a whiskey glass that was already laid out.

“Having fun at the party, flower?”

He still calls you that. Your heart leaps.

“No,” you tell him honestly. How could you when all you’ve been thinking about is how heartbroken you are.

He downs the drink in one go. “Oh? Maybe you should head home.” You know he wants the words to sound more bitter than he is. His voice is broken. Tired. Lonely. He does miss you. And this is clearly not his first drink of the night.

“I wanted to see you.” The words release in a tremble. You don’t want to be rejected again, but you know you have to try. “I… miss you. I tried so hard to be angry at you for leaving me, but honestly I just miss you. I wish I was angry, because it wouldn’t hurt as much as what you’re doing now.”

“You shouldn’t,” he replies sharply. “Waste of time to waste all that love you have inside of you on me. Don’t do it.”

“Don’t say that!” You step to him, bravely placing a hand on his shoulder from behind. He still won’t look at you. “I know you said you had to be cold to survive, but not with me. Don’t do that to me. You don’t have to find a method to survive with me when you can just live.”

He is silent for a moment. A long breath spills from his lips.

You continue, needing to get everything out that you’ve been feeling since he left. “You told me no one would ever hurt me, but you’re doing it now by trying to hide how you feel.”

“How can I possibly feel anything for you?” he snaps, catching you by surprise. You jerk your hand resting on his shoulder toward you. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” You gulp, trying not to cry once again.

“Don’t make me do this.” He pours another shot and downs it. “There’s no way we can be together. I don’t know what you expected, but people like me don’t know love like you do. I have a job to do. A dangerous one. I’m too fucked up and you’re not strong enough to deal with being with someone like me. And you’re the Commander’s daughter. You think that’s going to go over well with everyone?”

“I don’t give a fuck about everyone!” Now you’re the one snapping at him. His head jerks up, looking at you over his shoulder. You can make out the outline of his face in the moonlight. Even if he’s hurting you, you can’t help but to want to reach out and touch him. “If you’re scared then just say that, but don’t make this out to be like we’re not good enough for one another because I know you care deeply for me. After what we shared…”

“What? I made you come,” he interrupts, nonchalant and dismissive. “That’s all. I wonder what daddy Commander would think if he knew I ate your sweet little pussy. I bet I’d have a bullet in my head right now.”

“Fuck you!” You reach for him out of rage and hurt, pushing against his back, but he doesn’t even budge. You’re done listening to him. This is clearly not him when he’s like this, and you won’t let him disrespect you as if you didn’t share secrets you never told anyone else. “You know it was much more than that. You really are fucked up!”

You don’t mean the words as you turn on your heel to leave. You only want to hurt him like he’s hurting you. Just like when you first met. Just when you reach the door handle, you feel his arms wrap around your body, not even realizing he was making a move toward you. Your back presses to this chest as he holds you in place.

“Don’t fucking say that to me,” he growls in your ear.  “You don’t want to go there with me, little flower, trust me.” His words are meant to be threatening, but you feel the pain within them. The anger isn’t directed at you, but the life he’s had to live.

“Stop calling me that and just tell me what’s wrong. Why are you being like this?” You don’t struggle to break free from his hold. You hate how much you’ve missed it. You wish you could be angry at him, but it feels too good to your body to feel his strong arms wrapped around you. There’s no use in fighting it.

“I don’t know what you expected, sweetheart. What? To fall in love and live happily ever after? With a fucked up special ops soldier like me? Always gone. Not knowing if I’ll come back alive or in a coffin.” His words twist around your heart, squeezing until you can hardly breathe. His voice is like ice in your ear. A shiver races down your spine.

“So you would rather be cold to me and not even try because you’re scared of getting hurt? Is that it?” You spit back. You’re not backing down from this fight. “You blame me and not being able to handle being with you, but it’s not me. You’re scared to open yourself up to me, still, even after what we shared. You’re scared of a future that hasn’t even happened yet, you won’t even try for a future we actually want. You’re scared of what everyone thinks, but not what the person that loves you thinks?”

His grip on your loosens just a bit. You’ve taken him by surprise. It’s clear he didn’t expect you to admit you love him, but you do. You’re in love with him, and you love him so much you’re willing to fight for him. Unlike everyone else in his past, you want him there, and you’ll die trying before letting him go so easily.

He sighs, dropping his head. His voice is trembling. Suddenly, you feel warm drops of salty tears hitting your shoulder. He’s crying. For you.

“I’m fucked up, flower.” His voice is cracked and broken. Your heart aches just hearing it. “I don’t deserve you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his confession. His body relaxes behind you, his hands rubbing along your lower stomach, still holding you close. You melt into his touch, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, but you need him to release himself to you. Free himself of this burden that’s been weighing on him to make him feel so trapped in his own hurt.

“I don’t want to be cold to you,” he admits, exhaling slowly. “God, you’re the warmest thing I’ve ever had in my life. You melt my ice cold heart. That’s why I don’t feel good enough for you. I don’t want to dim your light with my darkness.

“Oh…” You sigh, turning around with warning. He falls to his knees in front of you. His face becomes buried in the silk of your dress, tears soaking into the material with his hands on your hips. For the first time, you run your fingers through his hair.

“I’ve never opened myself up to anyone. Not since childhood.. I don’t even know how, I think,” he continues, words muffled here and there from how close he is to you. He’s never gone into detail about his past, but you don’t want to imagine the horrors he’s seen to make him so shielded. “I’ve never wanted to show myself to anyone until I met you. I’ve never felt for anyone like I do you.”

You allow his words to sink in, feeling the big soldier surrender to you on his knees. “I want to see all of you,” you reply in a whisper. “I want you to be open with me. And I… well, I won’t let anyone hurt you, either. I promise.”

Upon hearing your words, he finally looks up at you to meet your eyes. For the first time, he shows you his face. He shows you all of him. You take it all in, studying the shape of his eyes, his nose, his lips. The curve of his jaw and even his hair. All the way down to his neck, you take in every inch and burn it to your memory.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he confesses. “I’m so sorry, I never want to hurt you again. I never want to be so cruel to you. What we shared allowed me to do this now. Showing myself to you. It was important to me, and if you never want to see me again, I get it, but I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me, flower.”

You can’t help the tears that hit your cheek. “I want you, Lieutenant,” you tell him, and in your next breath, you say, “I love you. Don’t ever hide yourself again, okay?”

He blinks a few times, those once lonely eyes filling with so much love for you. He says the words in return, staring up at you until he’s sure you forgive him. Then he stands, wrapping arms around you to pull you close and lift your body to guide you to his desk. He places you on top before his lips come down to meet your own. Taking you in a gentle kiss, you moan against his skin, feeling his body press between your legs. His hands wander anywhere he can reach, savoring you with his touch while his tongue slips against your own.

“What if—” you begin, breathless, whispering as his kisses fall to your neck, “—someone catches us in here?”

“Don’t care,” he growls. “I’ve missed you too fucking much. I want to show you how much I love you, flower.”

Your body shivers. Goosebumps flood your skin. You’re already so worked up, emotionally and physically. Your head is in a whirlwind of feelings while your body goes right back to craving him. Especially when he touches you as he does. His palms caressing your sides before dropping your thighs. Skin on skin makes you finally realize he’s not wearing his gloves. Heat floods you from the contact.

“Touch me,” you whisper, wrapping a hand around his head when he looks at you.

“Tell me where.”

“Here.” You take his hand, touching his skin for the first time as you guide his fingers between your thighs. He presses against your clothed slit, sending another pulse of warmth through your body. God, you’ve missed him. “Please…” you beg him, and he chuckles, kissing you again.

“You never have to beg me,” he teases, slipping your panties to one side to feel your pussy against his skin, “I’m so weak for you, flower, I’d do anything you asked.”

“Oh…” Your breath waivers. Body already trembling by the time he sinks a finger inside you, slowly, driving you wild. Then he adds another, burying the digits deep before pulling them away.

“So wet for me, already,” he says. “Remember when I said I would worship you? Remember when I made it clear there would be no doubt you were mine?”

How could you forget? You remember that night pinned to your bed. His big body on top of you. You were so mad at him you wanted to fight him. “Yes,” you exhale.

“You’re mine, flower,” he growls against your ear, pumping his fingers inside of you, curling them to make you quiver. Your thighs tighten around his hand as he begins massaging the spot that makes your toes curl in your heels. “Every inch of this beautiful body is mine for me to do as I wish. I want to worship every part of you until you can no longer stand.”

Your head spins at his words and the way he’s fucking you with his fingers. Arousal drips to coat his flesh as the warmth swells from between your legs. You whimper his name while running your hands over his shoulders, trying to hold on to the last bit of your sanity. He drives you wild and all you can think of doing is giving in to him, giving all to him.

“Look at me,” he demands, running the fingers of his free hand along the base of your neck until he grabs a fistful of your hair. You meet his eyes in a gasp, not daring to look away from him for a second. His thumb rises to reach your clit, applying pressure to send you closer to the edge. Your chest heaves as the whimpers and cries spill out for him, so lost in his pleasure you don’t care about anyone or anything. “Just imagine when I fill you up with my cock, right here, flower. I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

You’re shaking against him, squeezing your thighs around him, face twisting in bliss. Your mouth remains open, every word a call of his name, a plea to continue, not to stop. You’re getting so close, but you try to push away your end because you don’t want the moment to be over with so quickly. You don’t care about the risk of getting caught. You don’t care about others finding out. You want to live in this moment, with his sinful tongue drawing out the delicious noises you’re making along with his fingers buried deep in your pussy.

“So… so close…” Your hips move with his motions. One hand falls to grip his wrist.

“Come for me,” he commands, “let me feel it, little flower.”

There’s no stopping the pleasure now. It builds with the anticipation of a hungry animal and crashes down around you like dangerous waves. Heat courses through you from between your thighs, the coil of pressure finally snapping to send your body into absolute bliss. You cry out one last time, sinking into his body as you ride out the pleasure against his hand. He holds you close, pulling your body to him and dropping his mouth to your lips. He kisses you through it all, taking it all in as you come undone around him, giving him the chance to show you what you mean to him.

Heavy breaths fill his office for a moment. He kisses you all over. Your lips. Your cheek. Your jaw and neck. He brings you back down just as gently, taking care of you like he promised he would. You’re completely spent. Exhausted from the fighting, worn out from his pleasure. But now there’s peace in your heart. There’s no more fighting, or longing, or hiding how you feel. You’re his, and he’s yours.

A sudden knock on the Lieutenant’s door brings the two of you back to reality in an instant. Before the door can be opened, you slip off the desk to straighten out your dress. He reaches for his mask you didn’t realize was laying right beside you behind the liquor bottle, tugging it over his head. His name is called from the other side a second before the door opens.

“The commander’s looking for you, Lieutenant,” the male voice says. You turn your back from the door, not wanting to be spotted by anyone alone in his office. “And his daughter. Have you seen… Oh!”

Clearly, the guy spotted you and him awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. You peek over your shoulder, realizing it’s just a Sergeant from your father’s team.

“We’ll be there soon, Serg.”

The Sergeant nods, looks between the two of you, then grins. “I’ll let ‘em know, Lt.”

When he leaves, you exhale a heavy breath. “Are you ready to do this?" You know once you walk out that door and return to the party with him, there's no hiding anything between the two of you. You have no choice, really, considering you both have been missing for a while. At least with an audience, your father can't kill you both.

He turns to you, giving you a quick, yet hesitant nod. "As long as you're right there with me." He grabs your hand and together you make your entrance.

Turns out, with an audience and being high off of the congratulations and awards for his bravery, your father isn't too upset. Not even shocked, really, when the two of you return after being gone. You tell him you'll talk later, explain everything, and that's good enough for him.

When he calls you the following day, he apologizes for being too hard on you. He also admits his work gets him so distracted from life, he can't think straight, clearly. When he's deep in a case, he sees nothing else but how to achieve a victory. He explains he overreacted when he found out about you and the Lieutenant at first. After all, your father trusts him, and knows he did everything right in protecting you. If that's someone you want in your life, then who is he to stop you from having your own happiness.

After the phone call, you're shocked to say the least. You feel like you don't even know the man you just spoke to. Maybe his work really does turn him into a cold-hearted soldier, but you're getting used to that fact now. He's still your father, and you know in the end, he only wants you to be safe and happy.

He still gives a stern warning to the Lieutenant when they see each other again. The commander promises if his daughter's heart is broken, there will be hell to pay. The Lieutenant is fine with the promises, realizing he got off much easier than expected. Now he sees he doesn't always have to refuse himself of what he wants, especially when it comes to loving you.

After meeting with your father, he makes his way to you in a hurry considering there’s still so much he has to make up for. You open your door to a bouquet of flowers, and the thought makes you giggle because you just can’t imagine him walking in and purchasing them.

“Is this your kind of humor?” you ask, thinking of the nickname you’ve grown to love.

“Flowers for my flower,” he says, peeking his head around the pink tulips in his hand. You take your gift and allow him inside, quickly finding a vase for them to put them on display in your living room before the two of you take a seat on your couch.

“How sweet.”

“And charming and kind?” he teases by asking, recalling your previous conversations at your label’s office building. You love that he can find a way to lighten the mood and make your past fights seem funny and ridiculous.

“Yes, that, too,” you tell him. Without hesitation, he pulls the mask from his face, laying it to the side. Your chest blossoms with warmth. You also love that he’s grown so comfortable with you. You can’t imagine having to hide yourself for most of your life just as a way to protect your heart. You feel so fortunate he trusts you. He’s still wearing his work uniform, but now there’s less weapons hidden here and there. You imagine he still has at least a knife sheathed somewhere on him. It wouldn’t be him if he didn’t. “How did it go today?”

“I think he wanted to be angry at me at first,” he says, recalling the meeting he had with your father as you scoot closer, resting your head on his shoulder. He instantly wraps an arm around you. You feel so warm in his embrace. The guy radiates heat, it’s hard not to feel so cozy. “Then he explained to me there’s nothing more important to him than your safety and happiness. As long as I can promise you’ll have that, he’s okay with it. I’m not being fired, or worse.”

You have to give your father credit for being reasonable.

“Well, I have that now,” you tell him, lifting your head to press your lips against his cheek. “Though, I was promised a certain thing you haven’t fulfilled, yet.”

He smirks. “What’s that?”

“Well,” you sigh, “you did say there would be a lot of worshiping and groveling and proving I’m yours.”

“Groveling?” He chuckles. “I said that?”

“In my head you did.” He laughs harder at your answer. “Also, you said you would ‘wreck me’ if I remember correctly. And you would do anything I asked, because you’re desperately in love with me.” You’re grinning as you tease him, but his expression falls. His gaze softens, eyes lowering and smile dropping from his face.  

“Are you asking me, flower?” His eyes meet yours, tone suddenly darker, suddenly raspy and needy. “Are you asking me to wreck you?” His smirk returns.

