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lixis-sin-cauldron · 4 years ago

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Father Figure: Punishment [Eraser Head | Shouta Aizawa]

Rating: Explicit 18+ content MINORS DNI. Pairing: Shouta Aizawa (Eraser Head) X fem!reader Word Count: 4.4k Kinks and Warnings: noncon, pseudo-incest, slight somno, vaginal fingering, oral, vaginal sex, unsafe sex, creampie, abuse of trust, restraints, everything bad. Seriously. Aizawa is not a good dude in this.

Summary: Aizawa had taken you in and raised you, loved you. Fought off his urges for so long, but when he found out who you were hanging out with he couldn't control his anger. You just didn't get why he was upset, no matter how hard he tried to explain. If you refused to listen, to understand; he'd have to punish you until you did.

Notes: This fic was inspired by @shorkbrian’s Aizawa fics – Father Figure part 1 and 2. Written with permission as a kind of 1.5 of what the first time Aizawa forced his stepdaughter was like. For an overall understanding of what the story between Aizawa and the reader is please read at least part one first, though it was the paragraph about the scene in part two that made me want to write this.

Links to the fics are here: Part One and Part Two

Can also be read on Ao3 here: Father Figure: Punishment Big thank you to the @dymphnasprose for beta reading this.

By clicking ‘keep reading’ you are actively consenting to see adult, and possibly disturbing, content; and in doing so, saying that you are of an age to see it, and that you’re emotionally capable of handling it. The tags and warnings there to ensure you are fully aware of what content you will encounter before reading, if you proceed knowing something will upset you - you did that to yourself and that is not my responsibility. [further info on this concept here] [and here] [and here]

It was a slow boil at first, Aizawa’s anger, since he wasn’t a man who got angry easily. Yet, when he saw you get out of the car after a day out, saw the ‘friends’ you’d spent the day with, saw you hug those boys goodbye. That they dare ever touch his daughter – well, he felt fury at that moment, barely restrained when you walked into the house.

He tried to make you understand. See how stupid and dangerous it was to be alone with them, how upset he was that you had kept the fact you had male friends secret from him. Even if you were grown up now, you were still weak and so innocent to how men think. You just didn’t get it, how much he worried about you.

How much he loved you.

His fingers tapped in an unsteady rhythm against the wood of his desk while he tried to calm down in his study. Tried to control himself like always did when it involved how he felt about you, but the fire inside was raging and refused to quiet.

How could you not tell him who you were with? Surround yourself with those beasts? He could still smell their stench on you after they hugged you.

A dark thought came to him, what if they had already had you? Spoiled you?

No, no. He knew that wasn’t possible. Not yet, you still felt the same. He would know, he could feel it. You were still pure, untouched… but for how much longer? How long until one or more of them thought they could try to taint you?

You were his baby girl, his darling. It was Aizawa who had taken you into his home. It was him who had raised you, taught you, cared for you like no one else ever could. He loved you more than air itself. After all he had done, he had earned you.

He had earned you.

He finally boiled over, standing so suddenly that his chair toppled over and clattered to the ground. If you wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t see he was right about those boys…

He’d make you understand.

You looked so angelic, nestled into piles of blankets on your bed in nothing but a nightshirt and panties; your chest raising up and down gently as you slept. His own chest swelled with love at the sight, wanting to slip in beside you and take you in his arms – it was one of his favorite things to do with you, napping together. Feeling your soft curves as he held you, your cute little ass pressing against him.

The fact you had never even noticed the hard-on he hid during those naps showed just how naïve you were to the world of men.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, heavy with sleep, as you felt your body shift and arms move. Aizawa came into focus, confusion at the sight of the man you called your stepfather.

“D-dad?” You muttered as you registered the man hovering over you. Your confusion slipped into panic as you noticed the tight grip he had on your wrists, wincing at the pain that came as he pressed them together against your headboard with one hand. “Dad! What-what are you doing?” you cried, struggling against the tight hold.

He shushed you, “It’s okay, sweetheart.” He purred, brushing away a few strands of hair that had clung to your lips in your sleep.

“Let go!” You were screaming now, twisting and turning in his hold. You tried to kick at him, but he was sitting on your waist, locking you in place so only the lower parts of your legs could flail around, failing to reach him.

“I’m almost done.”

You felt a soft material brush against your tender wrists, wrapping around them. You look up, trying to make out what it was in the darkness of the room. The shape of a long cord came into focus as your eyes adjusted to the dark, binding your wrists to one of the thick poles that decorate your headboard.

The binding tightened against your skin as Aizawa pulled it into a knot, locking your hands in place above you.

“Stop! Let me go!” You demanded again, trying to wrench your hands free.

“Stop,” he growled, grabbing your cheeks rough, forcing you to settle your gaze on him, “It’s just me, baby girl. Just Daddy.” He cooed; his harsh tone having disappeared as quickly as it came.

“W-why are you-? What are you doing?”

“As much as I want to feel your arms around me, I know it will be easier for both of us like this. I promise I’ll untie you when we’re done.”

“D-done? What are you talking about, what are you going to do?”

“I tried to make you understand before, but you just wouldn’t listen.” He shook his head; hand sliding from your face.

“This is about earlier? A-about my friends? I told you-”

“Just because you think you know them; doesn’t mean you do. I won’t let them taint you. I love you too much to let that happen.” He stroked your cheek gently as he spoke, a loving smile on his lips as he stared at you.

“I-I l-love you too, Dad. I’m sorry I upset you. I promise I’ll be careful around them and-”

“You don’t understand,” he growled again, shaking his head angrily, “but that’s okay. You don’t have to. I’m going to take care of you, that’s what Daddies do. They take care of their little girls.”

“You’re scaring me!” you cried, tears coming to your eyes as you started struggling against the weight of him on top of you, trying to throw him off.

A soft groan from him caused you to freeze, feeling something hard against your hips where he sat. “D-dad?” you whimpered.

His eyes were closed as he sighed through parted lips, slowly opening them and giving you a sweet smile as he came back from whatever headspace he had been in as you had struggled under him, “Nothing to worry about, Baby,” his placed his hands on your sides, fingers slipping under the fabric of your nightshirt, “I know this can be a scary thing, but I promise to make you feel so good. I’ll take my time with you, show you how much I love you.”

“N-no, d-don’t touch me.” You begged, trying to pull away from the touch, retreating into your bed to no avail.

His course hands glided up, dragging the shirt as he moved and exposing your skin. As he reached the soft mounds hidden beneath he pulled the shirt over them to bring them to view. He let out a long sigh at the sight.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect. Such cute, perky breasts.” He trailed a finger over a nipple, circling it.

“No, no, no,” you whimpered, deep sobs breaking between each rendition of the word, “please, no.”

Aizawa paused, bringing his hand to your face and brushing away tears from your cheek gently with his thumb, “Crocodile tears have never worked on me, remember? I know you don’t want to be in trouble, but this needs to happen. You need to understand. I’m the only one who really loves you, who has been there for you forever. The only man you’ll ever need.” He pressed his lips to yours as he finished speaking.

You bit him.

He reeled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and glancing to see if there was blood. There wasn’t but his lip throbbed from the attempt. He glared at you before slamming his palm into your shoulder and pressing you into the mattress.

Your head bobbed violently with the impact despite the pillow you rested on, mind swirling as you tried to regain your senses.

Aizawa sighed, eyes shut tight as he calmed himself.

“No more tantrums, sweetheart,” he cooed at her with a smile, calm once again, “if you keep acting up like this, I’ll have to take drastic steps to make sure you behave. Understand?”

Your Father had never been a violent man, all you had were happy memories of him but in this moment, seeing that twisted smile, your body was overcome with terror at just what he would do to you if you tried anything else.

“Yes.” Your reply was a whisper, barely audible.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed you again, mouth eagerly taking yours. You were as still as a rock at the touch.

His mouth drifted downwards, light kisses against your neck as he traveled.

Hiccups mixed into your sobs as they started again, realizing what he was doing – where he was going.

His journey took him exactly where you predicted, his scruffy chin rubbing against the soft flesh of your breast. You squirmed involuntarily at the feel of his breath on your nipple but remained in place from his hand still pressing into your shoulder.

You gave a whimper as he took the soft peak into his mouth; suck at it delicately, rolling his tongue around it. His free hand took perch on the other breast, kneading it and rolling the unattended nipple between his fingers.

A struggled gasp came from you at the stimulation. He hummed happily at the sound, blowing lightly and causing the point to tighten and become erect. He shifted his focus, taking the first breast in his hand after removing it from your shoulder and drawing the previously neglected one into his mouth to taste as well.

He remained like that for a short time, making sure to keep his attention balanced between the two; suckling and massaging. He ignored the soft sobs you emitted, the pleas and refusals, and instead enjoyed the shivers that he caused your body to have.

You didn’t want to feel the things he was doing, the strange ache at your core that Aizawa’s actions were building inside you. You hated it, you wanted to scream but didn’t, fearful of what he may do if you did.

He moaned, rubbing his cheek again one breast as he finally relented and took a deep breath, drawing in your scent. “See, Baby? See how good Daddy can make you feel? I’m the only one who can make you feel like this, because of how much I love you.”

“Y-yes, D-dad, I understand. Ar-are we done?” You sniffed, lips quivering as you spoke.

He gave a chuckle at that, “Of course not. I’m just getting started, sweetie. I’m so excited,” he started his soft pecks on your flesh again, starting between your breasts and trailing downwards along your stomach, “I’ve wanted to taste you for so, so long and now I get to.” He slid from his seat atop you, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear.

Legs suddenly free, you felt a new burst of energy and started kicking at him. It was a futile effort, he grabbed your thrashing limbs easily, holding them tightly in his strong grip and pressing them down so they laid flat.

You whimpered at the tight grip as he pressed into you.

“Now, now,” he said, a hint of anger in his voice as he stared you down, “I know you're nervous – I am too – but don’t be a brat or I may hurt you by mistake. You don’t want me to hurt you, do you? All I want is to make you feel good, make you realize Daddy is the only one you need in your life.”

The hand drifted away from your legs, hovering to see if you would act out again. You remained still, trembling as you looked away and buried your face into the curve of your arm, not wanting to see what else he planned to do.

He wouldn’t even let you have that small relief, pulling you back to face him, “Such a shy thing, but I want to see your face so don’t look away again.” No request of confirmation this time, just the threat of what would happen if you disobeyed him anymore.

Returning to the panties, he slid them off slowly, twisting them down your legs despite you pinning them together tightly in a last play of resistance. You gagged as you watched him bring the cloth to his nose, taking a long inhale and let out a staggered sigh. He stuffed the undies into his pocket carefully when he finished. You didn’t want to know why.

He didn’t seem to mind the way you pressed your legs together, simply pushing his hands between your knees and easily parting them with disciplined strength. His happy look faded as his eyes fell between your legs.

“Who?” He growled, seeing the hairless plain of your pussy.

“W-what?”

“Who the fuck are you making yourself so neat and clean for?” His voice was a controlled shout, but his eyes were full of rage that made you shrink.

“N-no one, I- I- I just like it like that-”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” He snapped, knowing your tells all too well, “Is it one of those boys from before? Have you let someone else see you? Touch you?”

The venom in the words sent renewed terror through you. What would he do if he thought you had been with someone else?

“No! No!” You screamed, “He hasn’t-”

“So, there is a boy.”

You had slipped up, said more than you meant to. “Y-yes,” you hiccupped, “b-but w-we haven’t… h-he hasn’t seen…”

He relaxed; knowing you were telling the truth as you trembled beneath him. His hand returned to your face, wiping away the tears and snot that dribbled down it, “Good. That’s good.” He praised, petting you softly before returning his focus to lower parts.

Aizawa tilted his head as his eyes studied you, a smirk slipping back to his face, “I like this, now that I know it’s something only I get to see.” A finger ran along the clean scape, dancing along the skin back and forth between your thighs, leaving goosebumps where he touched.

He moved, pulling your legs apart further and positioning himself between them, resting one over his shoulder. He easily slipped a finger between your folds with one hand while the other gripped your leg tightly in place over him, bracing you as you wiggled from the touch of him in your most intimate place.

“So pretty,” he purred, spreading your lips apart so he could see the silkiness inside. He sighed at the pure, untainted look of you, “Look at how eager you are to be played with.” His tongue ran up and along the part, causing you to cry out.

“No, no, please, no – Dad, please – don’t do this. Please.”

The words fell on deaf ears as he continued, savoring the taste of you as he explored further with his tongue, finding the cute nub under its hood at the top of your slit. It throbbed, reacting to the stimulation he had been forcing on your body. He twirled around it, watching you with dark eyes as you squirmed at the sensation.

He drew the nub into his mouth, sucking on it harshly, causing a loud moan to escape you as he worked it. He pulled back his head and released it, a pop emitting as he did so, “That’s right Baby, just relax into it.”

Before you could reply, denying the enjoyment and that the noise had just involuntarily come from you, he returned to the mound and began nursing at it, making your words cut before they even began as you whimpered and whined, fidgeting in his hold as he worked.

It became more difficult for you to hold back the noises as he intensified his focus, a finger slipping into you, massaging your insides; curling and twisting to find the points that caused the most response out of you. A slippery, squishy sound filling the darkroom as he sucked at and slipped in and out of you, mixed with your struggled moans, hiccups, and sobs.

As you became wetter, he slid another finger inside – relishing the gasp that came from you as he did so. He spread the two inside you wide, pushing against your velvet walls and stretching you. Working you as he twisted them, loosening the tight space in preparation. As he massaged you, he felt the walls constrict around his fingers, pressing them closed as you tightened with the orgasm.

He sucked at you eagerly as you came, tongue gliding along your opening and lapping up the juices while steadying you as your back arched and toes curled with the intense phenomenon.

Finally relenting, he let your leg fall to his side; straightening himself so he could take in the full view of you as you quivered, your hands locked in a death grip around the pole of the headboard that you were tied to, eyes glossy and wide as you tried to regain your senses.

“See? That’s how much Daddy cares for you. No immature boy would be so meticulous with you, making sure you were nice and ready for him before they rutted into you like some wild animal. No, a real man – one who loves you, like me - takes his time. Aren’t you glad that you don’t have to worry about anything, knowing Daddy will take care of his little girl?”

You gave no reply, just staring at him as you tried to understand why this was happening, your tears and sobs having stopped as your mind realized they were useless.

“Let’s clean you up,” he fussed, taking his shirt and sliding it off. First, he wiped his own face, then ran the fabric over your cheeks, clearing away the dry tears and mucus before finally wiping it gently over your inner thighs. “Look at you… so beautiful.” He stared at you longingly, taking in your disheveled form.

He brushed away the hair that had fallen over your face before taking your chin in his hand and leaning down for a kiss. It wasn’t a simple one this time either; his lips parted, pulling yours apart with them. His tongue slithered in, finding yours and twisting around it, sucking at it.

You tried not to think about the fact you could taste yourself.

“Let’s see…” Aizawa hummed, eyes studying you carefully after he withdrew.

You let your head fall back into the pillow, eyes to the ceiling as he contemplated. Hoping he was finally done.

“Ah, yes.” He lifted your hips, taking another pillow from elsewhere on the bed and sliding under you.

“W-what are you doing?” You asked, confused by the action.

He nodded, understanding the confusion, “A logical question. You see, it's important to elevate the hips, that way it's easier to move. Makes everything feel better.”

“F-feel better? What- Aren’t you done?”

“Of course not,” he purred, rubbing your thigh up and down, “I told you, sweetie, I’m not going to let anyone else have you. Your first time is supposed to be special, with someone you love and who loves you. Some hormonal boy would never be good enough for you.” He worked at his waist, unbuttoning it and sliding the zipper down as he spoke.

Your eyes went wide, and you started scooting away from him, “No, no, no – you can’t – this is-”

He held you in place, your legs spread open around his, “Now, none of that. I’ve told you plenty of times already. If you had just listened to me and stayed away from those animals… well, we’re past that now.”

He tugged the pants down, boxers with them, and took his dick in hand; stroking it as his eyes traveled along your exposed body, “I’ve dreamed of this for so long, held myself back – but you had to act up, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered, looking away from him, not wanting to see him stroke himself or the raging hard-on he had.

“Don’t look away, remember?” He growled.

Your eyes snapped back to him, locking to his to both fulfill the command and do your best to avoid the rest of him.

“Good girl.”

“Please, Dad, please. I’m your daughter, remember? You-”

“You’re right,” he nodded in agreement. You started to smile, thinking you had gotten through, then he continued, “You’re my little girl. That means no one else gets to touch you, but me.” He growled, pressing the head of his cock against your soaked pussy.

You tried pleading more, screaming and begging him to stop, but those went silent with a whimper as he pressed inside you. At first, just the head entered, slow and steady, but the moment you enveloped him he lost the control he had and thrust hard, shoving every inch of him as deep as he could.

A slow exhale slipped between his parted lips as he felt you encompass him. “Finally…” he whispered, eyelids fluttering as he rested inside you. He gave a blissful smile, “See, baby? See how well you take me? It’s like you were made for me. It feels amazing, doesn’t it?” He seemed not to notice or care that you were shaking, your nails digging into the wood of the headboard as your body quivered at the sudden invasion.

He started rocking gently, hips slow as he moved. As he did, he continued to ramble; praising you and calling you his little girl, saying how good you felt. How he shouldn’t have waited so long for something you both wanted.

The gentle words turned to growls and harsh words as he started moving faster, the bed started to shake as he did. He went on and on about how you belonged to him and how dare some children think they could take you from him. That you just had to provoke him, make him act out, and have to punish you like this.

“Move your hips, sweetheart, it will make it feel even better.” He commanded, taking your hips in hand rocking him in time with his thrusts.

At first, you hated it, knowing he was right about how it did feel better. How with each plunge into you he did, the better you felt. Yet, as it continued, you fell into the feeling, letting it envelop you and help you slip away from the reality of what was happening.

He noticed. He noticed your muscles relaxed, your moans get louder as you took over from his guidance and rocked with him on your own.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” He growled in ecstasy, his arms wrapping around your body as he buried his face into your chest. He started pressing deeper, harder. Jack-rabbiting into you over and over, the pressure causing you to bounce against the mattress and press back into him, forcing cries and moans from you as you were overcome with the reactions he caused.

“That’s right, come for Daddy,” he purred, feeling you clench his cock tighter as you reached another peak. He slipped a hand down between your legs, his fingers rolling your clit to edge you closer.

You screamed as the wave rushed through you, the headboard rattling in your grip as you shook.

Aizawa didn’t slow despite this, pushing through the tightness of you and pounding into you further. Crying your name, praising you, and fawning over how amazing you felt.

You weren’t sure how long it kept going; time lost as he rocked in and out of you, playing with you and pushing you to orgasm again and again. Soon enough all that came from you whimpering moans as he continued, bringing you to another edge.

“Yes, yes, that’s my girl, come with me,” he moaned from his current position over you, your legs held around his waist as he sat on his legs and pumped into you.

He was finally going to finish, you realized. Thankful that it would soon end but then you considered what that meant.

“W-wait,” you stuttered, trying to remember how to speak, “don’t-” your words cut as he arched his back, rutting deeply into you and knocking the wind from your lungs.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to pull out. It’s our first time, I’m not wasting a single moment.” He stated, seeming to understand your intent but misinterpreting, as always, into what he wanted.

“No, no. Please, Daddy-” you begged as you felt your climax roll through you.

Aizawa reached his peak too, your calling out to him like that pushing him over his edge while you squeezed around him. He grunted, pressing as deeply inside of you as he could as he filled you. He rocked gently, forcing out what was left from the initial surge. Then he was still, his head hanging as it swayed back and forth. He set your legs down gently on the bed, releasing his hold on them.

Despite his warnings, you buried your face back into your arm, trying not to think about what he had just done - not wanting to be lucid enough yet to believe everything that was happening. You whimpered as he withdrew and tried pressing your legs shut in response, but he stopped you, holding them open.

Aizawa smiled, watching as your pussy pulsed and the thick, white liquid dribbled out of the tight little hole he had just been inside. Reaching into the pocket of his pants as they rested around his knees and he pulled out his phone, blinking at the bright light as it turned on before pressing the camera app and aiming at the sight before him.

“Look, see how amazing you made me feel?” He asked, shifting to lay beside her and showing her the photo he had taken.

You didn’t want to look but knew he would force you if you didn’t. You had thought your tears all dried up, but seeing the photo, you started crying again.

“Shhh. Shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know,” he cooed, setting the device down and petting your hair gently.

As he comforted you, he untied the binding of your wrists and let them fall. You didn’t try moving despite the freedom and just remained limp as he drew you into a loving embrace. “I know, the first time is overwhelming. So many new sensations, but Daddy made sure you were ready and took as much time as I could. That’s how much I love you, I wanted your first to feel amazing. The next time will feel even better as your body learns to work with me.” He rubbed a cheek against your hair as he spoke.

You trembled at the words he had spoken, the implications. You wanted to run, but you had nothing left so you just laid there in his embrace, dead-eyed as he continued whispering sweet nothings to you.

——Tag List ——

(Please check this post if you would like to be included!)

@underratedmage @tomurasprincess @elektraeriseros @lilleeboi @smolladyy

#aizawa #yandere aizawa #aizawa x reader #eraserhead #mha #bnha #dark content #tw:incest #somno #abuse of trust #yandere #please advise me if i miss an important tag or tw #shorkbrian #sin #stepfather #stepdaughter #dont forget a reblog brings a smile to a face

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clanoffetts · 4 years ago

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someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

chapter I

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blooms.

warnings/things to note: star wars swear words; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); blatant lack of knowledge of ship mechanics; only one use of ‘Y/N’

word count: 5.1k

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. Actually, one had never showed up. And this one was huge. A buff man, covered in heavy armor that had been painted blue. Even his helmet evoked fear. The townspeople were watching myth become reality.

The large man walked into Aliria’s Shop. The shop had a name once, when Aliria’s parents had opened it, but that was some 80 years ago now. The shop had survived the Clone Wars and the Empire, not to mention the constant flow of smugglers and thieves customary to the Outer Rim. Aliria’s Shop wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

It was a fairly small shop, especially considering all the things packed into it. Aliria carried food, clothes, a small array of weaponry, and medical supplies. There wasn’t much in the little town, a droid mechanic, a ship mechanic, a small infirmary, and a bar. Aliria’s Shop was the hub, she had the essentials.

The Mandalorian was like a bull in a china shop inside the store. Aliria had crammed crates, tables, and shelves into every crevice of the store. Not to mention the various pieces of merchandise hanging from the ceiling.

“Watch it, Mandalorian!” Aliria yelled at the man as he almost hit the shelf of fruits with the huge gun on his back. She may look like a frail older woman at the age of 75, but her voice didn’t show it. Aliria’s tan skin was weathered and her body was tired, but her voice held life. She was the backbone of the community.

The armored man let out a gruff sorry before moving on. He was looking down at his gauntlet, reading some kind of list. “Kriffing hell, how do I find anything in here?”

“We don’t get many outsiders, Mandalorian,” she said. “But my sales associate can help you. She was an outsider once, too.”

The pitch black of his visor shifted to you. Your hair was a bit messy, as you’d just helped your co-worker unload a speeder of goods. But you smiled at him. A change of pace is always nice. You walked from behind the counter to be in front of the Mandalorian and you asked, “What are you looking for, sir?” Your customer service voice was rough, you never needed to use it with most of the customers. They knew you personally, everyone knew everyone here.

“You got ration bars?” His voice was gruff and deep, but you couldn’t tell if that was just because of the helmet.

“Not many,” you told him. “Maybe ten? Aliria has such good prices, no one ever needs to buy a ration bar in place of real food.” It was a sales pitch you’d been taught when training here, but it was the truth. Why pay a credit for a ration bar when you can pay a credit for instant noodles?

He huffed a little. “I’ll take all ten.” This man was weird, you decided. “Non-perishables? Do you have any?”

“We’ve got some beans, some vegetables that won’t go bad for at least a few years, rice, and a few other things. They’re all kind of scattered around.”

“Of course they are,” he was annoyed. “Where’s the vegetables?”

You pointed through a door at the back of the shop. “Greenhouse out back. Tell me what you need, I’ll go grab it.” Reluctantly, he showed you his gauntlet. It was a grocery list. You locked the information into your mind, grabbed a basket and headed to the greenhouse.

When you got back, he was in the same place. He must’ve seen your confusion because he said, “I’d rather not waste time looking for things myself. I figure you’d be better at it.” And you were. You helped him get everything he needed, but the list just got weirder. Baby formula, toddler sized coveralls, ammunition, a journal, and more miscellaneous items that made no sense to you. You didn’t believe a Mandalorian was going to hand write something and in a journal, no less.

You wanted to know more, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t be keen on questions. Before you’d come to Dantooine, you’d been all over the galaxy and heard stories of Mandalorians and their secrecy.

“What brings you to Dantooine, Mando?” You ask as you ring up the last of his items, putting them in the up-cycled grain bag grocery bags. You were tired of the tense silence, Aliria had gone into the back to do Maker knows what, and the Mandalorian’s stare was unnerving.

“Work,” he said. His visor remained unmoving, his eyes were on you. You had a feeling that ‘work’ was something either illegal or close to it. “You?”

You were surprised. And, again, he must’ve noticed. “The old lady said you are an outsider, too.”

“Was an outsider, Mando,” you correct, bringing up his total. “I came here for work, too.” He could tell you were lying, or at least not sharing the whole truth. “It’s two-hundred credits, Mando.”

He reached into a pouch on his belt, and pulled out all the credits. “That should be two-hundred.” It was. Exact change and everything. Once you’d counted the money and placed it in the register, he grabbed all his bags with ease and turned to walk out.

“Have a nice day!” you tell him, remembering your lines Aliria insisted on. He said nothing in return.

Paz Vizsla arrived back at his ship far out from the town. He put the bags of supplies for the covert in the cargo hold and cleared the message from Armorer that detailed what they needed. After the covert had to relocate, they were in desperate need of supplies. Especially for all the children who lost a buir or, Maker forbid, both buire. The children who had basically become foundlings. Paz’s heart broke for them, he tried to be the best ba’vodu, but there some things that even stories from Uncle Paz couldn’t fix.

He’d spent the little bit of left over change from the bounty on something for each kid, even Bezza, who was old enough to be treated as an adult at seventeen. She’d lost her buire, and the least Paz could do was get her a nice, leather-bound journal that she’d been pining for. Something hard to come by in a galaxy that had moved on from physical writing.

Paz closed the cargo hold and began moving himself towards the cockpit. He was tired, and though no one else agreed, he was getting old. Nearing 44, he was ready to just be Mr. Vizsla the teacher, Uncle Paz, and hopefully buir someday. But he was one of the Tribe’s best fighters. They needed him to keep hunting, so he did. This is the Way.

He moved to start up the ship. It gave a groan, but lit up all the same. Paz began his takeoff procedures, but the ship wouldn’t budge. Kriff, he thought. This can’t happen. Paz Vizsla was a capable fighter, fluent in Mando’a, and a brilliant teacher, but he was no mechanic. That had always been his biggest shortcoming. I have no credits, he realized. Stuck on Dantooine with no credits.

Dirt kicked up behind heavy boots. Hands stopped their work so heads could turn. It wasn’t often a Mandalorian showed up. But this one had now shown up twice. The awe of the townsfolk was still the same. He trudged back into Aliria’s Shop. This old woman would know someone willing to fix a ship for some food, he thought. She seems to know everything.

Except, when he walked in he was greeted by a new face. Not the saleswoman who’d helped him a few hours ago, nor was it the old woman. “How can I help you?” The boy asked. He couldn’t be more than sixteen.