You lean closer, a grin on your lips as you whisper in his ear. “I’m begging, Lieutenant.”

Without warning, he reaches to pull you into his lap. Your legs straddle his thighs as you sit on him, arms wrapping around his neck while his hands grip your ass. Not giving him another chance to speak, your lips crash into his mouth. You kiss him desperately as if you’re making up for the time spent apart. As your tongue caresses over his once slipping past his lips, his fingers pluck at the bottom of your shirt. It takes you a few seconds to register the feeling, but you quickly pull away once you do to remove the tee, along with your bra, leaving your bare breasts on display for him.

“Beautiful,” is all he says, reaching a gloved hand to caress your tits and making a moan escape your lips in the process. The feeling of the fabric against your hardened nipples makes you shiver. It’s enticing to watch him play with you in such ways, you allow him to thumb the aching bud before squeezing your breast in his hand.

“Feels so good,” you whisper to him, eyes closing. “I want you to touch me everywhere like that.” You know he realizes you mean with the gloves on when you hear a deep grunt from his chest.

“I plan to,” he informs you, both hands now caressing down your ribcage, to your hips to pull you closer. His mouth is instantly on your body, tongue easing over one nipple before kissing it gently, then doing the same to the other. You can’t help but to moan his name. He sucks on your flesh, taking his time to worship this moment and your body all the same. He kisses, licks, and sucks on your skin until the room starts spinning. You’re so worked up, feeling arousal soak into your panties as you roll your hips against him. You feel his hardened cock between your thighs when you do so, the friction making him groan against your skin.

“I want to feel you too,” you tell him, snapping back to reality and reaching for his thin, black t-shirt. He assists you in slipping it over his head, giving you a view of his chest for the first time. Running your hands down his body, you feel his skin against your own. He’s so warm to the touch, so hard, so manly. Your insides burn with desire.

“I want you,” you whisper while leaning closer, lips just barely touching his own. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

A darkness casts over his eyes at your request, but you’re already working the belt to his pants. Then the button and zipper. He’s nearly bulging out of his boxer-briefs, and he helps you shove the clothing down his hips until a thick, hard and needy cock is on display for you to play with. He’s so much bigger than you were prepared for, but he feels so good against your skin when you take him in your hand. A deep groan builds in his chest from the contact.

“Be gentle with me, flower,” he warns, eyes lidded and his expression twisted with need. His voice is breathier than before. He’s already so worked up. “It’s so easy for someone like me to lose myself in someone like you.” You know his warning isn’t about being physical. You assume he hasn’t been intimate with many people in his life, especially when he’s so guarded. His words fall on your ears like a desperate plea to not toy with his emotions, but how could you when you’re so dangerously in love with him?

Without another word you drop to your knees before him. Your hand grips him at the base of his cock as your mouth draws near. You give him a gentle lick across the tip before kissing his skin. His body tenses in response, so you do it again. How is this big soldier so weak beneath your gaze right now? You have him under your spell as you take him in your mouth, stretching around him so it will fit.

He sucks in a breath and then growls his exhale, reaching for your hair to take in a fistful in his hand. You pump your hand a few times while playfully sucking on the tip just to see his reaction. His hips thrust softly, sending nearly another inch into your mouth.

“Fuck me, flower,” he groans, never taking his eyes off you. “Your mouth feels too fucking good.”

Warmth floods your body from the praise. You want to keep pleasing him. You decide it’s what he deserves and you love seeing him come apart from the bliss. You take him farther into your mouth, sucking him off to hear the groans and grunts he releases. Your hand plays with the shaft, taking care of everything that won’t fit in your mouth. He begins to slowly move his hips, fucking himself into your mouth just like you wanted. His grip on your hair tightens. He’s beginning to lose control.

Then you pull back to run your tongue along the base of his cock all the way to this tip. The motion is painfully slow, teasing him while making the moment last. His jaw clenches at the sight of you on your knees before him, wrapping your lips around his thick, needy cock once again to take as much as you can.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl,” he growls as he thrusts himself back into your mouth. “Take more of it, baby.”

The new affectionate nickname along with his praise has your panties soaked. You take more of him past your lips, eyes beginning to water as the breath catches in your throat. He continues to thrust in and out while you take it, body so hot and worked up you’re dying to feel it in your pussy, too. You squeeze your thighs together as you suck him off, allowing him to use your mouth as he wishes as he pushes your head lower.

“You like my cock in your mouth like this, flower?” he asks, the words released through clenched teeth. His voice is so shaky, so desperate that it fuels your desire even further. All you can do is moan in return as he hits the back of your throat. “Just wait until it’s in that pretty little cunt of yours, baby. I’m going to fuckin’ fill you up.”

You’re shivering as you listen to him speak, keeping your eyes on his face the entire time. He’s so lost in the moment, face twisted in pleasure, head falling back with deep groans filling his throat. His chest tightens along with the muscles of his stomach, strong arms flexing as he brings your head down, then back up.

But he knows he won’t last much longer with your lips around his cock. He gently pulls you away from him with a heavy sigh, taking in the sight of you with tears welling in your eyelids, lips swollen, and gasping for breath. Then he pulls you closer, making quick work of the jean shorts and panties you wear, slipping them to your ankles a second before he’s guiding your back to the couch. He’s between your thighs a moment later.

“Please,” you beg, pulling him close while raising your hips so your soaked slit meets his cock, still wet and messing from being in your mouth. “I need you.” You’re breathless as he pushes his pants lower, getting a better position between your legs before you feel the tip of his length press over your swollen clit.

“I told you,” he begins, lowering his cock to your entrance as he guides himself with a gloved hand, “you never have to beg me.” You feel the pressure of him beginning to enter you, his thick tip slipping between your folds as it stretches your pussy open.

“Fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders. He freezes with heavy breaths spilling from his lips, but your grasp moves down his chest to his hips to pull him in. “Don’t stop,” you tell him with desperation. He continues easing inside of you, groaning when he feels you tightening around him. You screw your eyes shut as you adjust to his size, becoming so full of his cock in seconds. Your breaths deepen, listening to him groan as your warmth wraps around him.

“Tell me, flower,” he struggles to say between his teeth, “tell me to keep going. Tell me you want it.”

He’s so deep inside of you, your thighs are already shaking around him. You pull your knees closer to your chest, allowing him room to ground out inside of you, earning whimpers of his name, little pleas and cries to follow.

“Yes,” you tell him in a shaky tone, needing more of him, “I want it. I want you.”

He begins to move his hips, pulling out then pushing back in. He starts slow at first, feeling you quiver beneath him, listening to the breathy little noises you make. He loves it all. Loves watching you unfold in front of him.

“Feels so good,” he groans. “So perfect, and all for me.”

He snaps his hips into you, making you gasp before a moan fills the air. You scratch his sides, leaving marks along his skin as he does so, but it only makes him go wild. He grabs your wrists, quickly pinning them above your head before continuing to bury himself inside of your pussy.

“Remember the first time we were like this, flower?” His pace quickens, pushing his weight into your body to hit you deep within your walls. So deep you feel the pressure through your entire body, rolling your hips to meet the motions in return as you become greedy for pleasure. “When I had you like this on your bed? The way I wanted to fuck you right then and there was almost too much to bear. I was so fucking hard feeling you beneath me.”

His words send a surge of heat through your entire body. Goosebumps flood your skin, too breathless to even speak, but he’s getting off on it. He goes even faster, fucking you until you’re speechless. Every snap of his hips draws out another cry of his name, another plea to keep going. You’re dripping all over his cock and the way he fucks you, he deserves every drop. It’s almost too much to take, becoming overwhelmed from the pleasure, the way he speaks to you, how he keeps your hands above your head. He has complete control of your body, savoring the way it feels deep inside of your cunt.

You feel the pressure building, the bliss swirling between your thighs. His groans fill the air, mixing with your cries of pleasure. Neither of you will last much longer like this. You want one another too badly, your body has been craving his own it nearly hurts.

“Touch me,” you whimper, feeling him slow his pace into deep, long strokes of his cock within you. “So… close…”

In an instant, he releases his grip on you to take you by the hips. He urges your body to flip over before pulling you close from behind. Now your knees dig into cushions while he thrusts himself into you from behind. A gasp spills from your lips just as he wraps an arm around your body, bringing you closer while the other hand slips between your thighs. His fingers find your clit, feeling the material of the gloves against your skin to send your body into overload.

“Like this, baby?” he groans from behind, his mouth right next to your ear. You feel his heavy breaths against your neck. “Want me to wreck this pussy just like this?”

He buries himself into you from behind while tending to your clit. Your mind goes numb, his pace quick, yet he’s still deep inside of you. His ruthless thrusts from behind have the tears welling in your eyes once again. You’re shaking in his arms as he holds you up, heat filling every inch of your body until you begin to lose all control.

The bliss spills over without warning. All you can do is cry out as the waves of pleasure wash over your body, taking hold of every emotion while he continues fucking you from behind. He caresses your clit, the material of his gloves soaked in your juices just the same as his cock. You’re shivering from being overwhelmed with pleasure, walls tightening around him to make him groan and curse behind you.

Feeling you reach your own end has him losing all control. You’re so wet and messy, it feels too good to him as his head falls back and he groans praises. His grip on your body tightens before he spills inside of you, filling you up with his cum just as his pace begins to slow. Heavy breaths are shared in the pleasure to mix with moans and groans and curses. His cock twitches inside of you as you begin to come down, giving you every last drop of his release.

When the both of you finally collapse against the couch, you end up resting against his chest. One leg thrown over his. An arm around your body. You hear his quick heartbeat against your ear and he feels the softness of your skin as he holds you.

“I want you to know how much I love this,” you tell him breathlessly. Your eyes close, savoring the feel of being so safe and cozy. You can’t help but to think how far the two of you have come. You never imagined falling in love, but now you can’t imagine yourself any other way. Your heart swells for this man. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

He chuckles. “It’s real, little flower.” He lifts his head and you do the same, softly kissing one another to cherish the feeling.

You’re his now. The ghost and the flower. One so hidden from the world, the other almost too delicate to touch. Except when you’re together, he can be free from the burden of a painful past, and you get to prove just how strong you are. A match made in heaven.

[lavellenchanted]

Otp: I want the whole damn thing & 5?

5. Angry Kiss

“April, what the hell are these?”

Jackson’s voice isn’t quite angry (not yet, anyway), just flat and tight, like he wants to sounds neutral but just can’t manage it; but when April turns to look at him, there’s bewilderment written across his face more than anything else as he stares down at the iPad she has so very stupidly left on the kitchen counter open and with the screen on.

A screen that is currently showing house and apartment listings around Boston.

Slowly, Jackson’s eyes lift to meet hers and she feels a guilty blush steal across her cheeks – which is almost immediately followed by a surge of irritation, because she doesn’t have anything to feel guilty over. And she finds it incredibly galling that he would look at her like that, with his eyes soft and confused and betrayed when he’s the one who –

“I was just browsing,” she blurts out, because she doesn’t want to think about that. Except that she already has, which is probably why she sounds so snappishly defensive. “I mean, I’ve got to look at some point, right?”

“What are you talking about?” His eyebrows are drawing down into a frown, and like a mirror of herself she can see the irritation building in him as well. 

They’ve always been too good at that, reflecting their worst emotions back at each other.

“This was only ever temporary.”

April waves a hand, a gesture meant to encompass not just the kitchen but the entire house. A house they had started sharing when they first moved to Boston because that was easier than trying to find two places at the same time, but which was never meant to be her and Harriet’s permanent home here. Just his. 

Except that it has become her home. Worse, it’s become theirs. It feels like cutting out a part of herself to say it isn’t, but how can she stay now? 

“Did I do something? I know you’ve been mad about something for a while.”

She almost wants to laugh because of course he knew. No one has ever been able to see through her quite so easily as Jackson can. It used to frighten her, the way he seemed to strip her bare and see everything, all her fears and insecurities and hopes and dreams, with just a single glance. It also thrilled her, though she tried to deny that for the longest time.

At this particular moment it’s just making her angry, because how can he know her so well and still not understand?

“No, you didn’t –” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not mad at you.”

It’s mostly the truth. Okay, maybe she’s mad at him a little bit, but really she’s just mad at herself.

Because she thought that maybe they were –

But she was wrong. Of course she was wrong. That was made very clear last week, when she saw him looking cosy with some annoyingly long-legged blonde woman at the Foundation. 

Intellectually, she knows it’s not Jackson’s fault. She may not have done anything wrong but neither did he, not really. They’re still divorced, and neither of them have ever mentioned dating or getting back together or anything of the sort. A few lingering looks here and there or flirtatious remarks don’t mean anything. They aren’t promises or declarations.

Still, she feels so stupid that it makes her want to scream with an anger that’s sharp and bright and far preferable to focus on than the hurt drumming at her insides.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jackson says drily.

April glares at him. “I just thought that it’s about time Hattie and I found somewhere else.”

Jackson’s jaw tightens. “So when were you going to tell me? Or were you going to tell me? Was I just going to come home one day and find you both gone?”

“Of course not! I was going to tell you when I found a place. Why are you so pissed about it anyway? I thought you’d be glad to have some space back. Then you could bring all the blonde friends you want back here without us getting in the way.”

The words have spilled out before she can stop them, bitter and jealous. She bites down on her lip to stop herself saying any more but it’s too late. Jackson’s staring at her, his expression growing darker, and then suddenly he’s striding across the kitchen to stand right in front of her, towering above her so she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Blonde friends?” he says furiously. “That’s what this is about? I don’t know what makes me more angry, April, the fact that you saw me schmoozing someone who is considering making a huge donation to the Foundation and assumed I was hitting on her, or the fact that you didn’t talk to me about it and just decided to deal with it by moving out. I thought we were past this, the not talking to each other about things.”

April blinks, thrown for a moment by this new information and desperately trying to ignore the sudden, painful burst of hope radiating in her chest, then feels her cheeks warm as her thoughts catch up to what he’s saying.

“Oh, like you talk to me? If I made assumptions, maybe it’s because we’ve been in Boston for eight months and I still don’t know what you want from me, Jackson! You asked me here but I don’t know if it’s just because you didn’t want to be that far away from Harriet, or if you actually want me around –”

She doesn’t get a chance to say any more because Jackson cuts her off, catching her face between his hands and covering her mouth with his. It’s not a gentle kiss – they’re both still too angry for that – and his lips are almost bruising, insistent, each stroke of his mouth delivered with deliberate passion, like he’s making a point and wants to be very clear about it. 

Maybe he is; she curls her fingers into his shirt and pulls him closer, kissing him back with equal fierceness, running her tongue over his bottom lip and then catching it between her teeth. Her heartbeat is roaring in her ears and she can hardly breathe, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to breathe right now. She only wants to keep kissing him, to feel the fire that’s burning through the veins as she presses herself against him and gives in to the hunger and the longing that she’s been trying to bury for months.