“You know anyone who’d be willing to fix a ship for a meal? Or maybe a small blaster?”

The kid shook his head. “No one around here is that desperate. I’ll go get Aliria, though. She might know someone I don’t.” The kid retreated into the back room without fully taking his eyes off Paz.

When he returned, he had Aliria hobbling along next to him, bony hands around his arm. “Zenith says you need a mechanic? There’s a shop down the road but what he charges won’t be worth what you get,” the woman says.

“I need someone who will work for something other than credits,” he says. “I don’t have any.”

You looked up from the datapad in the backroom. You had experience as a mechanic, you were rusty after all these years, but better than the other option, who probably learned by seeing a few pictures on the holonet. Maybe this was your ticket back out of the Outer Rim. You’d amassed enough credits to at least get an apartment for a bit until you can get work. Core Worlds always had open jobs, and you have connections. You hated to leave the little town, but it had always been the goal. You just thought it’d be many more years.

You stepped out of the back room. “I’ll do it, Mando. I’ve got experience, I can probably fix it.” Zenith seemed surprised, but Aliria just smiled.

“I can’t pay,” he reiterated.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you’ve said. We’ll negotiate the price on the way to your ship. You got tools?” He nodded. “I’ll be back tonight, Aliria. I’ll finish up inventory then.” The old woman told you not to worry about it and shooed both of you off, ready to get back to whatever she was up to in the storage room.

As soon as the door shut behind you, you said, “Passage to Hosnian Prime. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Hosnian Prime? Do you know how long it’s going to take me to get from Dantooine to Hosnian Prime?” He was annoyed. The ship must be having a minor issue, but you were wanting a major payment. “And so far out of my way, my home is in the Outer Rim. And I’ll have no credits to refuel.”

Now you were the annoyed one. “I’m fixing your ship, Mando. You said anything but credits. My offer is passage to Hosnian Prime for the fixing of your ship.”

“How do I know you can even fix my ship? Why aren’t you the town mechanic?”

This wasn’t something you wanted to get into. You hadn’t talked about it in so long. Not since you got to Dantooine and Aliria took you in, vowing to help you back to wherever you wanted to be. “I was done being a mechanic, Mando, that’s why.”

“So you decided to work in a dingy little shop? With the galaxy’s oldest woman?”

You felt anger grow stem from the seed of annoyance. Aliria was like your grandmother. Like the whole town’s grandmother. And here comes an outsider, insulting Aliria’s shop. Aliria’s family built that town from the ground up. And this outsider insults her. “Do not speak of Aliria or her shop like that again, Mando. Or I won’t fix your ship and you’ll be stuck on Dantooine forever.”

Paz felt bad. He’d cut too deep, he’d only meant it to be a friendly dig about your job, a job most people weren’t ever satisfied with. He’d thought you’d laugh. He’d thought wrong. You walked in silence the rest of the way.

“This is your ship?” you asked. No wonder it wouldn’t get off the ground. “Maker, Mando, what have you put this thing through?” It was dented, covered in carbon scoring, and there were chunks of it missing. You could only guess how bad the inner workings were.

“A few altercations,” he replied. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was looking at this sorry excuse for a Mandalorian’s ship with love and pride.

You laughed a little and shook your head. “I haven’t even looked at the wiring, but I think taking me to Hosnian Prime is the absolute least you could do for the work I’m going to have to do on this thing.”

“I just need it to fly,” he told you. “Nothing fancy.”

“Mando, this thing is going to pull itself apart when you try to leave the atmosphere. I’m surprised it even made it through,” you told him.

The ship always groaned a little when Paz asked it to do things, but it always had obeyed. Without fail. Until now, of course. “It did sound a bit...pained when I arrived.” He left out the whole being fired at by ex-Imps and the harsh landing he’d made that’d landed him here.

“Alright, I’ll go take a look, if that’s ok? And I’ll try to tell you when I think I’ll have it done.” He nodded, and pushed a button on his gauntlet, giving you access to the ship.

“Bad news and good news,” you told him as you reemerged from the ship. “Bad news is this is a piece of junk and you should replace it. Good news is I can fix it and it’ll only take a few days.”

A few days. He needed to get these things back to the covert, they needed them. “Ok,” he said. “But before I take you to Hosnian Prime, we’ll need to make a pit stop on Yavin IV. I gotta get these supplies back.” You nodded, just as long as you’d be getting to Hosnian Prime at some point.

“I’ll get started, if that’s ok?” He nodded and you retreated back inside. The external damage wasn’t as crucial as the internal, your job was going to be rough.

It was a long, hard rest of your day. The blasted ship held the humidity of the planet tightly and your coveralls were thick. You’d brought down the top half to tie around your waist, leaving you in your tank top and bra. You caught glimpses of the Mandalorian as you moved past the port holes, and he just sat there on a rock, not moving. All day. You couldn’t imagine the heat under that armor.

When you came out of the ship again, it was night. “I’ve made good progress. It won’t be done tomorrow, but maybe the day after. If I’m lucky, of course.” And worked almost non-stop, you silently added.

“Good,” he says. “Go home and rest, dal’ika.”

You furrowed your brow. “My name isn’t dal’ika.”

“I know,” he said, and then he moved past you onto his ship.

“Good night to you, too!” You called.

You walked to Aliria’s small home once you got back into town. She deserved to know your plans, you thought. She’d probably even help.

“Ah! Dear! You’re back!” she said. “I was worried the Mandalorian would take you, but then I figured you’d comm if he’d try anything.”

You smiled. “He didn’t do much of anything. Just sat there.”

“What did you tell him your price is, dear?”

You took a deep breath and sat on the sofa next to her. “Passage to Hosnian Prime.”

“You’re leaving?”

You nodded. “It’s time,” you said. “I have enough credits, especially since I won’t have to pay for transportation.”

“What will you do there, dear?” Aliria was worried. You were a grown woman, yes, but she felt protective.

“Find General Organa,” you said. “See if she keeps promises.” You knew she would. She always had.

Aliria gave a bittersweet smile. “I knew you’d leave someday, but I never thought of how it would feel.” Her heart was breaking, and so was yours. This woman took you in when you showed up a mess on Dantooine, she held you during nightmares, and she helped you buy the little hut you now call your own. She gave you a job and a place in the community. “You’ll do much good on Hosnian Prime, dear. I know you will.”

You didn’t know what she meant, but somehow you believed her. “Thank you, Aliria. Thank you.” You couldn’t seem to say anything else, but it wasn’t adequate to what you were feeling. You needed a stronger phrase, but you didn’t know one.

“Take care of that Mandalorian, now,” she said, trying to be a bit more lighthearted. “I’ve always thought you’d like a warrior husband.”

You rolled your eyes. All the old women in town were like this. “He barely even talks to me and calls me dal’ika instead of my name, which he hasn’t asked for, by the way.”

“He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure. Especially if he’s got to take you from here to Hosnian Prime,” Aliria said. “You didn’t talk much when you arrived, either, remember?”

Aliria always had a way of finding the good in people, even if it was hardly there. That was rare, especially this far out in the galaxy, and you cherished it. You’d learned early on not to do that, but Aliria helped you open up more. Maybe she was right, this journey would result in a new friend.

“Ok, Ali, I will take care of the Mando,” you said. “Now I think I’m going to go home. Want to be up early tomorrow to fix his ship.”

She nodded and patted your knee. “Take the speeder bike tomorrow, it seems like a long walk.” You nodded, and placed your hand over hers for a moment. “Good night, dear. Sleep well,” she said and then she shooed you out in the way only an old lady could.

The next morning it was cooler outside. The trees swayed gently in the soft wind, and you became grateful for the coveralls as you picked up speed on the bike. You looked the same as you did the day before, just a little less rested. There was a little sunlight, but not much, and there were still a few nocturnal animals on the path.

Arriving at the ship, everything was still closed up, and the big Mando nowhere in sight. You contemplated banging on the door, but before you made a decision the door lowered into a ramp and he walked out. “You’re very early, dal’ika.”

“Told you I would be. Need all the daylight I can get.”

“Indeed.”

His gaze bore down on you again. You really took in how large he was. He had to be over six feet tall and maybe even closer to seven in the armor. A few people in town speculated that he wasn’t actually as buff as he seemed and that it was just the armor, but you doubted that.

“I’ll go ahead and get started, if that’s ok?”

He nodded. “You don’t have to keep asking, dal’ika.”

“That’s still not my name,” you said in a singsong voice over your shoulder as you walked up the ramp. He walked over towards some of the denser areas of trees.

You tried to watch him as discreetly as possible through one of the port holes, but you had a suspicion that, somehow, he could tell you were watching. He walked over some of the logs of fallen trees that had piled up towards the edge of the clearing. He picked two large ones, one in each arm, and set them upright. Then, he placed the large stones on the top of and behind them to keep them standing.

He retreated a few yards, and his hands slid down to his thighs. He brought two blasters back up. Ah, you thought. Target practice.

As much as you knew you needed to begin your day’s work, you stood at the port hole and watched him fire blast after blast, and you knew he hit each spot he intended to. He moved back farther, fired some more, and then moved off at angles. You never thought you’d be attracted to a man whose face you’d never seen and name you didn’t know, but here you are.

Finally, you tore your gaze from the beskar-covered man and began your work, getting the tool box from where you’d left it yesterday.

It was noon when you walked down the ramp again. The Mandalorian had finished his shooting hours ago, and had now shed his shin and thigh armor, along with the heavy cannon he carried on his back. He was already looking at you when you stepped into the doorway.

“Need something, dal’ika?”

You shook your head. “Lunch time, Mando.” You pulled some kind of bar out of your pocket. “It’s got meiloorun filling,” you brag.

“Sounds good,” he said, a little amused at what you considered something to brag about.

You sat down on the rock opposite him. “You want one? I’ve got an extra.”

“No, thank you, dal’ika,” he replied.

You sunk your teeth into the grain and meiloorun bar, chewed, and swallowed. “What language even is that?”

“Mando’a,” he said. “The language of my people.”

“The Mandalorians?” You ask dumbly.

He let out a chuckle, it was small, but the vocoder processed it. “Yes, dal’ika, but I thought that was obvious.”

“What’s that mean? That word you’re calling me?”

He contemplated for a moment, but finally told you. “Dal’ika means woman in Mando’a. Well, dala means woman. The ‘ika bit just means it's a nickname. It implies that you’re, well, small. It’s used for kids a lot but also for friends.” He regretted saying that, in case you found it insulting or weird. He quickly moved on. “And I definitely consider you more than an acquaintance, especially since we’ll be spending some time together.”

You looked at him. You’d never thought of yourself as small. “Well, that’s good to hear. And I think everyone is small next to you, Mando.”

He laughed again, and you took another bite. “I suppose so. What is your actual name?” You tell him, and he nods. “I can call you that, if you’d like?”

“Dal’ika is fine,” you say. You’d never really had a nickname before. “But you can call me my name, too, if you want.”

“Ok, dal’ika,” he said. “Where are you from?”

You looked at him. Why all the questions? You briefly thought of home, but closed your eyes. “Rather not say.”

He nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry that I keep saying the wrong things. I really should know better, considering I don’t like too many questions, either.”

“It’s ok, it’s not like you know what will strike a cord,” you tell him. You hurriedly finished your lunch, eager to get back on the ship in case memories of home flooded back into your mind and tears flooded your eyes. “Well, I’m off,” you say, standing awkwardly and walking back to the ship, leaving the Mando by himself again.

You sat on the floor of the ship, one of the flooring panels removed, working on some wiring. In the back of your mind you saw your childhood home, the mountain peaks you could see from the backyard, and the neighbor kids that you’d played with every day after school. You remembered leaving. You remembered never being able to go back.

Your hands are still in the wire compartment in the floor. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and smiled to yourself. Aliria always said smiling makes you feel better. It worked, and your hands began moving again, replacing and connecting wires.

Again, it was nightfall when you came out of the ship. The Mandalorian had all his armor on again, and he stood as you emerged. “I should’ve walked you home last night, dal’ika. It was dark when you left, I’m sorry for not offering.”

You felt your heart swell a little. He was a gentle giant, you decided. “Thank you, Mando, but I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s not like there’s dangerous people here.”

“Still,” he insisted. “I should have.”

You gave up and replied, “That would’ve been a kind gesture. I would take you up on the offer tonight, but Aliria lent me her speeder, so I don’t need an escort today.”

“As you wish,” he replied. “Just be careful, dal’ika. Hosnian Prime awaits.” He walked past you and onto the ship, just like he had the night before.

The next day was almost the same, except you had to walk. Aliria needed the speeder for Zenith and supplies he was picking up from a nearby farm, but apart from that, everything was the same. You made small talk with the Mandalorian over your lunch (a star fruit bar today), and watched him shoot his blasters from afar. You got a lot of work done today, most of the hard stuff was finished and now just needed some tweaking. You moved on to the exterior of the ship a few hours before nightfall.

“Dal’ika,” he said as you started working on the exterior. “Only do what you absolutely need to on the outside. I’d hate to see your hard work go to waste when I get into another altercation.”

You nodded, but replied, “I hope you don’t plan on getting into one of your altercations while I’m aboard.”

“Well, I never really plan on them, but I’ll be extra careful if it makes you feel better,” he told you.

You smiled. “It does.”

“It’s going to get dark soon,” he said.

You nodded, opening one of the exterior panels and examining it. “I know. I just have a few more things,” you assured him. “And then I’ll take you up on your offer to walk me home.” You turned your head towards him and smiled, but what you didn’t know was that your smile brought the slightest blush to his cheeks.

Paz sat back down on his rock while you worked on the exterior. He thought about the smile you’d given him, how you weren’t afraid of him. There’s something more to this one, he thought. Something’s made her tough, and it wasn’t this village.

Finally, you finished. “Alright,” you told the Mando as you exited the ship after putting the tools up. “It should fly, but we can test that tomorrow. For now, I need to go home.”

He nodded and stood from the rock. “Lead the way, mechanic,” he said.

You walked a pace or two in front of him, even though he didn’t really need to be led to the town. It wasn’t like there were many of those around here, but he let you, and you rambled about the place with pride. About Aliria with pride.

After a few beats of silence, he spoke up. “May I ask what’s on Hosnian Prime? If you don’t want to answer, just tell me.”

“An old friend,” you said and looked back at him again. This smile was different, he noticed, but he wasn’t sure how. “I haven’t seen her in a long time, but I know she still cares.” You were telling him the truth, so why did you feel like you were lying? He didn’t need to know that General Organa was the friend or why you knew her. But you almost wanted him to know. Still, you held back.

“Oh,” he said. “Sounds nice. I’ve heard good things about Hosnian Prime.” Truthfully, he hadn’t heard anything about Hosnian Prime except that it was the new capital of the New Republic.

“I have, too,” you agreed. “What about you? What’s on Yavin IV?”

“Family,” he said. He was telling the truth, so why did he feel like he was lying? And why was he trusting you with the planet of the covert?

You nodded. “I figured, with all the baby stuff you bought. Is your wife a Mandalorian, too? I heard Mandos can only marry Mandos.”

He was shocked a little, forgetting that you didn’t know much about his culture. “No, I don’t have a wife. Or kids of my own. My Tribe is my family, and there are kids in the Tribe. They’re just not mine.”

“Oh, interesting,” you said, kicking a rock in front of you. You were surprised to find yourself relieved that he did not have a wife. “So, like, can you only marry inside your tribe?”

“No, dal’ika,” he laughed. “We’d end up with some interesting children if we kept it in the tribe. Some people marry within the tribe, some never marry, and others marry outsiders.” He didn’t really know how accurate his answer was. Maybe, in big tribes, people did just marry in the tribe. But the covert he belonged to was too small for that.

You kicked the rock again as you arrived at the place it had landed. “Huh,” you said. “Guess I never thought about that.”

“We prefer people not think about us at all,” he replied. His tone was solemn when he said this, and you instinctively placed a hand on his armored arm to comfort him. The Mandalorian was brought to a blush under his helmet again. Maker, he thought. How’s she doing this to me?

You walked into the town in comfortable silence, your arm now wrapped around his, fingers lightly rubbing the armor. It was meant as a soothing technique, but you doubt he could feel it under the layers of metal and cloth. Eventually, you neared your home. “That one’s mine,” you pointed. The house’s door was painted blue, and your flowerbed was filled with blue flowers.

“Your house matches my armor, kebiin’ika,” he said.

A new nickname. “What’s that mean?”

“Kebiin is blue. And, you know, ‘ika is ‘small’ and an endearment.”

“Little blue?” You ask.

He nodded. “Ding, ding, ding,” he said. “You’d pick up Mando’a quickly, I think.” You smiled at him, you spoke Basic and Huttese already, why not learn a third? He smiled back, though all you could see was metal and visor. “Are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes, I think that’d be good. Tomorrow after lunch, maybe? I’ve got to pack up my stuff and say good-bye to everyone.” He nodded. He’d forgotten that you’re leaving your life behind. “I don’t have much stuff, by the way, so don’t worry about that.”

He chuckled again. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t worry. We’d find the space.” There was a warmth in his voice that made your whole body warm. You could tell he cared about the people close to him deeply if he cared about a stranger like this.

You unlocked your door and stepped inside. You weren’t expecting a good night, as you had no reason to, but you did stop yourself from closing the door all the way.

You looked up at him through the half-open blue door. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “For walking me home. It’s very kind.”

“You deserve kindness, Y/N,” he replies, as if it was painfully obvious. Then, you realized he said your name. Your real name, not some Mandalorian nickname.

You smiled again, your lips were beginning to hurt but your face wouldn’t let you stop. “Will I ever get to know your name, Mando?”

“Someday.”

#paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #mandalorian #Star Wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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that-damn-girl · 4 years ago

Text

Safe In My Arms

(Loooong-ass Oneshot)

Pairing: Curtis Everett x (cis)Fem!Reader (Snowpiercer)

Words: 13.3k (I don't know how this happened)

Type: Angst (sorry) leading to smut to fluff. Happy ending.

Chapter/Trigger Warnings- Kink List: Smut. 18+ Please. Angst. Minor adult+underage character deaths. Talks of not wanting pregnancy and abortions. Foreplay. Oral sex. Unprotected sex (This is fanfiction. Please be safe). Daddy kink (not full on ddlg). Dirty talk. Orgasm denial. Multiple orgasms. Cockwarming. Rough sex. A little bit degrading. Kinda sub/dom. Aftercare.

A/N: This is my submission for @nsfwsebbie’s dream fic challenge. Thank you so much for hosting this challenge, and I am terribly sorry I was so late to submit this. I had gotten @sweater-daddiesdumbdork 's dream fic prompt. I was so happy when I'd received your prompt, specially for Curtis. I have said it before and I'll say it again that your version of Curtis is the best I've read till date. I can't deny that how I see Curtis now is heavily inspired by your works. You had technically answered my requests twice earlier and nothing had made me happier. Hope this is good for you too.

*flashback in italicised part.

Curtis trudged through the narrow pathway between the bunks. The smell of death and despair was acrid in the air, burning his lungs, mind and heart as he inhaled it. He tried not to think about it, not to pay attention to the rancid mood and downcast faces he passed by, but it was ingrained in the atmosphere. It was everywhere. Painful. Hurting. Even for those who weren't directly affected. Such was the horrendous crime done. Again.

His long, hurried steps carried him to his destination. The one place he knew he'd always find respite from the madness going around him. The one place he knew he could forget, for good. The one place he could feel safe, and feel as if capable enough to save the rest. The one place which had become his home. You.

Funny how he thought that that day was going to be any good. Not that any day had been good ever since he had boarded the train. No matter what or how much of anything good that happened, there was always something bad, if not worse, happening to bring down the morale.

Relatively though, - because isn't always things about relativity? - some days were good. Especially with you at his side, or him at yours. It was the company, the promise to go through anything and everything by each other's sides no matter what, supporting and comforting each other through it all that kept him sane, gave him hope. Hope for something good despite the shortcomings of the train. Hope to be optimistic enough to hope for good things to come his and your way.

The day had started like any other. Him waking up snuggled to your side, you body pressed warmly against his. The loving kisses, the pretty smiles. And then there was the teasing as he and you stood in line for the morning rations.

You stood in front of Curtis, waiting patiently, moving forward step by step for the pathetic excuse of breakfast they called protein blocks. Your meal was still far, a long line of other tail-end passengers in front you, waiting for their chance as hungrily as you were. There was hunger present in you all right, but it wasn't just for unfavourable grim ruby red blocks. You were hungry for something much more delightful and pleasing, tangy and yet sweet, something much more delicious than anything you could have had.

Subtly - or at least trying to be - you pressed yourself against the solid mass of the man behind you, your hips naturally settling in front of his crotch. You ground your backside against him, knowing the reaction it would elicit from him. He wasn't stimulated right then, but it didn't take long for his half hard member to poke you, resting snugly in between your ass cheeks.

Grinning gleefully, you doubled your efforts. His hand shot forward in an instant, trying to stop you. Your grin turned into one of victory, knowing how much he was loving and hating it at the same time, unable to drag you back to your bunk and give you what you wanted right then. You didn't stop though.

Curtis squeezed your arm in warning. Your hips kept rocking back and forth on his. He bent down and spoke into your ears, his hot breath tickling your skin, "Y/N, stop it."

You turned your head to glimpse at him over your shoulder, the barest of hints of a devious smile on your face. "What? Are you telling me you don't like it?" Your hips wiggled in accordance with your words, drawing out a low groan from his lips. The sound enough to make your core warm.

"I think I'm liking it a bit too much, honey." He said, trying to remain inconspicuous as he bucked his hips into yours. His hardness pressed into you, showing you just how much he liked it. "So you gotta stop now, Y/N, for your own good."

"Or what?"

His lips brushed along the edge of your ear, whispering in that sinful voice of his as his hand circled around your waist, pulling you closer to him, "Or you're gonna regret it later, baby girl."

"You promise?" Though he couldn't see you fully, the smirk on your face was evident in your voice. Curtis couldn't help but let a smirk capture his own expression, his mind running through all kinds of scenarios which he would bring later for you. Only for you.

It had taken a while for his boner to go down, and what an absolute hell of a while had it been for Curtis. Thankfully, his thick black overcoat had protected his tenting pants from prying eyes.

You, on the other hand, had a glint in your eyes that morning as your gaze had followed him that morning. Every twitch he made, every time he squeamishly tried to adjust his pants to ease the pain and tightness his member felt, you'd let out a giggle. His eyes would snap towards you every time he heard your melodious voice, the promise of later shining bright in his eyes.

A while later, Curtis came to you to inform you that he'd be busy with Gilliam and the rest for quite sometime, discussing the revolt they were planning, so that you wouldn't have to wait up for him if he took a long while. You wished him luck, kissing him sweetly, praying that plans would become successful this time around. Curtis stole another kiss, for added good luck, of course, before disappearing behind the heavy curtains.

It had only been a short while, no more than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes - if your sense of time hadn't deceived you - when the guards came in. Not to distribute rations this time. That alone was enough to send shivers of dread down your spine. Guards appearing anytime except for when scheduled was not a good sign. Never had been, and you doubted it ever would be.

All the passengers were made to gather and stand as they would have during a head count. The kids were called forward next. Alarms rang loud and lucid in your head. Your breaths heaved and your palms got sweaty.

The parents asked why their kids were getting grouped separately. The guards said that it was nothing more than a medical inspection, something about The Benevolent Wilford wanting to assure all the children under his roof had proper development. You couldn't help the surge of panic that rose within you, your guts coiling into knots. Even the mere suggestion of Wilford caring about the tailenders in the slightest was enough to raise eyebrows. You knew better than to trust their words.

Your head turned back, your eyes roaming over the faces behind you in search of the one man you needed beside you. To hold you, comfort you. To whisper sweet assurances, even if they were false. Curtis approached the far end of the crowd, McGregor, Gilliam and the others who had been in the meeting behind him. Not sparing a moment, Curtis made his way towards you as soon as his gaze found yours and held your hand tightly in his, giving you the comfort you were looking for. Only that time, you feared, it wasn't going to be enough for what was awaiting ahead.

The automated gates opened and in came a woman. A woman in a yellow�� raincoat? Her cold eyes swept over the lot of you unimpressively, like you and those around you were nothing better than the dirt beneath her shoes, before turning to the children. Calculating eyes gazed over the innocent souls in the most unnerving of ways, so much so that even feet apart you could feel the discomfort the children felt.

She pointed to a handful of kids. The guards didn't hesitate to grab them and shove them towards the woman, forcefully if they were reluctant. She pulled out a measuring tape from one of her hidden pockets and started measuring the kids. Her painted lips spread as she smiled like a crocodile when she finally reached and measured the height of a six year old boy, Dean, you recognised. Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when she noticed his twin, Sam, beside him. Two boys with the same, perfect height for what was needed.

She took their hands in hers but Dean, you differenced from their clothes, sharply pulled back. He proceeded to snatch his brother's hand away too but the woman in yellow was faster. She quickly took a hold of Dean's hand and tightened her grasp, her long nails digging into his soft baby skin. Dean visibly winced, not liking the strange woman's touch on himself and his brother, or the fact that she was trying to drag in a direction completely foreign to them. Away from their father, from the only home they had ever known.

"Daddy!" The green eyed boy cried, tears ready to slip down his chubby cheeks. He tried to shake the woman's hold off himself, but it was no use. Sam was much the same beside him. Struggling to get free and run back in the arms of his dad but the woman wouldn't let go.

Protests from various passengers had already begun to rise in numbers, fast and loud. John, the boys' father, hurried after his kids but the guards stopped him from getting anywhere near them. He screamed and shouted at the woman in yellow to give him his boys back, but she only paid him a smirk over her shoulder as she walked away with what little was left of his life.

What followed next happened in mere seconds - too soon for you to realise what actually had been happening right then, but you knew the scars of which you would be carrying for a long time.

John quickly got into action, hitting the guards holding him back efficiently and instantly like the trained soldier he was. It was common knowledge that he was in the Marines when the Earth was still inhabitable. However, that had been well over a decade ago. He still had the fight, especially when his only family was at risk. But unlike the guards, he hadn't been keeping up to date with his skills.

It was the guards turn to shout and warn him to calm down, pointing their guns. John was beyond the point to care for his own life when his boys were being snatched away from him in front of his eyes. He managed to knock out a couple of guards before another shot him right through his heart. His momentum caused him to fall down on his knees before his lifeless body hit the floor with a thump, red staining the metallic floor gradually. Shocked gasps filled the coach.

The twins had been unfortunate enough to witness it. Their father, dead on the floor. The man who had raised them, gone, forever. Just like their mother, who died giving birth to them.

The brothers shrieked and wailed, fat tears rolling down their horrified eyes. They struggled harder to free themselves, but all their efforts went in vain. Desperate cries of Daddy escaped their lips, a slight ounce of hope in their naive souls that their father would rise and rescue them from whatever their fate awaited. Alas, their words only fell on dead ears.

In all the commotion and with the guards disarrayed, a little blonde girl slipped past the men and ran after the boys. "Sam, Dean!" She called out to them, her small legs carrying the four years old in short strides to the brothers. Jo, you recognised, was pretty close to the boys. They were practically raised together, like family.

Jo had already lost her own brother from what she knew was called a fever. She wasn't ready to lose any more of her brothers. She was little, but she wasn't dumb. She once the tailenders crossed the metal gates, they never came back. Her mother lunched forward to grab her baby girl back in the safety of her arms, but the guards stopped her from going any further, no matter how hard she tried. Ellen wailed, "Jo, baby, come back! Please!"

The little girl paid no heed to her mother as she ran towards the boys, only one goal in her head. She needed to rescue the boys no matter what. The brothers cried again with renewed panic for the girl to get back to her mother. To safety. They feared she would meet the same end as their father did. They really couldn't handle knowing that they survived while the rest of their family lay dead.