Jackson lifts his mouth briefly, tilting his head the other way and between kisses he’s saying, “I want you. I have always wanted you. I will never not want you.”

She brings her arms up to wind them around his neck and whispers back, “I want you too. I want you so much, Jackson.”

Finally, when her head is swimming and her legs feel weak and shaky and like they might collapse any moment they break apart, though she keeps her arms around his neck and he brings his hands to her waist. They’re both breathing heavily, their eyes locked on each other, and April can feel her heart pounding against her ribs.

“I guess we both still need to get better at the talking thing,” Jackson says. “But let me start with saying that I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with me.”

April smiles. “Then I’ll stay.”

kiss prompts

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - November 26th

I’m traveling this weekend (at this point I’ve been in the car about 5hrs and have another 8 to go today) so I asked for a few tropes to share fics from. Thanks so much to @ishipallthings & @iwillsinkwithmyships for their suggestions. 

As evere, please leave comment and kudos for your author. 

~*~ 

Bodyguard AUs: 

it goes like this -- by Areiton 

It goes like this, really--

He wants Tony. 

He wants him like he needs air to breath, wants to wipe away all the ones who came before him with mouth and tongue and bruise tight hands. 

He wants Tony and he’s terrified. 

I could lie tangent to your curves by RurouniHime 

Steve is bodyguard to a prominent young socialite with too much genius on his hands... and who has taken an unfortunate shine to him.

(Written for royal_chandler, who won the bid for my offer in Marvel Trumps Hate 2018.)

Triple-A Rated by iam93percentstardust 

Three assassination attempts in two weeks. That's gotta be some kind of record. Three attempts - and that doesn't even count the Ten Rings. Tony's pretty sure that Stane's trying to kill him again. Fury's pretty sure of the same thing, which is why he starts sending agents to protect him. It's just that Tony doesn't like any of his new bodyguards - except one.

Safety by CSHfic, VSfic 

The suit needs repairs, and Tony thinks he's being clever when he tells the Avengers that Iron Man is away on personal business...until Steve helpfully volunteers to be Tony's bodyguard in his place.

Historical AU 

Looking for Heaven by foxxcub

When young Lord Anthony Stark learns Steven Rogers has enlisted in the army, he thinks he's seen the last of his tiny, headstrong, haughty stable boy. But four years later, Lord Stark gets an unexpected visit from Steve, whose mother has fallen gravely ill and into financial ruin. Even more unexpected, Steve agrees to a shocking proposal: they will marry, giving Steve the necessary funds to save his mother, and Tony the much-needed reprieve from harassing would-be suitors. It is a business arrangement, nothing more. But as time goes on and circumstances arise, Tony begins to learn that keeping his heart away from his husband is easier said than done.

Maybe Tomorrow by scifigrl47

Tony Stark may well be the richest man in America. In the depths of the Great Depression, that's no small claim. When a plot is hatched for him to take in an orphan for a week, everyone knows it's a publicity stunt. No one knows it better than Officer Steve Rogers, but he's got a job to do, and he's going to do it. Doesn't mean he's going to approve.

Yes, it's an Annie AU.

Yes. That Annie.

Love Match by FestiveFerret

Tony had but one goal for the season: secure a marriage proposal from an alpha with the position and means enough to remove him from his father's house. Love was wholly irrelevant to the matter.

Peep Show by BladeoftheNebula

“Alright there, Sugar?” A voice came from behind him and he whipped around to see an omega with a little box of tokens. “You know you got to put one in to start right?”

Steve felt his face heat. “Yes ma’am. I was just uhh—“

“First timer?” He nodded and she gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, don’t worry, there’s glass behind the curtain, so the omegas can’t bite.” Then she winked. “That costs extra.”

Steve’s face got even hotter. He certainly wasn’t doing that.

Steve knew he wasn't any omega's first choice, or hell, even third. But what starts as a visit to a seedy Peep Show in Manhattan ends up changing his life for good.

An Inglourious Affair by morphia

In 1944, Steve's commando team, The Basterds, are off to fight nazis in France. Tony joins their efforts after intelligence suggests that Herr Kleiser, a German scientist, has set his sights on making a massive nuclear bomb. Their mission: Get to Kleiser before he completes his evil plan. What neither of them had planned for, however, was to fall in love in the middle of the worst war either of them had ever seen.

Mail Order Bride/Arranged Marriage 

Object: Matrimony by BladeoftheNebula

Omega Tony Stark craves adventure and an escape from the life his parents have planned for him in New York. He places a listing in a marriage catalogue to seek a match with an alpha out West, and Sheriff Steve Rogers answers his advertisement. But finding a nice alpha doesn't mean it's all smooth sailing from there...

I Whisper Your Name on Each Star I See Falling by JezebelGoldstone, littleblackbow

The day Natasha first told Steve her idea, he never would have dreamed that her fool notion would land him here: watching the train roll into the station and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that somewhere in there is the man who agreed to marry him.

Steve, an alpha farmer living outside a small town in the Rockies who doesn't want to admit how lonely he is, has been exchanging letters with omega Tony for nearly a year. When at last Tony arrives in Big Eden, Steve is confronted with the fact that he doesn't know Tony as well as he thought he did - and falls for him harder than a landslide anyway.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile) by starklystar

"You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

[niki-phoria]

Helloooooo can I request a song fic with yeonjun x male reader with Taylor swift's song "enchanted"? It gives me 'they broke up predebut but years later after meeting decided to try again' vibes LMFAOOO I VERY MUCH LIKE YOUR WORK AND OMFG I SAW THE LISTS OF YOUR UPCOMING WORKS TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF AUTHOR LOVE YOUUU

pairing: yeonjun x male!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angstish to fluff word count: 504

includes: exes to lovers, not exactly a songfic but based on the bridge of enchanted by taylor swift, the reunion part is kinda awkward lol, they both cry

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i hope you like it :)) and i love you too <33 based on this prompt list from @novelbear

“y/n?” yeonjun whispers in disbelief. turning around to face him, you freeze at the sight of the man before you. you blink once. twice. three times. he tenses as he watches the recognition set in. 

you look different than he remembers. you’ve grown into your features since the last time he first saw you. you were only a nervous high schooler then - anxiously fidgeting with your fingers with each step you took, face littered with acne, and voice cracking with nearly every syllable that left your lips. 

a soft smile pulls at the corners of your lips after a few seconds, much to yeonjun’s shock. the tension in your shoulders relaxes slightly. “yeonjun?” 

“it’s good to see you again,” he finally murmurs. 

you nod, if not a little stiffly. “you too.”

“are you… seeing anyone?”

you bite your bottom lip, eyes flickering down towards the ground before you meet his gaze once again. “no. not since…”

since me, yeonjun thinks. not since i left.

guilt racks through him at your admission. he uncomfortably shifts underneath your gaze, readjusting the position of his hands in his pockets. “yeah, uh… me neither.”

you awkwardly purse your lips before taking a small step backwards. “maybe i should go,” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

“y/n, wait,” yeonjun catches your wrist in his hand before he can stop himself. he lets go almost immediately, though neither of you attempt to make any other movements. “the worst thing that i’ve ever done was leave you that night,” he whispers. tears sting at the corners of his eyes. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

yeonjun’s hands tremble as he cups your face between his hands. you let yourself relax into his touch, coiling yourself even closer to his skin. despite the time that’s passed, he still knows how to make you shiver. how to calm you down. how to make you feel loved.

squeezing your eyes shut, you let instinct take over. your grip is unrelenting around yeonjun’s shoulders, tightly pressing your bodies together. your head still fits into the crook of his neck like it used to. his hands feel warm when they wrap around your waist, sending familiar shivers down your spine. your tears mix together; hearts beating in sync, replicating a pattern you haven’t felt in years but still remember. 

“i never stopped loving you,” you choke out. tears roll down your cheeks in waves. 

“i love you too,” yeonjun sniffles. you can barely make out his silhouette in front of you through your blurry vision. he reaches up to rest a hand against your face, gently pressing your foreheads together. “can you give me another chance?”

pain stings in your chest. it rattles your lungs each time you breathe. despite your better judgement, a selfish part of you wants to cling to yeonjun. despite your better judgement, you pull him even closer. despite your better judgement, you don’t let go. “please don’t make me regret this.”

“you won’t,” he whispers. “i promise you won’t.”

[gerardpilled]

literally stop being an mcr fan then! why can you forgive gerard but not lynz? everyone will pretend they support the idea of allowing someone to learn and grow and change but then they'll see a woman and go oh no not her she's irredeemable like? the double standards are ridiculous

It’s so crazy… I’ve seen countless people say that she needs to explicitly apologize for her actions and yeah I guess that would be nice. I just think it's a more complicated and nuanced situation than it might seem. Her apologizing for being in msi and participating in complicit racism would implement a lot of people and make them guilty by association. It would imply everyone including the sound guys who worked shows would then be connected to "having worked for a racist band" and could seriously complicate relationships - both working and not.

Also, I sometimes really don't understand why this is a discussion worthy of so much time other than reflecting on the atmosphere that allowed such a band to rise within the scene? (I think there's a real meaningful conversation to be had about the excusing of racism from a lot of people within the alt music scene even today.)The band hasn’t toured since 2014? Acts like Marilyn Manson - who among all his other crimes also used racial slurs as shock value - is actively touring. And for the double standards - Frank fucking toured with msi in 2013 like why not cancel him for that LOL!!! Or god forbid, Gerard for working with Jimmy Urine in 2018.

Even forgiving Gerard for saying he’s Japanese while dogpiling Lindsey for saying she’s partially Indian when she doesn’t even know her birth dad is wild to me. The tweets are very similar to each other - and neither of them have apologized? I've seen people start excusing Gerard's tweet, extrapolating info like "he must have taken a DNA test" well, there's no proof of that, and why not extend that benefit of the doubt to Lindsey? Like yes, she shouldn’t have said it but Gerard shouldn’t have either! I also just can't help but think there are more important issues oh my god!!! I've seen people - both Indian and East Asian alike - express discomfort with both Lindsey's and Gerard's actions, and I completely understand that! I just only ever see Lindsey's held to such irredeemable levels, and that's usually by white people who I personally feel are overstepping their role. I just can't help but think some white people do not have meaningful, real life, conversations with the demographics they are supposedly advocating for.

I am definitely not the person to absolve her of her sins or excuse anything she’s done and people she’s hurt, but do people (and I mean primarily other white people who - from my experience - are mainly the ones posting hate about her) realize she has probably been the most clear and explicit about her anti-racist learning curve? Out of anyone even remotely connected to mcr, she has posted and done more direct funding and outreach for Black organizations than anyone. Yes, that’s Twitter activism and doesn’t exactly amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but if people who hate her judge her off of her internet footprint, why not use the same to realize maybe she has learned?

I recently tried to see if she had acknowledged any of her faults publicly- and to my shock - she has!

I’m not saying this is the best response to every thing but I also never saw this mentioned ever before.

I truly think some of the worst stuff she’s done is publicly support Jimmy Urine after the allegations came out but again everyone who just spreads that as a fact completely misses the context of her ex friend spreading unhinged rumors about her for like a year before those allegations came out. Jessicka Adams accused Gerard of sexual misconduct and started claiming that Lindsey was in cahoots with a man who accused Jessicka of sleeping with him when he was underage. Truly unhinged stuff.

If I was Lindsey and my ex-friend was doing that, purposefully targeting people close to me, I also might immediately assume she was behind those against the lead singer of my old band! She should NOT have voiced her suspicions publicly, and I do think that was wrong, but it’s not like she doubled down on it since? I know a lot of people would like to think they would act differently if they were in her shoes, but really think about it! If allegations that arose online came out against a man you called a friend - who you let watch your daughter - would you immediately publicly turn against him? She should have apologized when it became clear the allegations were not unfounded, but even when the news first broke she was liking tweets which better explained her mindset. Also last I heard, they are no longer friends at all.

Again with the double standards though. I've seen no noise around Mikey’s wife publicly defending wife abuser Johnny Depp (a person she does not even know) when he won his trial? Or the fact that Gerard was also very good friend with Jimmy and most likely shares a similar opinion as his wife?

I've also seen people say things like "well she should have known because of all the signs" I think this a dangerous oversimplification. What about the band No Devotion? Everyone loves them here. They formed after their old lead singer was exposed as rapist with multiple situations of him sleeping with young girls on tour. Why didn't those guys know about it?

I also just feel like using this case a justification to hate her alongside stuff like "she made a mikey hate blog!!" (she didn't) just feels so wrong to me. It’s like people are happy this happened to a woman because it gives justification to hate Lindsey. I see no attempts to support this Jane Doe with tweets of support or some kind of fundraiser. It's always just rooted in hatred of another woman.

[itslottiehere]

you’re no good alone (h.s) - part one

hello beautiful people 🤍 i can’t believe this is happening lmao i’m so scared. here it is: my first writing. i’ve been writing for as long as i can remember, not necessarily fiction, but even random thoughts, journal entries, everything. i’ve always loved it, and always thought about sharing it with others, but never found the courage to do so. but the other night, i had an idea for a one shot and thought it was pretty nice, so i told myself to get over my insecurities and just go with it. what’s the worst that can happen, after all? so here you go, a little piece of me for all of you who want to take it <3

please do let me know what you think! my asks are open and you can send them anonymously as well, if you feel more comfortable. so, without further ado, happy reading!

tw: angst, prescription drugs and alcohol, swearing

word count: 2.6k

part 2 | part 3 | masterlist | let me know what u think here

—

this sucked.

they both knew this was inevitable, but it still sucked.

being apart sucked.

being broken up sucked.

it was a mutual choice: he was always away, she had to graduate college. he had meetings and tour dates and movie premieres to attend; she wasn’t going to throw away all her hard work, those brutal years of studying and exams to follow him. she wasn’t going to let her own life disappear into his.

they loved each other, but love wasn’t enough sometimes.

the fights seemed never ending. they would end up saying the same things over and over again, going in circles.

“I’m just asking you to think about it.”

“you’re asking me to disappear in your own life, and you know i won’t do that.”

“so what do you want to do, huh? what am I supposed to do when you don’t want to be with me?”

“i’ve never said that. i’ve just said that i’m not going to throw away everything i’ve worked for to follow you like a puppy while you succeed in your career, and i have to forget about mine. that does not sound like something so crazy to me.”

“so what? do I have to throw away everything i’ve worked for? is that it?”

“this is where we’re different, harry: i would’ve never asked you to do that.”

harry. she only called him harry when she was mad. she started calling him pet names almost ever since they met, once they became closer.

now they were as close as strangers.

the night they broke up the fight was along the same lines, but it ended up with her packing her bags and telling him she was really done this time, and that that was it for them. she couldn’t do it anymore, neither of them could. she looked at him, told him her last goodbye, and closed the door behind her, never to be seen again.

he didn’t even try to follow her. he knew that breaking up was the right choice. they were miserable when they were apart, miserable when they were together because there was always something to do. they just didn’t work anymore.

so here he was, sitting on his living room floor, two months after that night.

it was around 2am, bottle of scotch in his hand, some pills in the other. he popped a couple of them in his mouth, and took a long swing from the bottle.

he knew it wasn’t a smart idea, mixing alcohol and prescription drugs, but nothing else seemed to make his brain shut up, make his memories about her stop replaying in his mind for even a second.

he was tired.

memories of them haunted his dreams every night, making him wake up with cheeks sticky from the tears he didn’t even know he was shedding. he couldn’t remember a night when she wasn’t in his head.

god, he doesn’t even know if he lived a second in those two months without her on his mind.

his head started to feel lighter. good, fucking finally, he thought. but then he felt like an itch to his fingertips, and before he knew he had his phone in his hand, starting a call.

maybe she would answer?

the phone rings for a while. it was 2am, she probably wasn’t going to expect a call at this hour. was she going to hear the ringtone? he knew her phone was always on silent. maybe not this time. was she going to feel happy he called? or worried because of how late it was? or maybe annoyed because she was asleep and knew this was a late night drunk call?

fuck, if this is how loud his drunken mind was, you can imagine how it is when he’s sober.

his rambling thoughts are cut short by a voice answering: “hello?”

it was a male voice. he felt his heart dropping to his stomach. who was he? what was he doing with her phone? why was he answering? did she already move on? was he the only one who was still hang up on the way they were? was she happier now?

“harry? you there? why are you calling me at this hour, it’s 2 in the morning for pete’s sake”.

what? did the person on the other side of the phone know him? who was he?

he took away his phone from his ear, and glanced at the screen through blurry eyes that signalled that he was intoxicated.

he manages to understand the name of the contact he actually called, and croaked into the speaker: “mitch?”

“yeah dude it’s mitch, why do you sound surprised?”

“fuck. i-i didn’t mean to call you.” he slurred.

“harry, what’s going on? have you been drinking?”

“yup. and something else too.”

“did you take any pills? what kind?”

“just some stuff i found in the bathroom. they are working though, feel lighter already.”

“yeah i can hear that. but you still didn’t tell me who you wanted to call instead of me.”

he stays quiet. even speaking her name out loud hurt him. he couldn’t even bear to do that.

but mitch managed to put two and two together, and the answer was obvious.

“oh no harry. dude, you can’t do that to her. it’s been two months, she’s still grieving your relationship, what would she think if she picked up your call at 2 in the morning just to hear you drunk and high off your ass? you can’t do that to her, and you can’t do this to yourself as well. you can’t keep going like this.”

“don’t you think i know this, mitch? don’t you think i’m tired of feeling like this every single second?” he sighed.

his friend didn’t know what to do. he was at a loss of words, so they stayed silent for a while, when harry broke the silence.

“her last exam was on wednesday.”

“what?”

“her last exam, she took it on wednesday. she was already studying for it months ago, wanting to ace it. it’s her last one before her dissertation. i wanted to tell her good luck, couldn’t bring myself to do that. chickened out like the coward i am.”

“you’re not a coward, har-“

“i didn’t even bother to run after her, you know that? she walked out of my hotel room, bags in hand, looked at me for the last time and all i was able to do was to stand there, in the middle of the fucking room, while she walked out of my life. i couldn���t even bother to run after her, even for one last touch, one last goodbye, one last kiss. i was a coward then, and i’m a coward now.”

mitch thought about how long harry had to have been holding onto those thoughts. it’s been two months since he saw her as well, he caught a glimpse of her walking out the hotel lobby, shoulder shaking and sobs ripping from her throat. he couldn’t even reach her and ask her what was going on before she got it in the first taxi she saw and drove away from them, from harry.

he went into the hotel thinking that she and harry had had yet another fight, which has been happening a lot lately. he heard it — hell, all of them kept hearing them fighting, even though they pretended they didn’t.

so he walked through the lobby, got into an elevator and pressed the button to his floor. he thought about checking in on harry, just to make sure he was alright. what mitch wasn’t expecting was seeing his friend standing like a statue in the middle of the room, looking at the door like he had seen a ghost. he understood that this time the fight was worse than all the times before. he managed to make harry get into the bed, and decided to sleep on the little couch. they both didn’t get much sleep that night, one because of the uncomfortable couch, the other because of her perfume that lingered on the sheets, reminding him of everything he had lost.

“harry, do you want me to come over?”

“no, i’m fine, it’s all good.”

“no harry, it’s not. you’re no good alone now, i’m coming over.”

“no, mitch, seriously. i don’t want you here. if anyone should be here, it’s her. only her. this was her home too. she should be home.”

he asked her to move in with him a couple hundred times, he thinks. this was his home in london, he always though she should’ve lived there with him instead of her flat. it was a little further from her university, but nothing major.

she always told him no, but didn’t explain why. until one night, during one of the many fights, after he accused her of being afraid of making a commitment since she wouldn’t move in with him, she decided to say it.

“you really want to know why i’m not moving in with you?”

“yeah, i fucking do!”

“because i would end up being here by myself most of the time! because you’re never fucking here. how long have you been in america, huh? three, four months? and i should be living in this house, in what you say you want to make into our home, and just imagine the life we should be living while you’re away for months at a time? to mourn a life that we are probably never going to have? do you really despise me that much to wish me this?” she said as loudly as she could, her voice breaking just like her heart.

he hadn’t thought about this. of course, he thought that she would’ve been alone sometimes, but he actually thought that being in their home, she could find comfort.

his heart broke when he heard her insinuate that he despises her. how could he? he loved her, loved her more than life itself. he would never despise her. didn’t she know this?

that night ended up with harry driving her back to her flat, because she couldn’t stay there, claiming she had an early class and her place was closer to uni.

they both knew it was a lie, but neither of them decided to admit that out loud.

they played this game far too many times, and they ended up getting burnt.

“i know harry, i know you want her there. i wish things could be different.”

“yeah. so do i.”

“are you sure you don’t want me to come over? the hotel is about 20 minutes away, i can call an uber and be there in about a half hour, just say the word.”

“no, it’s fine. i need to be alone. guess i have to start learning how to be by myself now, don’t i?”

mitch sighed. he knew he was feeling sorry for himself, and maybe tonight he needed to do just that. and even though it broke him to ask him that, he couldn’t hang up without hearing it from him.

“you’re not going to call her right now, right?”

the line was silent.

“harry? answer me.”

again, silence was all he could hear.

“if you don’t answer me right now, i’m going to come over.”

“why shouldn’t i call her? what’s so wrong with wanting to hear her voice?”

“harry, we’ve just been over this. give me thirty minutes, i’ll be there.”

harry really didn’t want anyone around him right now, anyone that wasn’t her. but he understood that that wasn’t a possibility right now, so he interrupted mitch.

“no, it’s fine. i won’t call her. i promise.”

“harry, please stick to your word. do not call her. not like this. this version of you hasn’t a shot in hell at getting her back. but sober you might. don’t fuck it up.”

he thought about what mitch said, and even if his head was a bit floaty, he knew his friend was right.

“i know, i know, you’re right. i’m sorry i called you and woke you up. goodnight mitch, thank you for being my friend.”

“anytime dude, don’t worry. drink a big glass of water and go to bed now, please, goodnight harry.”

“bye.”

he saw mitch hung up, and his screen went back to show his home screen.

a knife plunged into his heart would’ve hurt less.

it was a picture of her at a carnival. he remembered that day, it was their second date, or perhaps their real first date.

they were actually on their way to a nice restaurant, when she saw the lights from the carnival and her eyes lit up just as bright. so what could harry do if not taking the next exit and take her there?

after about twenty tries at one of those stupid shooting games, both her and harry couldn’t manage to win the stuffie she wanted. so, while she went to look around for something to eat, he begged the vendor to sell him the price his girl so wanted.

his girl, she was his girl since the first moment he saw her.

so when she came back saying that she found a little place that seemed to have a rather large vegetarian menu (she knew he didn’t eat meat and wanted him to eat as well), she couldn’t understand why the hell he was smiling, with that smirk that only meant trouble.

“what’s up?”

“huh?”

“why are you making that face? what did you do? do i have something stuck in my teeth?” she started rambling, like she always did.

“no, no, nothing is in your teeth, i promise.” he smiled at her overthinking mind.

“alright.. so what is it?”

“close your eyes for me.”

“uhm, okay.. if when i open them i see a spider in front of me, just know that i will be walking home and never talk to you again. i’m telling you.”

“alright alright, i promise no spiders.” he cackled.

he put that bulbasaur plushie right in front of her, and told her to open her eyes.

the look she held in them, he couldn’t even describe. the purest look of happiness he has ever seen. then she looked at him and he was hit by the warmth of her gaze. she looked at him like he hang the stars in the sky for her, when all he did was getting her a carnival toy.

“oh my, oh my god, oh my god, how did you - when did- can i hold it please?” she couldn’t even get a complete sentence out, she was so utterly happy she couldn’t even think.

he handed it to her and she hugged it like it was her lifeline. she squinted her eyes closed and the biggest smile spread over her face.

harry had the same smile on his, dimples denting his cheeks. he took out his phone, having to capture this moment so he could look at it forever.

and ever since that night, that has been his lock screen. and he didn’t even think about changing it.

it made him remember that there was a time when all there was between them was so much happiness, so much love, adoration, and joy. and that they did love each other at one time. that he didn’t conjure up those memories, but that they were real, still are and forever will be.

that she really had looked at him with such warmth in her eyes, before she looked at him with nothing but sadness.

that he didn’t dream about her, but she was real and what they had was real.

before he could even process, his phone started ringing again.

but now it wasn’t mitch’s voice that came through the speaker.

“H?”

—

part 2

part 3

[emjiroki]

Prince Shoto x Court Lady Reader

Warnings: love confessions, cuddling/kissing

“F-Fuyumi, what are y-” You stammered before one of her slender fingers pressed against your lips in an attempt to quiet you. 

“Before I ask you anything I have something to get off my chest,” She said in a hushed but almost hurried tone, “I know about you and Shoto, about his wishes to marry you. He’s told me everything, from the very beginning I’ve known. I know you two snuck away to the gardens tonight”.  Your cheeks were burning so hot it felt like your skin had stolen the heat from her candle, and your palms began to sweat. But you couldn’t muster anything to say before she continued. 

Passing through the kitchen to get to the servant stairway that leads up past their courters to the main hall. Just as you turned the corner to tiptoe past Fuyumi’s door again, it creaked open, the Princess peaking around the doorway in her nightgown with a candle illuminating her soft cheeks. Before you were able to say anything she was reaching her hand out, wrapping her fingers around your wrist and tugging you through her doorway, shutting the door behind her softly 

“And… And I know that my mother knows now,” There seemed to be something heedful in her tone as she finally looked up from her shaking hands to look deep into you with her dark eyes, “I’m deeply afraid for your safety if my mother decides it to be in her best interest to tell my Father”. This was your concern as well, the Queen was enough of a threat on her own but to get the King involved would be the worst kind of blunder. 

“I- what do I do?” You asked honestly, nearly begging as tears pooled in your eyes. She took one of your hands in hers, squeezing it as you had to her earlier that day.

“Nothing. Don’t do anything, act as if nothing has changed and then I-” She paused for a moment, contemplating her next words as her eyes searched yours, “Leave. Flee from this place as fast as you can and start a new life somewhere”. You felt the tears rolling down your cheeks at the same time you watched hers trail down and drip from her jaw. But she steadied herself, ever poised and sure of her movements as she turned to her wardrobe, shifting a panel in the wooden side that you had never seen and retrieving a leather coin bag.

“This is all the money, and small pieces of gold jewelry that I’ve saved and gathered over the last few years for-,” Again she cut herself off, wiping away tears with the sleeves of her nightgown with a faraway look before shaking her head as if she thought of something silly. “It doesn’t matter, I want you to take it". You both knew the Queen would never allow you to travel with the Princess to her new kingdom now, would come up with every reason why you couldn't, and then have you thrown out or worse after Fuyumi was gone. Neither of you had to say it. She set the bag lightly in your hands, her soft fingers gripping yours around it. 

“I am going to be selfish and ask that you wait to leave until after the Ball, I need you to be there,” She said earnestly, taking a breath to steady her nerves.

“Of course,” you nodded, slightly proud because as far as you know Fuyumi had never done a selfish thing in her life, but a rock still sat in the pit of your stomach. “I’m really not sure what I’m going to do”. ‘How am I going to tell Shoto’

The next few days went by quickly, preparations for Fuyumi’s big night making the castle the busiest it's ever been. People bustling around with large flower arrangements, servants polishing the floors to a near mirror-like quality, cooks and bakers swarming around the kitchens and pantries. It was all very overwhelming and a good distraction from the elephant that seemed to loom in every room you had the displeasure of sharing with the Queen. Rei was polite and almost subdued at her best moments, aloof and barely even acknowledging your existence just as you hoped, but venomous at her worst. Never a steely word spoken but if looks could kill you would be decomposing in the garden. You would never catch her eyes on you but feeling her dark gaze following every move you made had your skin breaking into goosebumps. You stuck close to Fuyumi, assisting her with any and everything she needed, never letting a moment pass where you were alone anywhere until night when you could escape to your room just down the hall from hers and lock the door behind you. Lying in bed the night before the ball had your mind racing, thinking of all the preparations still not done. Being with the princess through all of the errands and fittings and various meetings with the family florist, you had been left so exhausted once dark fell that you could barely keep your eyes open. No bag packed, no plans made other than just the need to get out. Everything in you wanted to tell Shoto but you knew if you did it would only lead to him coming with you and then the entirety of the King’s army trailing to find him soon after. There would be no escaping if he came with you and it made your heart ache. It was a restless night of sleep, tossing and turning until you heard the servants shuffling about in their quarters above your head. It was still dark out, with no sign of the sun just yet as you attempted yet again to close your eyes and rest for even a few minutes. A soft knock startled you into sitting up in bed, heart pounding in your throat. 

“Who’s there?” you called softly, putting your feet on the floor. 

“It’s me, open up” Shoto’s voice was muffled as he lightly jiggled the knob. You were quickly moving to the door, allowing him in quickly before shutting and locking it again. 

“What are you doing? Your mother probably has someone watching us” You said in a harsh whisper. 

“I made sure no one followed me,” He said, stepping away from the door and pulling you with him so your voices couldn’t be heard, “I wanted to see you”. 

With everything happening and being so busy, especially with the issue at hand, you hadn’t been able to steal away and see each other for even a moment over the last few days. You wrapped your arms around him with a heavy sigh, it had only just occurred to you how drained you felt. You lay your head against his chest, his heart thumping so strongly just below your ear as your eyes shut, soaking in his warmth and just savoring the moment. It was going to hurt so bad to leave this. 