Jo's short legs carried her far but not far enough. Another guard caught up to her eventually. He picked her up and carried her back to her mother. She protested, screaming her throat hoarse to let her go, to let her get to her brothers and save them, but nothing came out of it.

The guard dropped her unceremoniously a great distance away from the boys and barked at her to get back to her mother. But hell would freeze over before little Jo stopped being stubborn. She got up and again started running towards the boys despite the pain in her hip from the fall. The guards intervened again, pushing her back so hard she fell again. Yet she shot up and the whole process repeated itself.

The guard finally took a hold of her, keeping her restrained in his arms. Jo kicked her legs in the air and punched his chest and wiggled to get free, but her strength was no match to that of a full grown man. She then bit him on his exposed arm, hard. He loudly exclaimed profanities extremely unfit for a child her age and dropped her. She attempted to run again, until she couldn't.

You were standing rather far back from the scene. A number of tall men and women stood in front of you, and you could only watch over their shoulders what the rest were being witnesses to. You heard it before you saw it. The shot.

Jo wasn't running anymore. She laid lifeless on the floor, much like John, only a few feet farther. Blood oozed from her wounded chest, forming a puddle of red around her small body.

They had shot a child. Just like that.

A child. Dead.

The brothers were well out of sight by then, but you suspected they had heard the gunshot by then. Ellen cried in agony as she watched her second child die in the train. The only family she had was gone. All gone, only in a mere few seconds.

Ellen couldn't cope up with the heart-wrenching pain she felt of losing her second child, her any and only family gone. She turned to the guard who was pointing his gun at her to warn her to stand down. The anguished mother grabbed the nozzle of the gun with both her hands and brought it to her forehead before she closed her eyes for the last time and said, "Kill me."

He did.

Walking with a fixed destination in mind, Curtis only stopped when he saw Tanya. His friend was clutching little Timmy to her chest, her arms tight and secure around her a couple months old son. Timmy was crying far too loudly than should have been possible for a small boy his size, and the mother was rubbing his back comfortingly, singing lullabies to him in her sweet melodic voice.

Tanya was tensed not only because her son was too and she didn't know how to calm him down. It was evident that the day's events had affected her deeply. It had provoked thoughts in every parent regarding the future, the safety of their children. His heart aching for his friend, Curtis slowly approached her bunk and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Hey Tanya, you alright? How's our little Timmy doing here?"

She looked up at Curtis from where she was sitting, "It's all well, Curtis. It's been a long day. Timmy's just worked up."

"And you?"

Tanya looked at Curtis for a moment, knowing what he was referring to. She unconsciously held her tighter against herself, refusing to let any negative thoughts take place in her mind. "As I said Curtis, it's been a long day. I'm tired, that's all. Nothing new."

Tanya didn't meet his gaze as she said that, knowing he'd catch the lie on her face instantly. She didn't want to think about it, let alone talk aloud about what happened that day. It'd only make all the horrors that much real, impossible to ignore. For then, she could blissfully forget the day's events and go back to being in her bubble with her child, hoping to grow old and die before her child did.

Curtis curtly nodded, somewhat understanding her reluctance to talk about the day. He desperately wanted to get back to you, to hold you in his arms and forget about the world, but he also didn't want to leave his friend alone with a crying kid who refused to cool down. He affectionately ruffled Timmy's baby hair, "Want me to take care of him for a while? I could keep him entertained, walk him up and down the aisle."

She smiled at him as she shook her head, "It's alright, Curtis, really. Timmy's being more difficult than usual, but it's nothing I can't handle. You should go check on Y/N though. I saw her earlier and she didn't look too good. She needs you," Tanya gave Curtis a once over, "And it looks like you need her too."

Curtis gave her a small smile before he continued walking down the aisle. As he made his way towards you, he avoided making eye contact with anybody he passed, only wanting to get to you as soon as possible. He carried on with his long strides, eager for the day to end.

Looking for the familiar mark to indicate his bunk, relief started settling inside him when Curtis found it, the scrap of an orange ribbon, frayed at the edges, tied around a metal pole at the head of his bunk. It was a token to show that the bunk belonged to him and you. Your own little place amongst all the rest. A surrogate to a nameplate, showing all the others that it was your home, your own little heaven in this hell, spelling Everetts if it physically could have.

You weren't actually his wife, but might as well have been by the traditions of the train - which was really just everybody acknowledging that the two of you were together, forever. You were his and he was yours. Inseparable until the end of your times. You were each other's homes.

Nearing his bunk, he found you the same way he had found you for the nearly seven years you'd been together. On your side, your back to the aisle, you were curled in around yourself, inside your own bubble, waiting for Curtis to come and join you. Waiting for him so that the two of you could get lost in each other once again, forgetting that the world was amiss and the train nothing better if not worse. Pretending that everything was fine if not rainbows and sunshine, even if just for a night, before you had to wake up the next day and face reality. Again.

Shrugging off his coat, Curtis pulled himself up to his place beside you before placing the coat over your bodies as a makeshift blanket. The curtains were drawn closed as much as possible, little streaks of light still entering and falling on the train wall through the little holes and rips.

His hand slowly crept around your waist. He pulled you closer, his hand comfortably tight around your middle and his chest firm against your back as you sunk into him. Shifting your hair out of the way, Curtis lovingly kissed your shoulder as his legs tangled with yours, his welcomed warmth seeping into you, letting you know that you were safe and sound and protected against any evil in the world.

A smile automatically overtook your face as your when you felt his presence. Your hand left the pendent around your neck you were idly playing with and rested against his hand instead. You laid like that for a while, basking in each other's hold, cheering for the fact that you were done for the day.

The need to pretend, to be strong, to feel responsible, to keep a calm mind at any and all times for everyone was over. You only had to look after yourselves then. You could be frail, vulnerable, and uncertain of everything in the future ahead together, except for the fact that he would be with you and you would be with him. Always. And the knowledge of that alone was enough to strengthen the two of you together, to keep you going, to keep the fire of fighting ablaze inside you. Two uneven pieces making a whole.

But for then, if only for a few hours, you wanted to forget everything else. You wanted to be blissfully ignorant of all that was wrong with the world, with the train. For then, you only wanted to focus on what was right in front of you without any worries on your head. You only wanted to focus on the warm and fuzzy feelings inside you as Curtis laid behind you, holding you in his arms, your limbs entangled with his.

You turned around in the little space, facing Curtis. One of your hands was draped over his form while the other bunched up his plaid shirt in its grasp. You kissed his chest before settling contentedly against him, your head tucked under his chin. His arm soothingly traversed up and down your back, relaxing you like nothing else ever could.

Snuggling into him, you asked, "How was the meeting with McGregor and the others today?"

"It was a mess," he huffed. After the guards came, he wanted to add, but knowing you didn't want to talk about it just yet, he didn't. "John and Ellen were supposed to lead the revolt along with McGregor and the rest, you know. Now with them...gone, whatever plan of action we had has crumbled into nothing."

"Oh," you said, unsure of what you expected to hear in the first place.

"We all just need some time, that's all. We'll get back on track soon." Curtis said, his free hand caressing your head.

"And how are you?" you asked, pulling back a little to look at him.

"Not good," he truthfully answered, "But I'll be fine. What about you, Y/N?" He asked, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

"Not good either," You sighed, "But we'll be fine soon." You said, smiling at him.

Curtis gave you a short smile of his own, his eyes sharing the same hope and optimism as you, "Yeah, we will be." He said, leaning down to kiss your lips. It was slow and sweet at first, his lips slightly chapped but soft against your, his love pouring out for you with the gentle touch. He meant for it to be short, but you deepened the kiss, your lips pressing hardly against his, letting it become rough and heated.

You swallowed the deep gravely moan Curtis let out at the suddenness of you taking control. He was enjoying it quite a bit. Your hands were just as frenzied as your lips. Grabbing his neck with one hand you pulled his head closer to yours, while the other roamed the expanse of his chest, greedily feeling him up.

His arms tightened around you on instinct, pulling you further into him, forbidding any inch of space from existing between your forms. Your legs slid from between his to over his. You propelled yourself up on your elbows on your side, pushing Curtis on his back.

Your hair fell down your shoulders framing your face as you gained yourself a few inches over him. Cur brought a hand up to your face, gently tucking the loose strands of your hair behind your ear as much as he could. He locked his hand in your hair and abruptly pulled your head down, not liking the distance the change in position put between you one bit. Satisfied with being as physically close to you as possible, he gave up the reins to your control again.

Your kisses were wet and loud and noisy as your lips smacked his, unbridled with need. Need for too many things at once. To forget the horror you saw today. To forget the pain you imagined the victims must have felt, the anguish they must have gone through that day at losing their loved ones that they didn't give one damn about their own lives. To forget the atrocities of the train. To forget the one thought that resonated inside your head, refusing to leave you alone.

Today it was someone else's child. Will tomorrow it be yours?

Death wasn't something uncommon in the tail end. People had come to deal with the fact after years of experience, after years of passive torture. Despite that, death of children was still disturbing for many.

That day, two families were wasted. Children were abducted in broad daylight and none could do anything about it. A father, a woman, a child, all shot in cold blood because they dared to fight for their family, to defy the order of the train.

Everybody in or entering the tail end was a soldier that day. Some wore black helmets and bulletproof vests and carried guns to follow the orders from the above while some fought with their lives in order to attain a life worth fighting for. The only difference was that some had to fight because it was their duty, and some had to fight because it was their family.

No, you and Curtis were not trying for a child. Neither him nor you ever wanted to bring another innocent soul in the train to suffer the way you did. You couldn't put anybody else through that.

But life is all about the choices we never get to make - or rather those which are already made for us.

Hardly any medical aid was available in the tail end. Forget about drugs or contraptions to prevent pregnancy. Abortions weren't choice either. The age old pull out method seemed to be the only way. It wasn't really reliable, but it was the only option at hand.

You and Curtis had had the a about before. If, by chance, a child was conceived, they'd be raised by the pair of you, loved to no ends. But the question of letting a child enter this chaotic mess would still be an if and not a when.

You slotted your lips more fiercely against his, letting all your thoughts be clouded by just one. Curtis. Curtis. Curtis. His lips making wet smacking noises against yours, your hands tracing the firmness of his chest. His hand in your hair, other on your back. Your body lying half on top of him, sinking into the feel of him, the familiarity, the feel of his touch, his heat. Your leg lying in between his, feeling him gradually harden against your thigh.

No matter how much Curtis was enjoying your attention and the roughness you brought on, he couldn't help but be worried about you. Though he had fleeting suspicion why you were doing what you were doing and knew what you needed that night, he didn't want to make any assumptions. He needed to hear you say it.

Reluctantly, he pulled back. His chest heaved with panting breaths. As did yours. He opened his eyes to look at you. Even in the dark, he could make out your troubled face, "Babe, are you alright? What do you need me to do?" He asked, his fingers gently smoothing down your cheek. You hated that the worrisome tone in his voice was caused by you.

"Today was terrible, Curtis. It was so, so terrible." You said, your eyes still closed shut.

"I know, sweetheart," Curtis said, closing his own eyes. Unknowingly, he gripped you tighter in his arms, "I know." He whispered. He hated not being able to help you with whatever trouble you were going through, to protect you from the pain you felt.

"What do you need me to do, Y/N?" He repeated in a softer voice, ready to anything you asked of him, to ease both his pain and yours.

"Let's forget tonight happened. For now, at least. I don't ever want to think about what happened with those children. We couldn't save them; we didn't even try. I- I can't…" You wanted to tell him about all the thoughts bouncing around in your brain, but you didn't want to worry him any further. With the talks of the revolt, he already had too much on his plate. Even if Curtis didn't show it, you knew today wasn't easy on him either. You both needed to vent the feelings, the constant unease at the knowledge of what happened, the pain.

"Let's replace those memories, Curtis. With good ones, better ones. I can't think of what happened to them anymore. Distract me, baby. Please," You leaned your forehead down on his, "Just please." You only knew one way how to "Fuck me, Curtis. Fuck me rough and hard." You breathed.

"Are you sure, honey?"

You frantically nodded, "Please."

"Gladly. Will make you feel so good, Y/N."

In an instant he had his hand in your hair and your lips back on his. The shift in the dynamic from earlier was almost instantaneous. Despite being on top of him, Curtis was the one in control. Every inch of his body proved that. It was exactly what you needed, what you had asked for.

And now you were going to get it.

His lips were soft yet firm as the rest of him, devouring you with a never-ending hunger. His tongue swept across your lower lip before pushing against it, demanding entrance. You were more than happy to provide it.

Though his tongue was soft and smooth, there was nothing soft about the way his tongue mingled with yours, hot and wet, playing with it skilfully, manoeuvring it the way he wanted, imposing itself on you, fighting a battle with yours you were losing. You wouldn't have had it any other way.

His free hand slid along your sides before coming to rest underneath your breasts. He slowly inched his hand forward to cup your breast, letting his fingers run over it as his rough hands gently squeezing and groping the swell in his palm. He loved the softness he felt through the layers and played with it a bit more roughly. Not hard enough to cause discomfort, but enough to let the sensations turn you on and set the mood.

You couldn't help but let out a whimper, "Curtis…"

His hands left your boob in favour of your ass. He rubbed the curve of your butt before striking his palm across your clothed bottom without any preamble. A shocked gasp escaped your lips as the light sting sent tingles down your spine.

"Wanna try that again, baby girl?" Curtis asked, gently massaging your ass though he hadn't spanked it that hard. Oh well, he didn't need any reason to comfort you.

Realising what Curtis wanted, you brought your lips close to his ear and seductively whispered, "Daddy,"

A growl left him, which only made you hungrier for him. "That's right, my sweet girl. You're gonna let Daddy take care of you, aren't you? You're gonna let Daddy show you a good time, hmm? Gonna let him show you how much he loves you, isn't that right?"