“Let’s lay down for a while, we’ve still got a couple of hours,” Shoto said with a soft kiss on your temple.

“But-”

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter,” He said with finality in his tone, toeing his boots off to stow them at the foot of your bed. You couldn’t argue with that, the people who shouldn’t know already do, and the door is locked, the King and Queen more than likely still sound asleep along with half the guard. You climbed into bed under the simple blanket and could finally feel yourself relaxing in his comforting presence. He pulled you closer until you were against his chest again, strong arms around you and holding you close as if any slack would allow you to slip away. 

“I just wanted to spend a little time with you before all the craziness today,” He said with a soft sigh as he relaxed with you finally in his arms after far too long, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I won’t be able to see you until tonight”. Excitement jolted through you at the thought, Shoto was always so handsome in his Family’s reds. You had only seen him in them twice, both times he had headed out to meetings with his Father. 

“I’m asking you to dance with me tonight,” Shoto said and you could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” You asked, a soft smile adorning your face as well. He shrugged, chuckling as you squeezed him tighter.

“No, but as of now I do not care and I certainly won’t care later”. You were both so close in the bed, warmth bleeding into each other as your cheeks began to burn and your heart began to race. It didn’t matter how many times Shoto had been here before it never failed to feel like the first time. Though the relationship between you hadn’t gone farther than kisses, whispered words, and clinging arms, the lack of space between you and the situation at hand made the moment feel so much more intimate. You could feel his fingers trailing up and down your back, his heart thumping evenly in his chest, his steady breaths. 

“Kiss me,” You whispered, angling your head up to look him in the eye, to press your lips with his as he immediately moved forward with a soft groan, as if he had been waiting for you to ask. Starving for it in silence. He was always so gentle like you were made of glass and any wrong movement would shatter you, his lips soft against yours, his breathing almost hesitant as if he wasn’t sure when to stop. You pulled away for a moment, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed quietly.

“What for?” He asked, taking a deep shaky breath. 

“For everything,” You said without hesitation. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, thumb sweeping across the skin where an unknown tear had fallen.

“Don’t apologize,” He whispered, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, we’ll get through this,”. You nodded, allowing him to hold you close, his fingers on your spine and your hand in his hair lulling you both to rest for the time you had left.

[thesungod]

their theme is so inconsistent like at the beginning it feels clear, being who you are and accepting each other’s darkness, but the way its done is 😬 and then it switches up to being literally budget toa saying “well everything can change yk??? don’t stay in the darkness” but in a horrible fashion and they’re acting like this is what they’ve been trying to tell me in the past 400 pages when it ISNT dont LIE to ME

i don’t think EITHER of them was reading the book as they write they were just mashing words together bc im watching a book promo for it rn and rick’s saying that will likes nico bc he likes nicos ““darkness”” and how intrigues him and mark’s saying neither of nico or will wants to change that core part of the other. which explains away him in BOO trying to tell nico that nobody disliked him—being that will was projecting his own feelings about nico onto others—and also relates will to apollo even more with their need to reach out to outcasts and love them. but then they didn’t write that they literally wrote that will doesn’t like it and he wants to fix it. thats my STEP SON and they did that to him.

rick did not want to write this book at all, and mark probably projected their nico stanisms onto the other characters without justifying the stanisms. you can really tell when rick has a passion for writing something and when he could not care less. the subtle toa promo in one of the gorgyra scenes and apollo’s updated glossary—he wants you to read toa so bad he could not gaf about this book. and yet apollo is never mentioned positively like give him back to me.

speaking of mark i think this is just a consistent issue they have when writing. i read reviews of one of their books (anger is a gift) and some were very negative about the way the narrative made the protagonist the most righteous person ever and completely revolved around them. ifl that issue bleeds into this book as well.

i saw people (including the writers) say this book is darker than a lot of rick’s other books and i really need them to shut the fuck up; THO literally had kids tied up in crucifixes to be burned at the stake 😭

ok sorry for the ramble i see the letters tsats together and i go on a rampage

you absolutely ate this up!!

also laughing at you calling it “budget toa” because that’s exactly what i said to a friend about this book once. i felt almost offended over the authors trying to fit the “everyone can change!!” narrative last minute and make Nico the symbol of re-invention after five whole books of ToA. i was very “how dare you stand where he stood” about it which is childish but alas.

i’ve also mentioned several times how will and nico’s conflict in the book was not intriguing to read about because it was inconsistent. not to mention that according to the timeline they’ve been together for a year!!! an entire year!!! and the book still has Will acting #shocked that Nico, idk, likes darkness.

the Mary-Suing of Nico literally the worst thing to ever happen to me. i’m usually all for my faves winning, but that’s after they’ve been through the mortifying ordeal of losing, yk. and i get that Nico has been through a lot but the book was basically a 400-pages-long ass kissing and i couldn’t do it.

i couldn’t even feel particularly moved or vindicated by Bob pledging loyalty to him in the end because it wasn’t cathartic at all. i was like we get it dude lol

same with his “friendship” with Piper tbh. not everyone needs to like Nico😭 i would have totally loved it if the book had shown a friendship progress organically through their grief for Jason or common interests (even if just briefly narrated through a recollection!! i’m not saying we needed chapters of flashbacks or Piper as a third main), but Nico does not mention her once ever. they didn’t even like each other in HoO!! then at the end of the book he calls her and he is all like “of course she wouldn’t be angry at me for not calling after Jason died <3 she understands that grief is complicated <3”

my king Piper isn’t angry at you for not calling because she dgaf about you. why would she. who are you to her

another thing I’ll never get over re: Nico and Will’s relationship is how, per the book, Nico encouraged Will to come out and was the first one of the two to do so, when every. single. thing written about them in the Hidden Oracle suggests the opposite.

why the fuck is Nico so reticent and embarrassed about admitting to be Will’s boyfriend in the first book of ToA if it’s Nico who came out first? IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CAMP might I add?

because i get that coming out to someone doesn’t necessarily mean being comfortable coming out to everyone, but Nico announced his crush IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CAMP. and asked Will out. and Will wasn’t out at the time. so whyyyy is their dynamic on THO literally the opposite of this? with Will pushing Nico to be more open about their relationship while Nico plays coy? because Apollo is Will’s father? idk, maybe i guess😭

but it’s pretty obvious the change in the dynamic was established later on and that the impression we were supposed to have while reading THO is that Will was the one more comfortable and in tune with his sexuality. like, come on.

[anneapocalypse]

15 lines of dialogue

Thank you for the tags @redwayfarers and @lilas!

Tagging: @farfromdaylight @dreadfutures @rosella-writes @darethshirl @ecosystem-administrator @ialpiriel @ishgard

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

These are all going to be from unposted works in progress, but here we go. 😉

"If this is the price of the Blessing of Light—if you're going to take everyone I love, over and over again, then I don't want it! Do you hear me? I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't…"

"You didn't have to do this. You helped save Ishgard, too. You should be here to see the changes you wrought."

“I’ll be honest, I never imagined anyone would use the word ‘formidable’ to describe me. I do most of my work standing behind someone with a sword.”

“It’s not that. I’ve trained under people who didn’t like me or believe in me before. I can handle it. It was… he started going on about how archery was a Wildwood discipline, passed down through generations. He said I could never understand.”

"My home is gone. There’s nothing for me to go back to. I’m not Gridanian. I’m not Ishgardian. I’m not anything. I’m not even… I’m not even one of you. The Scions. Not really. You’ve all known each other for years, you knew Master Louisoix, you have all this history. I’m just some farm girl you pulled off the street because I had headaches and saw things. No matter what people call me, even the ones who think I’m a hero, I’m never one of them. I save the day, and then I move on. I never belong anywhere.”

"I understand you developed a unique variation on the carbuncle? I should love to hear about the theory behind it."

“He’d turn me loose in his library, and then ask me about what I’d read and what I thought of it. No care for what was appropriate for children, either! Ma used to argue with him about it, until she realized it was fruitless. ‘Books are for everyone,’ he’d say. ‘If she can understand it, then she can read it, and if she doesn’t she’ll put it down soon enough and find another.'”

“Urianger, this is important, so listen carefully. I want to hear everything about the fae. Everything. Should you ever doubt my desire to hear about something, you may ask me, ‘Ariane, wouldst thou care to hear of the intricacies of the customs of the fair folk?’ that I may assure you, my dear friend, that I do in fact want to hear all about it.”

“You knew that I would do what needed to be done no matter what, right? You knew that I would not turn from the plight of this star, no matter the danger to myself. That isn’t why you kept this from me, is it?”

"A smile better suits a hero. Perhaps it does, love. Perhaps it does, but I haven't one to give, at the moment."

"What do you know of his history? Do you know how it has haunted him, what he did to Minfilia? What he kept from us? Did you see him shut himself up in the Waking Sands, convinced he deserved neither comfort nor forgiveness?"

“How would I have done otherwise? When have I ever done anything but what other people told me to do? I couldn’t defy my own mother until she was dead.”

"Sometimes she was. Other times, she was a woman who gave in to all her worst fears about the world, one for whom everything beyond our doorstep was deadly and terrifying, and would have denied me a life because of it. But I dare say she was right about the tea. And the soup."

“I loved a woman once who gave up her life for me. And then I loved a man who did the same. And I’m so tired of losing people, I’m so tired—I don’t want anyone else to give up everything for me. I just want someone who will stay. Live with me. Be by my side. Be with me, whatever we face—together. I said I couldn’t ask you to change who you are, but it’s more than that. I don’t want you to change who you are. Just be with me.”

"Perhaps some things are meant to be. But the secret of our art is it's as much shaping the future as it is reading it. You've said yourself, love—you may accept what you see foretold, or defy it. As our dear Minfilia stood before the Flood of Light. It gives me some comfort to think that things can be changed. To believe—and I do—that the future is not set in stone."

[mutable-manifestation]

Hello, I’m Ameera a 23 years old Muslim lesbian who is trying to come out, I’ve been in the closet with my girlfriend for way too long, because of how dangerous and hard it is to come out as a lesbian to a religious Muslim family, but me and my girlfriend have decided to do whatever it takes and risk it all to come out, do you mind supporting and encouraging us?, though I know we all have what we dealing with, so I’m not imposing we just need all the support and encouragement we can get, check my pinned post for more information on how you can support, if you are a Muslim queer and you are out, please help with tips on how to make it less complicated, any word of advice is also really needed, we really wanna come out but we need y’all 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ pride please come through for us, I believe pride is for all

Hi Ameera!

I saw on one of your other posts that you already have an exit strategy and are prepared to move out and cut contact should that be necessary for your safety, so I don't see any reason why you shouldn't come out if it's what you want!

I shall be wishing for your family to surprise you with acceptance and support, and for your contingencies to be unnecessary.

I am a Christian rather than a Muslim, so I can't speak to the specifics of your situation, but - if you haven't already - I'd recommend looking into what your religious text(s?) say about the LGBT+ community.

The first thing I did when I realized I was a lesbian was research.

The most I'd ever heard about gay people growing up was "gay marriage bad >:(" and even that only seemed to crop up around when gay marriage beginning to get legalized, so I looked into all of the relevant verses and tried to reconcile my sexuality with my faith.

I didn't want to go looking for validation, I just wanted answers, information, so I could gather my thoughts from there. So I looked at both sides.

The arguments I found that explained the bible as not against LGBT+ were all rooted in study and logic - meanings of words that were oversimplified in translation, historical contexts that I had been lacking prior, etc. All of it was rooted in trying to understand the original texts as and when they were written.

The arguments against LGBT+ all seemed to parrot the modern bible and "homosexuality is a sin" with no other arguments - or at least, no other arguments that could be applied only to homosexual people (example: "but gay couples can't have children!!!" yeah okay neither can infertile/sterile people and they can still get married/it isn't a sin for them to be in relationships). They were also all written with a hostile, hateful undertone (or overtone in some cases). Which. Christians are supposed to be known for our love, so any rhetoric based in hatred... and not even logic to back it? yeah. No.

The arguments explaining gay = okay were all based in love, compassion, and understanding - in logic and research.

So.

It was easy enough for me to reconcile my faith and my sexuality because, as it happens, there was nothing incompatible about the two!

(To any side b or x christians who may read this: this isn't an invite to debate, you literally cannot change my mind and also I will simply block you. This is not my Theological Discussions account)

I'm not quite sure how Islam sees the LGBT+ community in terms of religious rhetoric - from my (very) brief research the only thing I could find was a quote or two about Sodom and Gomorrah, which I've seen plenty of break-downs regarding, though what the Quran (or other Islamic texts?) says may differ.

Once you've done your research and come to terms with the information as needed (again, if you haven't already), I'd write a list of common questions and arguments you're family might make and come up with responses.

I don't know your family. They may shut down and simply tell you to get out and never return. (the worst case scenario [I hope - I don't know your family but if you think there is any possibility of physical violence I would definitely recommend either a video call - so you can see facial expressions - or staying near an exit while coming out])

They might ask you for space to think (okay scenario - kinda in limbo here).

They may surprise you with acceptance (best case scenario)

But they may ask questions and try to argue (middling case scenario).

They may ask things like why you're gay, argue that it's against your religion, etc. In this case, you have a chance to talk them into being supportive.

So.

Lists.

Brainstorm questions with your girlfriend - as many as you both can think of - and go through them. A lot of answers will be easy, some you might need to think more about/do research on (at least, that's my experience). But at least you'll both be armed with all the information you might need in the middling scenario (and it makes it harder for them to make you doubt yourselves, if that's something either of you might struggle with).

Of course, if you've already accepted the possible need to cut contact and gotten ready to move out you might've already thought of all this. Still, I hope this has been of at least some help to you, even if that's just by serving as a reminder that you aren't alone in this and that there's a community out here that supports you.

I'll be wishing you luck; I hope both you and your girlfriend get the best case scenario :)

[yurayura-kurage]

A3! Troupe Event: MY WORST WEDDING | Event Story Translation (8/11)

Neither Japanese nor English is my first language so please forgive me if I made mistake. However, feel free to point me out, I’d love to hear your feedbacks on the translation ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Translation under the cut

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Sakyo’s mother: ––Oh my, so this is what the bride’s makeup room looks like. It’s princess-like.

Azami: I’m sorry for being selfish. The one who stirred Sakyo up is me.

Sakyo’s mother: It’s alright. Because there is no doubt that you guys will never be able to persuade me unless doing this way, Sakyo said this just then, right.

Sakyo is also a stubborn child, isn’t he? He really inherited my personality traits well.

…I’m sorry. Now that you guys have had things done for me, maybe I should just honestly and happily receive it…

Azami: I know. Look at this first.

Sakyo’s mother: ––

Azami: This dress was made by Yuki-san, our theater troupe’s costume designer after asking Sakyo’s younger sister to check your size. 

Sakyo’s mother: Eh, you guys went out of your way just to do this for me…?

Azami: When I asked, he was excited to prepare the dress.

Sakyo is always stingy to pay for the fabric for our theater troupe’s costume, but when he asked Yuki-san to make the dress with the highest quality clothing materials, Yuki-san was pumped up. 

Sakyo was the one who paid for all the materials to make the dress. He also said that he’d pay for the designing and tailoring cost too, but Yuki-san told him he enjoyed making the dress, and it was for Sakyo’s mother so he’s gonna make it for free.

Sakyo’s mother: So that’s it… This dress is so beautiful.

Azami: Sakyo also said “If she doesn’t want to wear it, then that’s fine. It’s just the same as the hair tie I gave her back then.”

Sakyo’s mother: That child… He still remembers that story.

Azami: This is the dress that Yuki-san made only for you, so it’ll definitely look good on you. And I’ll make sure that you can wear it with confidence after I do the makeup and style your hair.

So why don't you give it a try and then decide what to do? Please, I beg you.

Sakyo’s mother: …If you insist, then I guess I can’t say no anymore. I’m counting on you.

But why does Azami-kun have to go this far?

Azami: It’s gonna be a quite long story, so I’ll tell you ‘bout it while putting on the makeup.

*Short timeskip*

Azami: I grew interested in makeup when helping my sick mother with her makeup.

Sakyo’s mother: Your mother is…

Azami: She passed away when I was still a kid.

Sakyo’s mother: I see…

Azami: After my mother passed away, Sakyo came to my house. My dad was busy, so Sakyo has been taking care of me for a long time…

*Flashback*

Dad brought Sakyo to my house when I was 6 years old.

“Sakyo?” “Right. From now on, this guy will take care of you.”

Ever since I was a baby, there were lots of young folks (*) coming in and out of my house frequently, so it’s not strange to see newcomers in my house, but among them, Sakyo was very young.

Until then, it was the young folks taking turns to pick me up and drop me off at the nursery school. But since that day, Sakyo has been in charge of all those duties.

“Oi, Sakyo. I’m thirsty." “What did you just call me… Here, drink some water.”  “I want orange juice.”  “If you only drink sweet things, you’ll get cavities in your teeth.”  “Orange juice!”  “You can drink it only when you eat snacks.”

“Then, I’ll have some snacks.” “Only after you’re done learning how to use the abacus.” “Annoying.” “It’s gonna be useful if you can memorize it.” “No one does that.”

“Then what are your pals doing?" “Don’t know. I’ve never hung out with them.” “...Do you want to play with bubble wrap.” “That’s boring!”

He’s naggy, and looked like a cold person at first, but he kept following me because it was his responsibility to watch over me.

I even spent more time together with him than with my dad, we started to open up with each other gradually, and it slowly became more fun playing with him.

When my mom passed away, I pretended to look fine in front of my dad, but deep down in my heart, that was a huge shock to me.

It was undoubtedly thanks to Sakyo that I was able to truly get over my mom’s death at that time. 

*Back to present*

Azami: Our relationship is different now, but we used to be close in the past. Thanks to Sakyo, I was able to pull myself together and regain my energy, even when I was in elementary school––.

That’s right. Actually I wanted to say thanks to you for this when we met last time.

Sakyo’s mother: These cards are…

Azami: When my dad banned me from playing the popular card game when I was in elementary school, Sakyo made these cards for me and played with me.

You’re the one who originally created this right?

Sakyo’s mother: That’s right… So that’s it… Sakyo gave them to you… 

Fufu. How nostalgic.

When I was making these cards while waiting for Sakyo to return home, I was disappointed with myself that I couldn’t buy him a popular toy. 

But that child looked really happy playing my handmade cards, and I was saved by that. It was hard to make a living back then, but thanks to his presence, I was able to overcome many hardships.

He has grown up now, but he’s still a little shy and cute, isn’t he.

Fufu. This is nostalgic. I wish I could hug that small child again… There’s no way he will let me hug him now.

Azami: Speaking of hugs… People seem to do wedding hugs these days.

The thing you do after taking the oath, t-that’s too shameless but… it’s okay if it’s just a hug right?

Sakyo’s mother: That’s right… Then maybe I wouldn’t feel embarrassed even in front of my children.

…But that child and Azami-kun are pretty similar. His father also passed away because of illness when he was little…

Azami: Perhaps Sakyo is doing his best to support my dad because he can’t show filial piety to his father anymore.

I’m also the same. I want to do something for you, and for the part I couldn’t do for my mom. It’s completely my own self-satisfaction though…

Here, it’s done.

Sakyo’s mother: It’s not your self-satisfaction. I’m pleased, too.

…I don’t look like myself. It’s like Cinderella’s magic, isn’t it.

It would be a waste if I don’t take photos when putting on this wonderful makeup and wearing this special dress that you guys prepared for me. 

If I don’t keep this as a commemoration, I may regret it for the rest of my life.

Azami: That means––.

Sakyo’s mother: I wonder if I can fit into this dress though.

Azami: It seems that it was made to be easy to adjust the waist and so on.

Sakyo’s mother: As expected of costume designer-san.

Azami: I’ll call someone to help you change costumes.

Sakyo’s mother: Ah, wait a minute––

Azami-kun, thank you for always taking care of that child.

Azami: ––No, as I told you earlier, it was me who has been taken care of for a long time…

Sakyo’s mother: Even this time too, I now understand Sakyo’s recent place to belong is–– I realize how important and precious the theater troupe and your house are to Sakyo.

He sometimes told me that he was looking after you when you were a kid… That child, he seemed to be having a lot of fun while complaining all the time, didn’t he.

Ever since he became your caretaker, the atmosphere around Sakyo has changed, he even became softer.

He worried about you so much that he couldn’t put his mind at ease as if he had a child of his own.

…That’s why you are like a grandchild to me.

From now on, please continue taking care of that child.

Azami: …Yeah.

Translator’s note:

(*) He was using the word “若い連中” here, which literally means young folks, and as far as I understand, this also refers to the young people who don’t have a certain rank in a yakuza group.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Previous || Next

[show-stoppin-enby]

I watched Nimona the other day and absolutely loved it!!!!!! The story was so incredibly touching, I will freely admit that I cried at The Hand Bit. It was a joy to watch the characters develop, the art style was AMAZING, I just loved it so so much!!!!

The only possible fault I could find is the rather obvious character naming. “Hmm, how do I establish that this dude is The (Conventional) Chosen One, descended from a member of royalty that is worshipped to the point of divinity? I know, I’ll call him Ambrosius Goldenloin!” Its like if your protagonist, who everyone hated for being the first dark-skinned non-noble knight, was given the last name Blackheart- oh wait! I’m sorry, but I cannot take a character called Ambrosius Goldenloin 100% seriously. I say this, but I want to clarify that it didn’t impact my enjoyment of the movie at all.

However, it was extremely refreshing to see a Chosen One that was neither the protagonist or a villain. Normally they are the Hero, or the well-meaning villain that fights to uphold the corrupt society that worships them. Ambrosius is, at his heart, kind. Even when he thinks that Ballister killed the Queen, when face to face with him after he escaped prison, his reaction isn’t “oh no! Dangerous Queen Killer is loose! I’m confused that my boyfriend is suddenly evil, so I’m channeling my emotions into sword-swinging rage!”. He is so clearly torn; he watched it happen right in front of him, and everyone around him that he trusts thinks that Ballister is a murderer, but he cannot bring himself to believe that Ballister could ever do such a thing. His face, in that moment, is anguish, confusion, betrayal, heartbreak - not rage. He wants to forgive him, so so much. Even later, when leaning into the “queer people Nimona is a monster who’s brainwashing you” rhetoric, he did so out of a place of such deep love and kindness that he was willing to go against The Director and the regime that he dedicated his whole life to in order to give his boyfriend another chance when no-one else would.

The character of Nimona herself? Perfect. Brilliant. Amazing. She can shapeshift and chooses not to look like a size 0 model, but a normal person with cool hair/ piercings and a grin that’s just a little bit too shark-like? Perfect. My little genderfluid chaos gremlin and I love her. On a more serious note, the LGBTQ+ themes conveyed through her character are so heart-achingly relatable; I don’t think I’ve ever felt this seen by a piece of media. I know it’s a bit of a cliche/ cringy thing to say, I’ve always thought so, but I GET IT NOW. When in response to terrified “what are you?”s, a simple “I’m Nimona” - you’re not entitled to an explanation of who I am. Ballister just saying “metal” with a smile, upon learning that she can breathe fire - someone accepts and loves you, unconditionally, finally. Sometimes enjoying when people see you as a monster, enjoying causing a bit of mischief and trouble, but also wanting to be seen as human. The main ideological difference between her and Ballister, especially: he wants to assimilate and be seen as a normal human, but she wants to destroy the society that created a “normal” that excludes and punishes her for something outside of her control - the argument between assimilate vs. keep queer spaces separate from cishet ones is one that has been debated for decades.

In the end, Ballister and Nimona swap roles: he realises the corrupt foundations of his society and wants to dismantle it, but she is done fighting; she’s tired, and hurt, and fought for CENTURIES, but gotten nowhere, and what’s the point of it all anyway, it’ll never work, it never does. She just wants to be seen as human. She spirals into a deep, deep pit of rage and anguish. What’s the worst that will happen, anyway? Everyone already sees her irredeemably as a monster. And when Ballister calms her, with just one hand and a few comforting words, she collapses. The fight is gone from her. She’s just a hurt, scared, tired little kid who desperately needs a hug.

The best villains (imho) are the ones who are relatable, who you can understand how they got to where they are, who scare you not through irredeemable acts, but through worries that in that situation, you would do the same - The Director is a prime example of this. Her ultimately fatal flaw is her fear of change; this is the way it is, and the way it has been for the past 1000 years, and it works perfectly well, so why change? Keep everything the way it is now, no matter the cost, and everything will keep running smoothly. She objects to Ballister ever becoming a knight, because it’s Not How Things Are Done. Change in tradition means unpredictability, it means things might go wrong. And if things go wrong? Well, you’ve heard the stories of what’s on the other side of the wall, we CAN’T risk things going wrong. She serves the system in rhe name of the ‘greater good’, and any price is worth paying, even the murder of the figurehead of the system itself. [tumblr mobile deleted the second half of this paragraph, and I’m too tired to rewrite it. It boils down to ‘at the end, she decides to fire the laser (and kill herself) rather than face the fact that she was wrong and deal with the consequences’]

This has become a whole analysis! Wow! I only wanted to make a snarky comment about the name Ambrosius Goldenloins, but here we are! Of course, this is not intended to be a full character breakdown, or even entirely comprehensible, I am currently not in the best of health and very tired and this is really just a drabble of admiration for a film that I very much enjoyed that got out of hand. I’m not very good at conclusions/ signing off or whatever, but I don’t want to ramble. I’m barely restraining myself from asking you to like the video, smash that subscribe button, and leave a comment telling me what you think.

Nimona is an awesome film. Watch it.

[starryevermore]

do not chastise the dove (7) ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley

do not chastise the dove ✧ a royal moon knight au | ao3 | pinterest board

pairing: knight!steven grant x fem!princess!reader x knight!marc spector x knight!jake lockley

series summary: you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you. 

chapter summary: steven wants to make things right with you, but his chance is stolen from him. 

word count: 2,464

warnings?: kidnapping, not proofread

Jake would say that he was the one who fell in love with the princess first. He’d speak wistfully, recall seeing you walk the halls of the palace, offering kind smiles and sweet words to everyone you met. It was impossible not to love you. But, Jake was completely, and utterly, wrong—about falling in love first, that is. Steven did not remember much of his childhood. He didn’t really want to, either, if he was being honest. Some memories, though, had stuck with him so clearly. He remembered being in school, learning about the royal family and about you. He remembered watching the news about Benjamin’s jubilee and seeing you for the first time. He remembered, one time, you and Elaine had come to his school on royal business and, when he was chosen as one of the students to have lunch with you and Elaine, you spoke to him nearly the whole time. He remembered getting older, becoming a Moon Knight, and you attending the ceremony where he was officially Knighted, smiling brightly at him. Jake was right—it was impossible not to love you. But he was not the one who loved you first. 

And that why Steven’s heart sank when he heard your whispered words, that losing them would be the worst heartache you’d suffered. Between family lies and assassination attempts, losing them would be the worst? He could hardly believe that you loved them as strongly as they loved you, and yet you were so sure they would leave. What ever had given you an idea quite like that?

He wanted to take control of the body, to pull you close, to tell you that neither he nor Jake nor Marc had any intentions of leaving you. But you thought he was asleep, and you had confessed something you didn’t think he would hear. Would it be some sort of breach of trust to confront you with it? As he laid there, he decided that he wouldn’t, but…But he would make sure you understood that, and Jake, and Marc, were all in. That they wouldn’t leave you unless you told them to. So, he let Jake hold you, deciding that, in the morning, he would make sure you knew how appreciated you were. 

But you were gone when he woke up. 

Panic settled in his chest as he looked around the room, seeing no immediate sign of your presence. But, as he stumbled out of bed, he noticed that your favorite pair of shoes were gone. That there were a couple more empty hangers. That, when he glanced in the mirror, there was a lipstick stain on his temple. That a near-finished cup of tea sat on the nightstand. That, next to the cup, there was a note that read, “I’m so sorry to leave you without a goodbye. My questioning was moved up, so I’ve gone to meet with Matt and Foggy. I’ll be back by lunch. ♡”.

And, when his heart rate finally began to slow, he saw Layla sitting in the living room of the suite. His brows pinched together, crease forming in the space between his brows. What was she doing here? If you were out, shouldn’t you be with your bodyguard? Should…should he resume panicking? 

“Shouldn’t you be with Y/N?” he asked. 

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “I should be. But, just because I’ve been cleared of any involvement, Parliament doesn’t want anything to be left to chance, just in case I’ve managed to dupe them. They’ve assigned her a couple of their own security guards.”

“I can’t imagine she was happy about that, either.”

Layla snorted. “She worded her displeasure so eloquently, the poor dopes thought she was flirting with them. Though, she could have been more outright and they probably still would have thought she was making a move.”

Steven crossed the room, sinking into the couch, sitting next to Layla. “I don’t like that you’re not with her. I…I don’t think the danger has passed yet.”

“It probably hasn’t. The king, Kieran, even Harrow…None of them have to jump through as many hoops to come and go as they please. I worry Parliament has made Y/N a sitting duck. It isn’t hard to find out where she’s staying, who her lawyers are, when she’s going to be questioned…All it takes is one half-baked plan for them to take her out.”

Steven swallowed thickly, glancing at the large windows that overlooked the kingdom. Staring back at him were Marc and Jake, concerned looks on their faces that he was sure his own face mirrored.

She’s going to be fine, Jake said. She promised to be back by lunch. She’ll be fine.

You don’t know that, Marc muttered. 