You nodded, the tip of your nose rubbing his cheek. "Mhmm, Daddy. Please."

His hands crept under your shirt, running up and down your skin. He bunched up the layers, "Don't you want to get rid of these, baby girl? Let me see you, feel every inch of you?" He asked, silently asking if you were ready to undress yet, giving you an out for the moment if you wanted it.

Instead of giving an answer, you gave his lips a quick peck before you sat on your back and started removing the layers. Though you wanted to get back to kissing Curtis as fast as possible, you knew he enjoyed watching you strip just for him. You decided to calm your libido for a moment to put on a show for the love of your life, slowly discarding one layer after the other as sensually as you could manage.

It was hard in the cramped bunk, and it probably would have looked much sexier if you had the luxury of some open space, but all the could haves and would haves left your brain when you saw the way Curtis was looking at you. No matter the place, no matter the space, you were still the sexiest person to Curtis.

You could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you, the way his eyes followed every movement of your hands, mouth agape, breathing hard at your sheer beauty. With a ravenous, a desire which could be quelled by you and only you.

As the last piece of clothing left your body, Curtis gripped your wrist and pulled you. You fell on him unceremoniously as a shriek of surprise escaped you. His mouth was on yours in no time, kissing you with renewed passion.

Circling one arm around the back of your head and the other around your middle, he flipped you slowly, getting on top of you. His thigh settled itself between your legs. He pressed his lips to your jaw, sucking lightly. His hand came up to your breasts and he massaged the softness in his palm, feeling your nub harden against his skin and loving it.

You felt his hardness on your thigh from the position he laid in over you. It caused heat to pool in your center, knowing he it was you who caused it, that he was hard for only you and was going to ravage you with it. The thought itself sent your heart thrumming with excitement.

Curtis trailed his lips along your jaw line and down your neck, paying special attention to that spot above your collarbone which made you weak in the knees. "Fuck, Y/N, you're so beautiful," he whispered against your skin, his hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Travelling further down, his lips came to a stop in front of your boob. He pecked your peak before sucking it between his lips. His hot, moist tongue lapped at it, circling it and flicking it, making your breath quicken with how good it felt. His hand played with your other boob, only adding to the heavenly feels running down your spine.

He switched between your breasts, careful to give the same attention to the other as well. You hissed as his warm mouth left your peak in favour of the other, exposing it to the cool air inside the train. His warm hands came to the rescue, tenderly fondling your now wet pebble.

Curtis altered his affection between your breasts every now and then, loving the weight, the feel of your soft boobs in his palm and your taste on his tongue. He eagerly sucked your nipples and played with them, swearing he could go on like that forever. Shrugging off his beanie, your fingers raked through his short hair, grasping as much as you could as you very much enjoyed the attention he gave you. You did not realise that your center was gradually getting wet with your slick.

Curtis must have though, your wetness again his thigh, because his hands streamed down to your folds. His mouth left your pebble with a pop before he slotted his mouth next to your ear. You could practically hear him smirk in his voice as he ran his fingers through your folds and said, "What's this princess?You're all wet and slimy, huh?"

Curtis brought his fingers to your bundle of nerves, just hovering above it, touching you but never really touching it. Your body anticipated the feel of his skin on yours but it never came. His touch was light and teasing thereafter, his fingers barely brushing over your sensitive pearl. You whined, desperate for him to touch you, love you, mark you, make you feel the rush he had had countless times before.

Collecting your slick on his fingers, he brought them to your clit, giving it a few experimental rolls gently. A low moan left your lips as your mind received more pleasurable sensations from your nether regions. You bit your lip to keep the moan inside you.

"You are a needy little thing, aren’t ya?" Curtis said, his voice husky and oh so sexy, you couldn't help the low moans inside your throat.

"Curtis…"

Suddenly his hand slapped your clit, which was becoming more and more sensitive by second. "Ah," you whimpered, a wave of both pleasure and pain going through you. You weren't sure which you enjoyed better.

"Why do I have to keep reminding you all the time, baby?" He said, going back to gently circling your nub, soothing the pain.

One of your arms came down from his hair to wrap around his bicep, "Sorry, Daddy," you said, letting him know that it won't happen again.

"Shh, baby, it's alright. Now just sit back and enjoy. I'm going to make your night so fun, Y/N." He said, kissing your cheek before focusing all his attention on pleasuring you, giving you the relief you deserved.

His calloused fingers worked your bundle of nerves in short circular strokes with increased pace. Curtis deployed his years worth of knowledge, stimulating your pearl every way he knew would set your nerves on fire. The firm pad of his fingers, rough from years of labour, felt nothing short of heaven on your sensitive skin.

Your eyes closed of their own accord, your body focused on relishing in all the attention it got from the only man it desired. You loved feeling his weight atop you, holding you down, anchoring you to the world, anchoring you to him. You took comfort in the familiarity of his touch, knowing he would be the one constant in your life in this constantly moving train.

His mouth fell back on yours, his lips and tongue caressing yours fervidly. His finger slipped down to your folds, running through folds, covering it in your wetness. You were so focused on his kisses that you didn't notice it until his finger started entering you.

Your inner muscles clamped his finger tighter as he inserted it deeper. You mewled into his mouth at the intrusion, loving and hating it simultaneously. He drew it in and out of you slowly, letting you get adjusted to it.

You could feel more of your wetness eventually rush out to ease his finger into you. He kept his movements slow and sweet in the start. When he felt you were wet enough, the real show began.

The heel of his palm came down on your bundle of nerves, rolling it with just the right amount of pressure as his finger slipped inside you. He loved the way your walls felt snugly around him. His member twitched against your thigh just thinking about how good he would feel when he'd be inside you wholly.

Curtis increased his pace gradually. He slowly added another finger inside you too, not giving you as much time as earlier to adjust. It wasn't much of a problem since you were already wet enough. His fingers were long and thick inside your tight channel, brushing against just the right spots to make your body thrum with need for more; for him, for all of him.

Curtis pressed his lips against the sensitive spot below your ear, sucking very gently nibbling your skin. You tilted your head to give him more skin to work with without thinking. If there was one thing Curtis loved more than feeling you, it was marking you. He loved leaving behind spots of his affection on your skin, especially on the visible parts for everyone to know that you were his and only his.

It was also a way of him self assuring himself too, to always remember that you chose to be his. To remember that you thought he was deserving of your company, your friendship, your love, when he knew he was deserving of something even less and bitter than nothing. To remember how lucky he had been to have you by his side and be given the opportunity to be by your side, forever.

Curtis trailed his lips down your neck and to your chest, sucking, nibbling, licking your delicate skin along its way, littering your upper half with his kisses and hickeys. Those right above the swell of your breasts were just for his eyes to cherish. His palm remained above your clit, grinding your sensitive nub insistently, drawing out helpless little moans from you which went straight to his cock.

The coil started tightening in your belly. Your pussy made wet squelching sounds as Curtis steadily drove his fingers inside you, gradually increasing his speed. Every touch of his fingers, his palm, his lips against your sensitive parts sent a roars of pleasure tumbling through you. Every muscle of your body tensed in anticipation of the relief it was to receive soon. Your legs opened wider of their own accord, your thighs clenching.

You wiggled underneath Curtis as you neared the edge, your body desperate for the sweet release. Noticing the signs, Curtis doubled his efforts. His fingers curled inside you just the right way, activating a new set of far more pleasurable impulses through your veins, your eyes already shut. You moaned and groaned as he worked you closer to the edge.

You were so close. So, so close to the relief.

And then nothing.

Curtis withdrew his hands a few seconds before he could push you over the edge. Your body dropped from the high it was about to float in. Your eyes opened instantly, pure shock and disbelief on your face as your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, your mind trying to make sense of what just happened and why.

The coil in your belly was still wound tight, eager to be uncoiled, your body still tensed, waiting for the relief which never came. Your free hand which wasn't clutching his hair came down to finish the job yourself, but caught your wrist in his hand before it could reach your pelvis and stationed it beside your head, locked in his grip.

"You like being a little tease, don't you? Well it's time I show you what happens to little teases." Curtis said, studying your face, especially your lust filled frenzied eyes intently.

"Daddy," you mewled, begging him to bring you your release.

Curtis tsked, "No, no, baby. You're not going to cum so easily. You've been a very naughty girl tonight, princess. You've teased daddy all day long, now it's time for you to pay the consequences."

You whined pathetically beneath him, "Daddy, please, I need to cum." Your shrill voice said.

"Nuh uh. You're only gonna cum when I tell you to come. And you'll only come on my cock, baby girl." Curtis talking about his cock which was very much noticeable and hard against your thigh only wound you up tighter, your pussy clenching around nothing as lewd images entered your brain. You wiggled even more underneath him, but he laid one arm firm around your middle, holding you in place. He whispered in his husky voice in a sing-song time, "I told you that you were going to regret all that teasing later, baby girl."

Curtis was denying your orgasms because you had tried to tease him earlier, fulfilling his promise of later. Though you knew you had asked for it, made him promise it even if speaking literally, you honestly didn't know if you were more turned on or frustrated at the moment. Perhaps a mix of both, you decided.

Curtis didn't let you stay frustrated for long, though. His smirking lips kissed along your jawline. After being sure that you were down from your high, his grip left your wrist as his fingers coated in your slick slid down your torso and back to your clit. He started it all over again, the teasing, the swirling, except he didn't start it light.

His breath was warm against your earlobe. Low grunts fell out of his mouth as he drew various patterns on your bundle of nerves. They were nearly inaudible, but enough to send a new wave of desire coursing through you. He withdrew his hand again.

Before you could protest, Curtis tapped your thighs, "Move up, honey. Make space for me. Hold those legs back and bare yourself to me. I want to taste you, pretty girl, take my time and eat that delicious pussy." His wanton words made your clit throb with need as you did what he said.

Curtis wasted no time in situating himself between your legs which were open wide only for him. His lips laid kisses on your skin from your neck to your belly before inevitably reaching your center. Making himself comfortable, he placed both your thighs on his shoulders, his hands circling them both from the outside to you fixed in one spot.

He held eye contact with you as he slowly kissed the inside of your thighs before closing his eyes and focusing on laying hickeys on your skin. Now inches away from your heat, he could smell your arousal, which went straight to his head. He took in a deep breath, taking more of your scent in and loving it.

Curtis couldn't wait to get his mouth on you, so he did just that. Swiping your slit with his tongue once, his mouth enclosed around your clit. His tongue was warmer than his fingers as he attached it to your sensitive pearl, rolling it in circles.

Curtis loved the taste of your arousal on his tongue, knowing it was all for him. He was hungry for more of it, to taste the tangy sweetness of your cum, but he knew he had to teach you a lesson before he could get there. Nevertheless, he'd enjoy taste and relish in it until he'd eat you closer to the edge again.

"Daddy," you moaned as Curtis ate you with passion, his face buried between your legs. His beard slightly scratched against your inner thighs, leaving a delicious burn where it touched. Both your hands took hold of his hair again, pushing his head further down on your pussy.

Curtis shook his head between your legs, his tongue playing with your clit as he did so. You moaned harder for him, all his movements sending your mind on a rush. He brought one of his hands to your heat, his fingers running through your slit but never entering you, teasing you some more.

It killed you inside, feeling his fingers in between your folds but not inside you. You pushed your hips off the bunk, eager for more of his touch. Curtis freed his other hand from your thighs to pin your waist down. You still squirmed in his hold, but his strong arms kept you down.

You whined for him to enter you, but he kept his touches feather light, barely giving you a taste. He finally placed a sole finger on your entrance but still didn't enter. He massaged your entrance with quick short strokes, sending tingles down your spine.

He pulled back to look at you struggling to keep your composure. The desperation to feel him inside you was clear on your face. "You wanted to play and here I am. Playing with your sweet little pussy."

He watched you wither under his ministrations, mewls and moans escaping your lips as he teased your mind away. He loved watching you be so helpless, only one thing clouding your brain now. The want for release, and Curtis was the only one who could give you that.

When he thought he had teased you enough for the moment, he collected your arousal and inserted a couple of fingers inside you. This time round it was easier to slide them in. You gasped at the intrusion, but settled down quickly as he started fingering you right away.

His tongue lapped shamelessly on your bundle of nerves, taking whatever he could get, taking all that you had to offer. Clamping his lips around your hood, he sucked it hard, letting it stretch slightly as he pulled his head back and released it to let it curl on itself, taking it back in his wet mouth and repeating it again.

Long, thick fingers pumped into you with just as much fervour as his tongue worked on your clit. His fingers curled inside you, repeatedly touching the spots which aroused you even further. Something about his presence between your legs, hands grabbing you, his fingers snuggled by your walls, owning you from the inside, it reminded you how much what was in between your legs was his to love and devour sending your heart racing at the sense belonging. Your channel felt full of him as he pleasured you into oblivion.

"That’s right baby, let daddy play with your pussy until you’re soaked so he can slip in and fuck you until you’re completely senseless."

Curtis lightly slapped your sensitive nub a couple of times before slotting it in his mouth, soothing the light sting away, sucking and licking it with passion. His tongue drew various patterns on your pearl, worshipping it, setting your nerves ablaze. He moaned against it as he ate you out.

The vibrations against your clit as he hummed low in his throat, his warm mouth sucking it and his fingers satiating the need of your pulsing walls, all of it sent a myriad of pleasing sensations to your brain. Your body tensed once again as you neared your high. You arched your back, restless to fall over the edge and achieve your release. Your eyes were closed shut as whimpers and moans fell out your lips, a sweet melody to Curtis' ears.

You moaned harder, your grip on his hair and involuntary wiggle of your hips increasing, letting Curtis know you were close. Quite mercilessly, he completely pulled away from you, never letting you attain the high you so desperately desired yet again.

"Daddy, no, please, make me cum!" you begged, the need to come blindsiding every thought to the dark recess of your mind.

Curtis placed a quick kiss to your sensitive pearl before he sat back on his knees, which only left it needily pulsing for more. "Not yet, baby doll. Daddy knows exactly what you need and want, and no one else can give it to ya. Isn't that right?"

You eagerly nodded, but you still wanted to reach a peak before what little of the high you had came crashing down, "But Daddy-"

Leaning over you, Curtis rested a hand on your cheek, gently cradling your it, "You can pout or be moody, but you know that daddy is the only one who will love and use you like you're meant to be baby."

He kissed your cheeks before placing a hard, bruising kiss on your lips, "I love edging you. Bringing you the very edge and making you stop. Ruining every potential orgasm until you just can’t hold it any longer. Don't ever forget who that pussy belongs to. You only nod and obey. That body belongs to daddy, so any resistance would be futile my lovely girl. Understood?" You nodded, turned on even more if that was possible.

Curtis pulled back to start undressing, "Now, baby, I think it's time for you to sit on my cock, don't you agree?"

Your eyes lit up at the mere thought of his member filling you, your walls clenching on thin air at the memory, "Mhmm, I want your cock inside me."

He smirked in that signature way of his, his eyes shining too, "And you'll get it baby."

Curtis had been painfully hard in his pants this entire time. Playing with your body, sucking, licking, fingering, tasting your arousal, none of it helped his situation at all. Now that he had your pussy all wet and spread and ready for him, he couldn't wait another moment to get inside you.

You watched with hungry eyes as Curtis discarded each layer impatiently, revealing his body, soft in some places and hard in others.

As he pulled his pants and boxer off of him, his length finally free of the constraint, it twitched, slightly bobbing in the air. You started at it, licking your lips as your brain was engrossed in wayward carnal thoughts. You were sure that if you'd have positively started drooling had you stared any longer.

Curtis switched positions, laying on his back. You happily spread your legs on each side of him and sat on his center, eager to get his shaft inside your heat which ached for him. He lifted you by your hips, his other hand gripping his pole and running it through your slit, draping it in your wetness. He rubbed your clit with his cockhead to mess with you some more. You whimpered, dying to get his cock inside you.

"You want to sink down on Daddy's cock like a good little slut?" Curtis asked, enjoying the thirsty look on your face.

"Yuh uh, please!" You begged, rolling your hips to get him inside you anyhow.

"That's a good girl. Don't worry, pretty girl, I'll give it to ya." Curtis praised, relenting to your wishes, restless himself, and positioned his round blunt head at your entrance. You let out a sharp gasp as he pulled you down in one swift motion, hissing as his thick meat stretched you wide open. In spite of the way he had prepped you, letting your arousal make you wet enough and his fingers relaxing your inner wound muscles, nothing could prepare you for his cock other than his cock itself.

There was a slight burn in your channel at the abrupt incursion, ebbing away gradually as the pain was sidelined by the pleasure of having him inside you. His member filled you completely, hard and thick inside you. "Fuck, ugh, it feels so good," you moaned quite loudly, tilting your head back from the rush in your veins.

Clutching your wrist, Curtis pulled your vertical body towards him, making you lay on him. He circled his arms around your shoulders, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Breathing deeply, eyes closed shut, he concentrated with all his might not to cum then and there inside you.

He tried not to focus on how your warm lubricated walls were snuggling his hard member, hugging him tight in their clasp. He tried not to focus on how smooth and velvety your core felt from the inside, the perfect place for him to be for all eternity. He tried not to focus on how your walls were pulsing with need against his painfully hard shaft, muting every other senses and clouding his brain with how heavenly you felt.

"Mmm, it feels so good Y/N, your warm little pussy squeezing my cock," Curtis moaned behind you when he thought he could control himself and not cum on the spot.

You lifted your hips, eager to start fucking him but Curtis gripped them and kept you grounded with his shaft inside you, "Did you think you'd get away with teasing me so easily, baby? Not so soon, sweetheart. You know I always get my way."

You whimpered, wondering how long he'd make you wait until you'd finally get to cum. It was hard, having his cock buried deep inside you but not being allowed to couldn't move. It was border line torture of a sexy kind, giving you what you desired the most and yet not being able to reap it's pleasure.

All your thoughts, your senses were dimmed, your mind only registering one fact that Curtis was wedged inside you, hard and ready to pound. It only registered that your tight walls could feel the veins outlining his cock. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily.

A sharp slap landed on your ass, the hand that did it almost instantly kneading it, relieving the sting, "Don't tease me anymore, baby doll. You might not like what'll come next. Don't clench around me or tempt me or try to move. You're already so fucking tempting, I don't need anymore encouragement. You come only when I tell you to come, ya hear me?"

You couldn't help but pout, your lower lip sticking out, begging to be bit and sucked. Curtis chuckled darkly, "Oh my sweet little slut, let's not pretend you don't love it when I use you like a plaything."

You didn't know how or why you became so bold when you said it. Perhaps it was the deep seated longing for the release that you were denied, or you were too turned on, your brain too focused on your sole needs that you were beyond the line to care as you said, "I’m not pretending, just being a little bratty."

Curtis growled, his gravely making you clench him some more. "Well, bratty girls need to be taught some lessons, don't they?" He said, landing one, two, three, four, five blows on your ass on each cheek alternatively before you had the time to process what was happening. He quickly added another to even the score. A string of gasps and moans and whimpers left you, leaving you heaving on his chest.

"Shh, baby girl, it's alright," Curtis mumbled in your ear, his hand caressing the burn away with gentle hands, "You said it yourself, you were being bratty. This is how bratty girls get treated, honey. Now keep my cock warm like the good little slut you are." His mouth kissed along your cheek until you turned your head and kissed him full on the lips. Your tongue slid in and toyed with his to distract you from the sting on your rear or his member inside your center or the knowledge that the combined mixture of it all was only turning you on even more, raising you higher on the horny scale.

Maybe it was because of his talented tongue inside your mouth, taking what it wanted from you, however it desired. Maybe it was his warm, gentle hands soothing the sting he left behind with delicate caresses on your tender skin. Maybe it was the aftertaste of the slight burn on your rear itself which set your nerves on fire. Maybe it was because your body was already wound tight from not being able to achieve the high, from being edged your mind away. Maybe it was solely because of his thick, throbbing shaft snuggly fixed inside your slick walls, keeping you full; because you could feel the bulky vein very much prominent on his underside pulsing against your walls. Or maybe it was all of it at once, adding little by little to the outcome, making it too much for your body to handle at once.

Curtis had warned you not to clench his cock. You didn't. Not exactly, anyway. You came on it.

You moaned and groaned unbelieving in his mouth as your body finally let go, falling over the edge deep and hard. Curtis had tried to restrain your body by keeping his hands firm on your hip, but he couldn't stop the way you rolled your pelvis against his, your clit getting some action against his skin and his cock rubbing your walls, prolonging your much awaited orgasm.

Your toes curled and your thighs shook from the sheer force at which you came. Your nerves sang with pleasure and you swore you saw stars before your closed eyelids. You were you'd reached heaven for a second there, for the mind shattering pleasure coursing through you was hardly experienced before.

It was unexpected for Curtis, your orgasm jumping at him out of the blue. It was hard controlling himself when your walls were tight around him, even harder for him when they unconsciously clenched his member now and then. But once came, all his game was thrown off the table. He too was painfully hard and on edge since he'd started teasing you. He couldn't control himself as he felt your walls clenching him not once or twice but continuously, your warm insides pulsing without restrain on his aching member.

Curtis quickly turned you around on your back and pulled out of you, stroking his cock above your abdomen to finish. You watched with hooded eyes his face contort in pleasure, his hand working fast on his meat as loud gowns and grunts rose in his throat. Hot, thick ropes of his cum fell on your belly in spurts as he fisted himself, all his restrain tumbling down the drain.

As he finally finished, his head dropped on your shoulder, his heavy shaft softening against your thigh as he draped his body over yours. You laid there like that for a while, both your bodies and arms too tired to move, minds too mushy to process anything else, no one speaking, eyes closed, breaths heavy, chests heaving with loud pants, an expression of pure bliss on your faces.

It was quite for a moment, until your gasp invaded the silence. Curtis' hand was back on your clit, even though the rest of him was momentarily exhausted. He

rolled it languidly, but even the slightest of pressure on your sensitive nub was enough to set your nerves awake.

"You came baby girl," He said before you could ask him what he was doing, followed by a slap on your bundle of nerves. You almost jumped, but his weight kept you pinned. "Without my permission," He continued, another slap following in its wake. You let a whimper, the harsh touch too much on your sensitive nub.

"I couldn't control it." You rushed, hoping Curtis would let go.

"You wanted to come real bad, didn't you?" He asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, "Yes, Daddy. You worked me so well, I couldn't help it. I needed to cum."

"Ok, baby, I believe ya," Curtis said, swirling your pearl still but gently. Just when you thought he'd stop with the slapping, another landed on your nub, "My pretty girl wanted to cum so bad she ignored Daddy's orders. Daddy said he'd give you what you wanted, didn't he? Well, baby doll, I hope you're ready for what you asked for, because I'm gonna make you come again," A slap, "And again," Another slap, "And again."

His fingers set hard to work on your bundle of nerves, rolling and swirling it this way and that with a newfound vengeance. You weren't sure if you were gasping or moaning, or maybe doing both at the same time as his stimulated you yet again. You were already so sensitive from your previous orgasm, you didn't know how you could manage another.

Curtis brought his mouth closer to your ear, his hot breath hitting your heated skin, "Messy little girl, made my dick all wet with your juices." He said, his hand wedged between your legs doing all sorts of things to shut your brain from any rational thoughts.

"Going to make you cum till you're numb." He promised as his mouth went to your neck, his lips re-tracing the hickeys he had left. His fingers increased their pace on you, steadily bringing you to the edge one more time. You moaned without a care in the world, you mind drunk on the feels it received. Your hips rose off the bunk to meet his fingers, chasing the rush it'd bring.

His length twitched against your thigh, gradually hardening to its glory with the lewd sounds coming out of your lips. Curtis groaned along with you, getting further turned on by the sight of you helpless beneath him, his blood racing to his cock. He started bucking himself against your thigh, looking for some stimulation himself.

Knowing he was getting hard again, that he'd impale you on his cock again, use you the way you liked, the way you desired, it brought you close to the edge. You moans grew louder and you core tightened in anticipation of another release.

"Go on baby, cum on my fingers and show daddy what a filthy girl you've become for him." A few more moments in, a few more strokes later, you came on his fingers, loud and thrashing, his words tipping you over the edge, his name falling off your lips like a prayer, your wetness dribbling down your thighs.

It was all the time Curtis required to be hard and ready to pound you into another dimension. Taking a rag from the sides, he wiped his drying cum on your abdomen and gently got rid of any leftover cum on his head. He settled himself between your legs, his hands grabbed your legs and roughly brought your pelvis closer to his, your inner thighs slick with your cum resting on his.

Taking himself in his hands, he stroked his shaft a couple of times, running it through your slit to coat himself on your lingering wetness. He thrust his length at once, all of himself rooted in all of you. A cry left you, whether of pain or pleasure, that you were unsure of. He could have given you time to adjust to his long thick length, but he didn't. He started thrusting into you hard and fast, loving the groans falling out of you.

After all, you had said that you wanted his cock inside yourself and that you wanted, no, needed to cum. He was only giving you what you had desired.

"Ah, Daddy," You moaned, his cock fucking you nice and deep, keeping you filled with his meat the way you wanted him to.

"Yes Baby, feel that cock deep inside!" Curtis groaned near your ear, his gravely voice making you clench his shaft some more.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You groaned along with each hard thrust of his hips which kept coming quite fast. You could tell by the way he drove his hips into you how much frustration he had in himself to take out, to vent. He too wanted to forget, or at least be distracted for the moment. He wanted to be lost in you, your body, your mind. He didn't ever want to resurface again to face the reality, to carry the weight into another day, to ever feel responsible for things he wasn't supposed to, but still did.

So he cherished every fleeting second he had with you, relished in feeling every inch of your body, savouring the sinful sounds you made just for him, luxuriating in your feel, taking delight in the fact that he was the one to turn your brain into mush, to have your mind concentrated only on the feels he gave you. And he was loving every moment of it.

Your body was heated like his under his own. Curtis loved the feeling of your breasts jiggling against his chest as he pummelled into you. One hand by your shoulders to support his weight and other on your hip, he loved pressing his body down on you, keeping you pinned underneath him as he drove into you heat with a wild passion, his fingers digging into your hips so hard that it'd leave his handprint for a few hours at least, marking you some more. He loved watching the faces you made, your face contorting with pleasure as he touched every inch of your body inside and out, your eyes closed shut, brows furrowed and mouth agape as you chased the orgasm you were about to receive on his cock.

"Fuck, baby, you're doing so well," He moaned, low-key screaming with how good you felt stuffed full of him. He repositioned himself so that he could lock his hand on your hair and pull your head to one side, baring your for him to suck and lick. "When I'm done pounding your beautiful wet pussy, I'll pull out and cover your sexy body, from your pretty face to your throbbing nub in a huge load. And then watch you as you'd lick it all up, driving me crazy, making me ram my cock inside you for another round."

"The pull on your hair as he tugged your head to one side was driving you insane. Your back arched off the bunk as he fucked you with abandonment, unrelenting, unforgiving in its stride. Your bundle of nerves throbbed with every word he spoke. The change in position made his thick cock touch all those spots deep inside which craved to be touched, especially the one that made you see stars in broad trainlight. His cock brushed against it repeatedly as he fucked you into the bunk, your body singing in joy.

"I love the way your body feels on my hands, almost as much as I love the way your little pussy feels on my throbbing hard cock." Curtis said, framing an arm around your waist to keep you in one place.

"Curtis…" You moaned in your high pitched voice again and again like a broken record player. Maybe you were broken by his cock, but you were sure it was in the best ways possible.

Curtis was so lost in feeling your warm pussy clench his shaft with every naughty word he spoke that he didn't notice the slip you made. Maybe he did but didn't care, because in that moment, hearing his name fall out of your lips repeatedly in such sinful moans, it gave him another high. He rocked into you with renewed vigour, his skin making slapping noises in the quiet as he met you thrust with thrust, your walls making wet noises as his cock drove into your cum covered channel.