Layla watched Steven carefully, before asking, “What are they saying?”

Steven glanced back at Layla. “Jake thinks she’ll be fine, but Marc isn’t convinced.”

“And what about you?”

“…I think that, regardless of if things go well or go to hell, we should be ready for the worst case scenario.”

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been out in public without Layla. Or any other royal guard, if you were being honest. It didn’t feel right, being without her. And as you eyed Billy Fitzgerald, the guard that Parliament assigned to you, as he practically fell asleep during your meeting with Matt and Foggy, you knew that nothing good could come under his “watchful” eye. 

Perhaps it was wrong of you to unload these feelings now, to Foggy and Matt especially. But, you felt like you could get a genuine response from them. If you told Layla or your fiancés…Well, they would be comforting, you were sure of that. But you wouldn’t know how much of it was them trying to offer genuine reassurance and how much they were just trying to placate you.  

“I don’t feel good about this,” you said to the two lawyers. 

Matt raised a brow. “About the questioning, or in general?”

“The questioning will be fine,” you said. “I just have to stick to the truth. But everything else…I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been left alone for so long now or if something bad is actually going to happen, but I can’t…I have this feeling that something is going to happen. I don’t know if I’ll be okay when it does.”

Foggy spared a glance at Billy. “I can see why you feel like that.” He looked back to you, his face softening. “But there are a lot of people in your life who will do anything it takes to make sure you’re safe. There’s a lot of people in your court.”

“But what if they only feel like that because they think they have some obligation to me? That they worked with me…for me…for so long, it’s just another work obligation. That they were forced into this situation, and they don’t know how to get out so they keep playing the part.”

Foggy frowned, his brows furrowing together. “You don’t actually think that, do you?”

You sucked in a breath, before wetting your lips with your tongue. You didn’t like the thought, but it was one that hadn’t left you for a long time. “All I know is that my mother was the first and…and possibly only person who cared about me just as I am. Everyone else? I don’t know. I really don’t. Their care and concern could be genuine. Or, like I said, they feel like they have some feeling of obligation.”

A silence hung in the air. You could sense that neither man were quite sure how to address such a statement. You weren’t quite sure how to address it, either. If you did, you wouldn’t need to say it out loud, to ask someone else. You would’ve been able to figure it out up in your hotel room. But now…Now you knew that you didn’t have the first clue how to sift through these feelings.

“There’s a lot of things people will do out of mere obligation,” Matt finally said. “But risking their own livelihood? People don’t do that unless they care. People don’t go out on a line for someone unless that someone means something to them. Whoever it is that you’re concerned about…They care.”

“I don’t know if I can make myself believe that.”

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor pulled the three of you from your conversation. You turned your head, seeing Billy get of his chair. He groaned as he stood, stretching his limbs, before asking, “We done here yet?”

You looked back at Matt and Foggy. “Yes, I suppose we are. Will I be seeing you before the questioning?”

“We can pick you up, if you like,” Foggy said. 

You nodded. “I’ll call about the details when I return to the hotel.”

You got up from your seat, shaking Foggy’s hand and then Matt’s, before turning back to Billy. He opened the door, letting you walk ahead of him, before following after you. He walked behind you, which you found odd. Layla always walked at your side or in front of you. You wondered if that was a difference in training between the two guards. Then, a darker thought settled in you. What if this was the thing you were worried about?

Throwing a look over your shoulder, you tried to see if there was anything strange about Billy. If there was something you should be concerned about. But he kept his gaze ahead of him, not quite looking at you. When you turned back around, you realized you had reached the car. You started to grab the door handle to open the door—something you rarely got to do, but wanted to take advantage of since you doubted Billy knew royal protocol—when he said something. 

“I’m so sorry, princess,” he said. 

Your head whipped around, your brows furrowing together. Hm. Perhaps he did know something about royal protocol. But…then why did he have that look in his eyes? One of…what was that? Remorse? “Excuse me?”

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved faster than you would have expected him to move, grabbing the back of your head, smashing it against the window of the car. You crumpled, falling to the ground, everything going dark. 

Not again, you thought bitterly before your consciousness slipped away, followed by— I hope they know to look for me. 

The clock struck two, and there still hadn’t been a sign of you. Not a word, not a peep. Anxiety began to settle deep in Steven’s bones. He didn’t have a good feeling about this. He didn’t have a good feeling about this. He didn’t have a good feeling about this at all. 

“She’s not the type of person who eats lunch at four, is she?” Steven asked. 

Layla, who had taken to standing by the window, watching the cars drive by the hotel, shook her head. “She’s always had a strict routine. Lunch is at noon. Always.” She turned her head, raising a brow. “Have you met people who eat lunch at four?”

“Jake’s a weird guy is all I’m going to say.”

Hey!, Jake protested.

“Should we call someone? Matt and Foggy, maybe? See if the meeting is just running late?” Steven asked. 

Layla glanced at the clock on the wall, chewing on her lip. Then, she reached into her pocket, fishing out her cell phone. “I’ll call.”

“Put it on speaker, yeah?” Steven said, walking closer to Layla.  

She went through her contacts before settling on the one listed as Nelson & Murdock. The dial tone rung through the room as she hit the speaker button. After a few rings, Foggy answered, “You’ve reached Nelson and Murdock, Nelson speaking.”

“Hey, it’s Layla.”

Foggy dropped his more professional voice for a friendlier one. “Layla, hey! How can I help you? Y/N ready to set up the details about when we’re picking her up in the morning?”

Layla glanced at Steven. Steven was sure all of the color had drained from his face. No, no, no…The bad feeling wasn’t supposed to come true. 

“…Actually, I was calling because I was wondering if your meeting with Y/N was running late.”

“Uh, she left a while ago, actually. ”Foggy paused, calling out to Matt. Matt’s response was muffled, before Foggy said, “Yeah, she left at around eleven. Did she not make it back?”

“No, not yet. I’m sure it might just be traffic,” Layla said. Steven looked out the window, at the near-empty streets. “I’ll try calling her now. Thank you, though.”

As Layla hung up, Steven was already pulling out his phone, dialing your number. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again with the same result. He tried a third time, and he was ready to vomit when he went to voicemail. 

“This isn’t good, Layla,” he said. 

“…I’ll call…Shit, I don’t know.” Layla gripped at her hair, her eyes squeezing shut. “This was the fucking thing I was supposed to prevent. How could I let this happen?”

Call the prime minister, Marc said. Sam something. He’s the one overseeing the investigation, right?

“Marc says to call the prime minister,” Steven reported. 

Layla opened her eyes, considering the option. “…that might be helpful. I don’t have the bodyguard’s number, but Sam might.”

But as Layla started to dial Sam’s number, her phone began ringing— And Sam was the one who was calling. She glanced at Steven, worry evident in her eyes, before accepting the call. After putting the phone on speaker, she said, “I was just about to call you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel good, if I’m being honest,” Sam said. “Have you seen the princess?”

“That’s why I was calling. That bodyguard you assigned picked her up for her meeting, but they never made it back. Foggy said they left the office at eleven.”

“…our bodyguard never made it out of the building.”

Steven couldn’t stop himself from snatching the phone from Layla. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“Steven…We need to remain calm, okay? We’re going to get to the bottom of it.”

“What do you mean your bodyguard never made it out of the building?!” he repeated, aggression still present in his voice. 

“We just found Joaquin knocked out in a storage closet ten minutes ago. When he came to, he said he was attacked.”

“…then who the hell is with Y/N?” Steven asked. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “I’m sorry. I’ll alert the appropriate channels, but for now…”

“What?”

“We have to operate under the assumption that the princess has been kidnapped.”

[avabananas13]

Rockstar! (Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!Reader)

Summary: As soon as Eddie Munson has reentered your life, so has Steve Harrington. This leads to an awkward hang out and possibly an even awkwarder lunch.

TW: Angst, jealousy, Eddies kinda a dick, fem!reader but I tried my best to keep it gender neutral, cursing, cliff hanger ending, slight steve x reader if you squint

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I am so glad y’all have been enjoying this series because I’m really enjoying writing it. I’ve had such a shitty week but writing this has really be therapeutic for me. I really appreciate all of the love and support and I hope you enjoy this next chapter

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3: You Again

This was your worst nightmare. Face to face with your ex boyfriend, standing in the living room of a girl who you haven’t even known for 24 hours yet. Your jaw was on the floor and you were frozen in place. You figured you had a couple of options here, the best one being to run away. You would’ve done it too, if it weren’t for the fact that your feet have suddenly become cinder blocks. 

You and Eddie just stared at each other, waiting for someone to do something. You could see the panic on his face. When he heard Robin had befriended you he considered it to be a joke. There was no way in hell she actually befriended someone with such a high status like you. He never told his friends that the two of you dated, they just know his heart was broken long ago. However, he didn’t think it would be too hard for them to learn about your dating history. There were plenty of people back home who very much remember the two years you spent together and it was possible Robin heard someone mention it. Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she somehow remembered seeing you in the halls together when you all attended Hawkins High at the same time. Neither of those seem to be the case though. This was just pure chance.

“Do you two know each other?” an unknown girl's voice rang out from behind Eddie. You were staring at each other like you were daring the other to speak first. Which one of you had the pleasure of informing the room full of confused young adults how you know each other. 

“Know each other? This is the girl who gave me my cold, dead heart,” he said with a wicked laugh.

“Eddie please, you know I didn’t want things to end that way” you tell him. 

“You sure about that? I remember it much differently sweetheart,” Eddie remarked. 

Sweetheart.

A nickname that was once said as sweet as sugar, now laced with vicious poison. You tried to not be angry with Eddie considering the cause of your breakup was due to the distance, but it was hard standing face to face with him after so long. His hair was more grown out now and his body was littered with more tattoos. From an outside view, he looked the same but to you, he was even more beautiful than ever. 

“You know what,” you turn to Robin, “I think I’m just gonna go,” softly smiling at her and hoping Eddie would pick up on your dejected attitude. You needed to leave before your walls break, still trying to convince yourself that you’re completely over him.

“Yeah sure, just give up instead of putting the work in. Sounds just like you Y/N,” that was a low blow, even for Eddie. Breaking up with him was the hardest thing you’ve ever done but you knew it was the best option for the both of you. You were trying your hardest to remain civil, but he was proving to make it difficult. 

“Eddie, shut the hell up,” Robin starts and then turns to you, “Y/N please don’t leave. I truly didn’t know about your past with my friend here but I would love it if you could stay,” she tells you. Truthfully, you do want to stay. You really needed to get out of the house for a reason other than work but you didn’t know how you felt about these plans including your ex, the boy you were convinced you would marry one day. You look around the room and take in the group of people watching the scene unfold. You begin to feel slightly embarrassed by the whole situation, wanting to just have a chill night for once. You meet Robin's eyes and the pleading look she has makes you crack.

“Fine, I’ll stay,” you sigh. Robin's face instantly lights up with excitement, while Eddie is visibly pissed. You were determined to make some friends, and you won’t let Eddie Munson of all people keep you from that goal. 

“Yay! This is so great, I’m really excited for you to meet everyone,” Robin drags you closer to the group of people sitting around the living room and introduces you to each of them. The first one is Jonathan, he seemed nice enough and you remember hearing his name around after his brother Will went missing back in ‘83. Then there was Jonathan's friend Argyle who definitely has one of the weirdest names you’ve heard in a while, and you work in the music industry. He had some of the longest hair you’d ever seen and he seemed to be high out of his mind. The only other girl in the room was Nancy Wheeler, who you have a slight memory of from school. You learned that she was the only one who didn’t live here in LA. She went to school in Boston but was on fall break visiting. You also learned from Robin that she and Jonathan are a thing. Just as you were finishing introductions you hear the front door swing open.

“Did someone order a pizza?” you hear a boy's voice call out almost hero-like.  

“Hey brochacho you got one with pineapple right?, ” Argyle yells.

“No way, that's so gross dude,” the stranger responded, except he wasn’t a stranger. You recognized him as Steve “the hair” Harrington. Steve was actually someone you knew pretty well back in Hawkins. Both of your families were well-known around town which automatically brought you both together. You spent holidays with him, summers in his pool together, and would even spend time outside of your families together. You grew apart in high school though, shortly after you started to date Eddie. Steve wasn’t really an asshole, he just surrounded himself with assholes. When he heard you were dating Eddie he stopped talking to you, saying he wouldn’t be associated with a freak. Now, they seemed to be friends. When you think about it, he said the same thing about Jonathan too. Clearly, Steve had changed since high school and it was seemingly for the better. 

“Oh my god, Y/N?” Steve exclaimed after seeing you. He quickly placed the pizzas down and rushed over to give you a tight hug, which took you by surprise. Steve was basically your best friend pre-Eddie and you could feel your stomach flip at the idea of having him back in your life, you really missed him sometimes. He pulled away from the hug, still holding on to you by the arms. “It’s been so long and, oh man, I am so sorry for the way we left things,” he apologizes. 

“I can’t even believe you're here, why are you here?” you question, needing answers to how this peculiar friend group came to be. 

“Well, it’s kind of a long story but basically-” 

“You know Harrington?” you hear Eddie shout. You forgot he was still in the room for a moment and hearing his voice startled you. You turn towards him and his face is a mix between anger and jealousy.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends forever,” you tell him blatantly. 

“Y/N and I go way back,” Steve informs the group, putting an arm around your shoulder. Eddie starts walking closer towards the both of you.

“We dated for, what, about three years and you never mentioned his name,” Eddie grumbled.

“Well that's kinda my fault actually,” Steve fesses up, “See, we were close but then I found out she was dating, well you, and I stopped talking to her,” you feel hurt at all of those painful nights of crying in your room after losing Steve. You never told Eddie though, not wanting him to feel guilty. “But, I’m sorry I did. Jesus, I’ve missed you,” Steve pulls you in for another hug and you can feel him kiss the very top of your head. 

—

The rest of the night remains shockingly civil. You and Steve catch up on the last six years, you tell him what it’s like being a Grammy winner and he tells you what it’s like working at Family Video, which actually sounded very exciting to you. You were proud of him, being able to make his own living and not relying on his father anymore. Robin informed you that the two of them actually worked at the one in Hawkins together and now they’re both working at one here in LA. You thought it was cute how close they seem to be, but Robin made sure to clarify that they are strictly Platonic, with a capital P (her words). 

You got to know the group pretty well, ending the night by getting Nancy's phone number for her place in Boston and the number for Jonathan and Argyle's apartment. You all devoured the pizza Steve got while watching the movies Robin rented after her shift at Family Video earlier. The most surprising part was that Eddie stayed the entire time, even though he stayed pretty quiet most of the time. When you left you hugged everyone goodbye, except for the metalhead, and Robin walked you out. 

“ I just wanted to say I’m sorry again about Eddie,” she told you.

“It’s ok, there's no way you would have known about our past,” you softly smile at her. 

“Luckily he’s hardly ever home anymore so if you wanted to you could come over again soon,” she says.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you respond.

“I think Steve would like that too,” she giggles.

“Oh trust me, Steve and I are just friends,” you assure her.

“Does he know that?” she questions. You knew Steve had a crush on you when you were kids but you always thought it was just that, a crush. You two spent so much time together it wasn’t really a surprise that he had one on you. You sometimes laugh thinking back on the time he told you he liked you. You were in seventh grade and he was in sixth. You were playing tag in your backyard when he kissed you on the cheek and asked if you’d be his girlfriend. You laughed at him and said you were far too old for him, even though you’re only five months older than him. 

“Of course he knows that,” you tell her, earning a hum in response. You walk towards the curb and begin the process of hailing a taxi. When you finally get one you turn towards Robin and bring her into a giant hug. “Thank you so much for tonight, I really appreciate it. Call me tomorrow, ok?” she nods enthusiastically as you get into your transportation. You look out your window and you wave goodbye to each other as you head home for the night.

—

You were expecting to feel lonely again once you got home but you felt anything but that. You had four new friends and rekindled a relationship with your best friend. The worst part of the night was Eddie. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He prayed you didn’t notice but how could you not, his eyes were burning holes into your skin. You knew when Eddie was jealous, plenty of guys flirted with you over the course of your relationship, and that was most definitely the case tonight. The only thing that made it worse was the fact that he was even more attractive now than ever. He really grew into his features these last few years and what can you say, you’ve always been a sucker for tattoos. 

You were laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Eddie when the phone began to ring. “Hello?” you answer.

“Hey Sweetheart,” it was Eddie, speaking of the devil. 

“What’d you want, Munson?” you ask expressionless.

“I wanted to apologize for today actually,” this piques your interest. Never in a million years have you known Eddie Munson to apologize.

“Oh, really?” you say surprisedly.

“Yeah, I was kinda a dick to you today,” he says sincerely.

“Yeah you kinda were,” you tell him. 

“Look, since it seems like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other now, I was thinking we could get lunch or something? Maybe talk about everything,” his attitude has done a complete 180 since earlier. Truthfully, you did want to talk to him. It had been really hard not talking to him for these last few years and even though you were over him, it doesn't mean you don’t miss him. If you learned anything today after seeing Steve it’s that people change, and maybe the same applies to Eddie.

“Sure, I’d like that,” you say.

“Ok well are you free tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yeah I am actually. We could go out around 1,” you suggest.

“Works for me, is there anywhere specific you wanna go?” he asks you.

“Maybe that place on 2nd? The burger place,” you hope he knows what you're talking about.

“Yeah I know it, that’s fine. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he hangs up. Eddie knows why you chose that place and you know why you chose that place. Back in Hawkins the two of you used to go to Benny's diner all the time, before his tragic death, and this place was the closest LA had to Bennys. You would go to this diner all the time after moving out here, yearning for the taste of home. 

—

Eddie too used to go to this diner all the time after moving out here, not because he missed a town that hated him but because he missed you. While you were completely over Eddie, he was nowhere near close to being over you. Eddie was convinced you were the love of his life and the last three years of his life he was dedicated to finding a way to get you back. He almost died in the Upside Down, which just pushed him even further to have you back in his life. 

Now, he’ll be the first to admit that he went about this all the wrong way. He never should’ve sent Tom to that party, sending you a message from him. He never should’ve acted like such a dick when you came over either. And he really didn’t mean to get jealous over Steve Harrington, his best friend. His wake up call came abruptly though as Robin went ballistic on him after you left. She told him that he needed to get his head out of his ass and apologize like the big boy he is. He didn’t love her wording but it’s what he needed to hear. 

So, here he was calling you after three and a half years inviting you to lunch. Eddie felt his heart leap out of his chest when you agreed to meet with him, he didn’t think it would be that easy. He was, however, prepared to let you yell at him tomorrow. He would stop being such an asshole and suck it up, it was time for Eddie Munson to act his age (but only for this). 

— 

You couldn’t believe it. Almost four years have passed since your break up with Eddie and so much has happened in your life, you’re an entirely new person now.  What if he hated the new version of you, not that you should care but you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering there. You wanted to know what he’s been doing since your break up, seeing as he refused to talk when you were all hanging out earlier. 

There was very little you knew about him now, except that Corroded Coffin was still going strong and he was friends with people you never would’ve guessed, like Steve. That's what you really wanted to know, how in the world are Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington friends? Luckily, you planned to have all of your questions answered at lunch tomorrow. You also planned to tell him just how freaked the fuck out you were when he sent Tom to your party. He seriously needs to tone down the creepiness. Your mind was wandering everywhere and what you really needed was some rest. You put your thoughts on hold and decided it was time to get some sleep.

You woke up that morning with a ball of nerves in your gut. You went on with your usual morning routine which consisted of a quick workout, a mango smoothie, and a warm shower. It was the same thing every morning and you were ok with that. You like routines, it gives you a sense of control in a world filled with chaos. After your routine you headed straight to the studio, having a meeting about your new album. The new album was set to release in a little over a week and the pressure was on. Your first album was super successful and while this one was projected to be even better than the first, that's still a lot of pressure on you as a person. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, you’re gonna be huge,” Glenn greeted you as you walked into the studio.

“Glenn I have two Grammys, I think we’re past me being huge,” you laugh.

“I know, I know, kid,” he laughed too. You follow Glenn into the meeting room where multiple execs and PR people are waiting for you. You take a seat next to Glenn and your publicist Lisa, who gives you a hug when you enter the room. Lisa and Glenn were the closest you had to friends before meeting Robin. They took you in when you had nobody and you were very happy to have both of them. 

“So, Y/N, I hear you have a thing going on with Eddie Munson,” one of the many execs says in a teasing tone, but it still makes your jaw drop. Is there now a rumor going around that you and Eddie are dating? You blame that idiot Tom. You guarantee he was telling people at your party that you and Eddie used to date, spreading around a rumor that left out the past tense. 

“No. Been there, done that,” you try laughing it off, Glenn and Lisa joining you. They both were there during your breakup with Eddie, helping you pull yourself together. 

“Oh my mistake. I swear, someone at the party told me you two were together currently,” you called it, fucking Tom. This would be another thing you’d be talking to Eddie about at your lunch. 

“Why am I not surprised,” you sarcastically say. 

—

The rest of the day went by pretty quickly and before you knew it the clock read 12:30. Luckily you had a driver today so instead of taking a taxi you had Clark to take you to the restaurant. You were unsure if Eddie drove or not, remembering that stupid van he cherished so dearly in high school. This left you clueless as to if he was already there or if he’d be late in typical Eddie fashion. He was there though.

Eddie had been stressing out about seeing you again, really seeing you, that is. He was going to apologize for being such a dick towards you. He knew that much but the rest, well he was just hoping he’d make it home alive. He was a big boy now, he was willing to listen to you this time around and if you wanted to rip him a new one then so be it. 

He was sitting at a booth that was closer to the back, more secluded in case you really got into it, fidgeting with each of his rings. He checked the watch on his wrist, 12:58, you’d be walking in any minute now. The closer it got to 1 the harder he found it to look at the door, scared to face you when you eventually did arrive. The diner was pretty empty right now so if he heard the bell ring he could only assume it was you. He felt as though he'd been sitting there for eternity when really it’s only been two minutes and the second the clock reaches 1… ding

He looks up and meets your eyes. You give him a small smile, so small he almost missed it, and he’s preparing himself for a conversation that would hopefully end with you back in his life, whether that be friends or something else. Eddie was hoping it'd be the something else.

—

A/N: Thanks so much for reading this! Reblogs and feedback are always appreciative. Let me know if you want added to the taglist for this :)

Taglist: @lightcommastix @sweet-villain @sidthedollface2 @gaysludge​ @akiratoro420​

[deepspacedukat]

No Stone Unturned

Not gonna lie, this one took a fair bit of thought. I’ve never written this particular kink before, so here’s hoping this is half-decent! Enjoy!

Day 24: Cuckolding

SoC prompt list here. SoC Masterlist here. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Koval (ST:DS9) x Romulan!Reader, Unnames Romulan OMC x Romulan!Reader

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Cuckolding, mild threats, sex as a bargaining chip, exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation, one relationship is previous, the other is current/established, ALL ACTS ARE CONSENSUAL.

~*~

“I’m disappointed,” a cold voice called from the shadows of our hotel room. My husband and I had checked in earlier under assumed names. We’d only stepped out for a quiet dinner, and when we came back...that was the first thing we heard. “Given our history together, I would have thought you’d know better places to hide than this. But then again...”

He stepped into the meager light permeating the space, and we found ourselves looking at none other than the Chairman of the Tal Shiar.

“...No one can hide from us.” Koval’s words were a threat, a promise, and a death sentence all wrapped in one. We had tried to run after a deal fell through, yet here we were, cornered by the man who would likely slit our throats. “You’ve been such loyal contacts for so many years. What changed? Why did you do it?”

“We didn’t betray Romulus, we would never,” my husband’s voice croaked, and despite his fear, I knew he was speaking the truth. We hadn’t betrayed our people, but one of our own contacts had. We’d come out here to find proof and had been partially successful in doing so, but we weren’t ready to present it to Koval yet. “If you’ll just let us explain–”

The Chairman held up a single gloved hand, and my husband’s voice fell away as if he’d been muted like a computer monitor. I couldn’t blame him. I felt as if my own tongue had suddenly evaporated.

“Yes, I’m aware of your search efforts. Did you think you were being subtle or evasive for a single moment?”

“Th-Then...” I hadn’t meant to start talking but once Koval’s eyes snapped over at the sound of my voice, I forced myself to continue. “Then you know we’re innocent?”

“Of course I do, or I’d have killed you both by now,” he said taking a few slow, measured steps toward us, stopping in front of me in particular. I dropped my gaze to his boots, but he quickly tilted my head up again with a tight grip on my chin. “What I want to know is why neither of you trusted me enough to explain the situation to me. I want to know why, after all our years of business, you did not even consider the idea that I might listen to you.”

His eyes pierced right into my soul, and I felt more ashamed than I ever had in my entire life. Koval was right. We’d known him for nearly fifteen years. He’d trusted us with sensitive information and tasks before. There was no reason to think the worst, and yet...we’d panicked. We’d allowed our fear to rule us instead of our minds. What fools we’d been!

“Have I not protected you before?”

“Of course you have,” I breathed, and his grip on my chin loosened a fraction as he flicked his eyes over to my husband.

“Have I not ensured your safety even on the most dangerous missions?”

“You have, Dhaemnasi.”

“Then why?” Koval asked looking back at me. “Why make me chase you all the way out here? All you have done is make yourselves appear guilty of a crime which I can easily prove that you did not commit.”

“We were afraid.” The words sounded feeble, even to my own ears, but they were the truth.

“And are you afraid now?”

“Only that we have irreparably damaged our amicable relationship with you, Dhaemnasi,” my husband murmured, and I nodded my head in agreement. Koval lifted an eyebrow as he turned away and strode to a small sofa at the side of the room.

“Oh, I’m certain we will find a way for you to prove your loyalty once more,” he said taking a seat as elegant as you please and looking over at us. “For others, I would be much harsher, but for the two of you...I’m quite open to suggestions.”

Glancing at my husband, my gaze met his. I could see that he and I were on the same page. We’d discussed this eventuality, even if it had seemed unlikely at the time.

“I believe we have a potential solution,” I called as I walked slowly toward the Chairman lounging in our hotel room’s living space. “We would be willing to offer thirty percent more casework than before as well as some additional...personal services.”

The gleam in his eyes told me he knew exactly what I meant, but the practiced tilt of his head made him seem as though he was quite ignorant of the implications my words held. His hand lay on the armrest at his left side, and with deliberately slow movements, I reached out and brushed my fingertips lightly over his knuckles.

The burst of pleasure that flowed between us served to steal his breath and mine. Accustomed to touching only my husband in such an intimate manner since we got together, I couldn’t help the guilt prodding at the back of my mind. He’d agreed to this though. We both had. Both of us were aware of Koval’s...tastes, so we decided that if this option had come to fruition, I would attempt to pique his interest as I had so many times before my husband and I were together. He hadn’t slapped me or shoved me aside yet, so I assumed that continuing probably wouldn’t get me killed.

As my fingertips skimmed up the back of his hand to his wrist, my breathing picked up and my eyes met his. His irises seemed darker than before.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Koval stated gently, giving me an easy way out. Yet another mercy that I didn’t deserve.

“If you want me to stop, I will, but I think you know that I am not opposed to this.” My fingers paused in their path, but I didn’t remove them from his skin. A soft, pulsing hum flowed from his mind to mine - a question of some sort. If he was testing my sincerity, he’d find no flaws. I was entirely serious. After a long moment of silence, Koval stood, towering over me.

“Stopping wasn’t what I had in mind, however, I know that you and your husband are quite devoted to one another. I was the one who introduced you, after all.”

“We are, but we’re also honest with one another,” the significance of what I was implying made him glance between us. “Yes, he knows.”

My husband certainly did know everything. He knew that Koval and I had been involved long before he introduced us, that the Chairman and I had been intimate more times than we could count.

He also knew that if it hadn’t been for him, Koval would likely have taken me as his wife. The Chairman and I may have been an imperfect match, but the passion had never been absent - it still wasn’t after all this time. Even as I straddled his lap atop our hotel bed, my husband settled into a chair to observe what we had been before he entered my life.

Wasting no time once we were nude, Koval moved me easily onto all fours on the bed and thrust into me in one long stroke. A moan escaped me at the familiar, burning stretch. One of his hands gripped my hair, pulling my head up far enough for him to growl in my ear as my eyes met my husband’s.

“There is nowhere you could’ve hidden from me.” The tent in my husband’s trousers looked almost painful as Koval began to fuck me with all the fervor of our pent-up desire. “You know I would’ve left no stone unturned. Where you go I will always follow, e’lev, even to the ends of the universe.”

What might have sounded like a hollow promise to anyone else was, in truth, a solemn guarantee. Though I may not be Koval’s lover anymore, he’d promised me that I’d always have his protection. A sliver of residual guilt over the way we’d been reunited snaked through my abdomen, forcing the breath from my lungs.

The Chairman had felt it, I knew he had. Bending over me, he released my hair, opting instead for wrapping his arms comfortingly around my torso.

“Stop thinking. Allow yourself to feel instead,” he murmured scraping his teeth over the crook of my neck. And I did. With my husband touching himself to the sight of another man fucking his wife, I allowed myself to become lost in sensation.

~*~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani​ @android-boyfriends​ @attention-bajoranworkers​ @bigblissandlove1​ @darkmattervibes​ @emilie786​ @horta-in-charge​ @live-logs-and-proper​ @slutty-slutty-vulcans​ @starrynightgardens​ @toebeans-mcgee​