Your moans came off more broken as he increased his pace, your mind only processing mumble jumble by now. You couldn't hold it in any longer with all those impulses your mind received. A wave of euphoria washed over you as you came again on his cock, your moans and groans dialling up a notch.

"Yes baby, cover my cock in your cum." Your walls clenched uncontrollably on his shaft, keeping him in its tight grip and Curtis had to focus not to cum. He was determined to make himself last though, to make you cum once again on his cock like his sweet little bitch.

His hands came to your bundle of nerves, swirling it with practised ease to prolong your orgasm as his cock fucked you through your orgasm. Your pearl was a little sore at first from all the action it had received, but now having fallen over the edge and your mind a jammed network of endorphins, your body could only perceive it as pleasure.

"Daddy," You cried loudly as his hips kept pistoning into you even after you came as if nothing had just happened. "Too much," you said, unable to form complete sentences.

"Just one more, princess. You can do it." Curtis encouraged, your body already building up the high to fall over the edge for one more time.

"You like that, don't you, baby girl?" He continued, "My hands on your body, my cock inside your pussy, making you come again and again."

Your moans answered for you just how right he was. He chuckled breathlessly, his hips rocking into you relentlessly, "That's my girl. For me to use whenever, wherever and however i want. My pretty girl, my slut." He groaned, "Only. Mine." His thrust accompanying each word, his cock settling nice and deep inside your before pulling back to rock into you again, rocking your world, sending you to joy land.

"You seem so pretty and innocent at first, but when daddy has his grip, you turn into his personal little slut. The filthiest, but only for Daddy."

Your insides were screaming with the rush it received, your hands clawing at his back with the need to hold onto something. Your mind could only think about one thing and one thing only: Curtis fucking you hard with his thick veiny member and swirling your bundle of nerves to your impending orgasm. You were a moaning mess beneath him, your hips rising to meet his thrust to thrust. His moans falling on your ear in that husky voice of his was driving you crazy, your bodies drunk on each other.

Your high never really came down from your previous orgasm. It wasn't late until your body was ready to attain another peak. A few fast and deep, passionate thrusts later, you came all over his cock in a mind numbing, toe curling orgasm, your thighs uncontrollably as your eyes rolled back into your skull. White hot pleasure ran through your veins, your mind a rush of endorphins.

Watching pure bliss roll on your face, feeling your pulsing walls clamp tight around his hard cock until your orgasm subsided, Curtis couldn't hold it in. He pulled out with a cry, growling your name as he came on your belly, shooting a generous load of his seed on your skin.

You shifted to the side as he laid down beside you to give him some space. Both of you were blissed out, exhausted to your bones, chests heaving as you panted heavily. You laid there for a while, unmoving, relishing in the aftermath of all the feels coursing through you.

Soon Curtis rolled on his side to look at you, "That was-"

"Amazing." You cut him off, your own body turning to face him. You smiled wide and bright like a kid on a Christmas morning, his expression mirroring yours. "You were wonderful."

Pride swelled inside him, knowing he was the reason you looked so happy. "It was all you, Y/N." He said, searching for the rag and cleaning all the cum off your skin, paying special attention to be careful between your thighs. You hissed as the cloth grazed your sore parts, but Curtis placed soft kisses on your shoulder, hoping to distract you from the pain.

Throwing away the rag, he traced the terrain of body with your fingertips, mapping every turn and contour of your body already etched into his brain with delicate touches. Everything had quieted down by then, only the your breaths breaking the silence.

You hand settled on his broad chest, right above his heart. Something about feeling his heart beating calmly under your palm have you a sense of peace. It meant that he was there with you, by your side, alive. You let out a breath, thanking the god if there was any, for having Curtis by your side.

You leaned into him, placing a short but sweet kiss onto his smiling lips. When you pulled back, he was looking at you with the same boyish charm of him. His light expression eased your heart, banishing any of your worries from souring the mood.

Curtis leaned forward to give a long, loving kiss to your forehead. He moved down, placing soft kisses on your on your eyelids one by one, taking his time to show his love, his affection, because it was you. And he had all the time in the world for his best girl.

He moved onto the tip of your nose next, and then moving onto the rest of your face. He didn't have a plan thereafter, placing delicate kisses anywhere he could reach on your face, pouring all his adoration into his sweet kisses. He didn't need a plan to rain down his affection on you in some predecided order anyway. He could do it whenever he wanted, however he wanted. You giggled, loving how cute he was being right after ravishing your heat.

He finally reached your lips, giving you soft kisses with the tenderness you deserved and pulled back, only to lean back and give you some more. He could never get enough of you, your body or your lips.

His large, comforting hand cradled your face, his thumb tenderly brushing your cheek. His face took on a serious expression as he asked softly, "Are you okay, baby girl? Did I hurt you anywhere? I know I was rough tonight-"

"Not in anyway I didn't like," You cut him off, taking his hand in yours and kissing the inside of his palm sweetly, assuring him. "Curtis, thank you so much for this. I really needed it. I enjoyed it too, enjoyed it so much."

"You don't have to thank me for anything, baby." Curtis said, smiling and kissing your forehead again, because why not?

"What about you, Curtis? Are you okay?" You asked.

"I'm on top of the world, Y/N, all thanks to you and your moans ringing in my ears, you calling my name in that sweet sexy voice of yours." You blushed deeply, burying your face in his chest. You were unsure why you were dripping wet when words dirtier than these left his mouth earlier, but blushing furiously now.

Nevertheless, Curtis chuckled heartily, his chest vibrating against your cheeks. How could he ever get over how cute you looked when he made you blush? He brought an arm up to the back of your head and draped another over your waist, petting your hair and rubbing your back soothingly.

You sighed with content against him, sinking into his hold, your arms folded in between your bodies and your legs entangled amongst themselves. It didn't take long for exhaustion to take its toll on your aching body. Sleep was easy when it came, all parts of your shutting down into slumber mode bit by bit.

Curtis must have been feeling the same as you, because he pulled you closer to his warm body and thou he mumbled it lazily, he meant every word of it, "Sleep tight, baby, you're safe in my arms."

You kissed his chest from where you laid, curling an arm around his middle. "I know, honey, and you're safe in mine." You said, cuddling into his hold. Curtis smiled with his eyes closed, giving one last kiss on your head for the night and settling comfortably for sleep to come and finally end the day.

You were aware that even though you had ignored your worries, your pains for the day, you couldn't run from them forever. You were aware that you had to wake up the next day, face the world again, endure whatever it had to throw at you, fight another battle. And it was okay.

Because you'd have your friend, your confidante, your lover by your side, helping you overcome all your hurdles, just as you'd help him. Because he had had you and you had had him even when the two of you had nothing. Because he will have you and you will have him even if the two of you have nothing. Because your presence, your assistance, your love would be enough to fulfil any crevices, any holes in each other's lives.

You'd fight all the battles and jump over all the hurdles when the time would come. But for now, you were in each other's arms, safe and warm and content.

By each other's sides.

Together, forever.

~~~

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cassandraclare · 5 years ago

Photo

Cassandra Jean’s illustration for this month’s Chain of Gold flash fiction — this one’s about Will and Gideon, and features James, Thomas and Jesse as little kids. It’s a two-parter, so here’s part one!

LONDON, 1889

Will Herondale was full of Christmas spirit, and Gideon Lightwood found it very annoying.

It wasn’t just Will, actually; he and his wife Tessa had both been raised in mundane circumstances until they were nearly adults, and so their memories of Christmas were of fond family memories and childhood delights. They came alive with it when the city of London did, as it did every year.

Gideon’s memories of Christmas were mostly about overcrowded streets, overrich food, and over-inebriated mundane carolers who needed to be saved from London’s more dangerous elements as they caroused all night, believing all trouble and wickedness was gone from the world right up until they were eaten by Kapre demons disguised as Christmas trees. Just for example.

Born and raised a Shadowhunter, Gideon, of course, did not celebrate Christmas, and had always borne London’s obsession with the holiday with bemused indifference. He had resided in Idris for most of his adult life, where the winter had a kind of Alpine profundity, and there was nary a Christmas wreath or cracker to be found. Winter in Idris felt more solemn than Christmas, so much older than Christmas. It was a strange facet of Idris: where most Shadowhunters ended up celebrating the holidays of their local mundanes, at least the ones that spilled out into street decorations and public festivals, Idris had no holidays at all. Gideon never wondered about this; it seemed obvious to him that Shadowhunters didn’t take days off. It was the blessing and the curse of being one, after all. You were a Shadowhunter all the time.

No wonder some couldn’t bear it, and left for a mundane life. Like Will Herondale’s father Edmund, in fact.

Perhaps that was why Will’s Christmas spirit annoyed him so. He’d come to like Will Herondale, and consider him a good friend. He hoped that when their children were older they too would become friends, if Thomas was all right by then. And he knew Will deliberately presented himself as silly and rather daft, but that he was a sharp and observant Institute head, and a more-than-capable fighter of demons.

But when Will insisted on taking them all to see the window displays at Selfridge’s, he could not help but worry that perhaps Will had a fundamentally unserious mind after all.

“Oxford Street? Days before Christmas? Are you mad?”

“It will be a lark!” Will said, with the slight lilt into his Welsh accent that meant he was a little too excited for his own good. “I’ll take James, you take Thomas, we’ll have a stroll. Have a drink at the Devil on the way back, what?” He clapped Gideon on the back.

It had been a long time since Gideon was last in England. As one of the Consul’s most trusted advisors, Gideon not only lived in Idris but rarely found opportunity to leave. He also remained so that his son Thomas could breathe the healthy air of Brocelind Forest, and not the air of this filthy, foggy city.

This filthy, foggy city, his father’s voice echoed in his mind, and Gideon was too weary to silence his father’s voice as he usually did whenever Benedict crept in. More than ten years dead, yet he had not shut up.

His brother Gabriel lived in Idris, too, and for less obvious reasons. Perhaps it was not only the bad air; perhaps they both were happier with a good distance between them and Benedict Lightwood’s house. And the knowledge that its current resident would barely speak with either of them.

But now Gideon had come to London, with Thomas, just the two of them, leaving Sophie and the girls behind. He needed advice about Thomas, people with whom he could discuss the problem discreetly. He needed to talk to Will and Tessa Herondale, and he needed to talk to a very specific Silent Brother who was often found in their vicinity.

Just now he was wondering if that had been a good idea. “A good bracing walk” was exactly the kind of English nonsense he’d half-expected Will to suggest for Thomas, but “a good bracing walk down the most crowded shopping street in London three days before Christmas” was a level of nonsense he had not been prepared for. “I can’t take Thomas through that crowd,” he said to Will. “He’ll get knocked around.”

“He isn’t going to get knocked around,” said Will scornfully. “He’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” said Gideon, “we’ll get looks. Mundane fathers don’t usually walk their babies in prams, you know.”

“I shall carry my son upon my shoulders,” said Will, “and you carry yours on yours, and Angel protect anyone who complains about it. Fresh London air would do all of us some good. And the windows are meant to be a spectacle, this year.”

“Fresh London air,” said Gideon dryly, “is thick as molasses and the color of pea soup.” But he acquiesced.

He had left Thomas in the nursery, where Tessa kept a watch over him and James. A full year older than James, Thomas wasn’t always good at understanding what James could and couldn’t do or understand. Tessa had been concerned that James would end up hurt. Gideon, though, was more concerned about Thomas, who was still smaller than James, despite the difference in their ages. He was paler than James, too, and less sturdy. He had only recently recovered from the latest of his terrible fevers, which had brought a Silent Brother, unfamiliar to them, to their house in Alicante to examine him. After a time the Silent Brother declared that Thomas would recover, and left without any further conversation.

But Gideon wanted answers. As he picked up Thomas now, he couldn’t help but think about how the boy was hardly any weight at all. He was the smallest of all “the boys,” as Gideon thought of them – of James, and his brother’s son Christopher, and Charlotte’s son Matthew. He had been born early, and small. They had been terrified the first time he caught fever, convinced it was the end.

Thomas hadn’t died, but he hadn’t fully recovered either. He remained delicate, weak of constitution, quick to illness. Sophie had fought harder than anyone to drink from the Mortal Cup and become a Shadowhunter, but now she was forced to fight a far worse battle against death by their son’s bedside. Over and over again.

Sighing, he took his son to fetch their coats for their bracing Christmas walk.

As expected, Oxford Street was a madhouse of pedestrian shoppers, carriages, gawkers, and menacing groups of roaming carolers. Gideon would just as soon have glamoured them all invisible from mundane eyes (although one of the groups of carolers were obviously werewolves, who had exchanged Acknowledging Looks with Gideon), but Will of course wished to bask in the experience.

James also seemed mostly intrigued by the noise and lights, giggling and yelping at the merry scene around them. A London boy from birth, thought Gideon, and then thought, well, but I was a London boy from birth, and this is too much commotion for my liking. For his own part, Thomas was quiet, watching with wide eyes, clutching onto his father’s shoulders. Gideon wasn’t sure how weakened Thomas still was from the last fever and how much he was overwhelmed by the crowds. In some ways, when he wasn’t sick, Thomas could be guilt-inducingly easy to care of; he rarely made a fuss, just looked out into the world with those large hazel eyes, as if aware of his own helplessness and hoping not to be noticed.

Will waited until after they had already joined the crowds at the windows of Selfridge’s and Will had made a number of nonsensical exclamations of delight of the “By Jove!” variety. He had held James right up to the glass to examine the scenes in detail, which seemed to revolve around some blond children ice skating on a river. Gideon had pointed things out to Thomas, who had smiled.

Only once they had stopped to purchase some hot cider from a man hawking it down a side street did Will say, “I heard about Tatiana’s son Jesse. Dreadful business. Have you spoken to her?”

Gideon shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to Tatiana in nearly ten years, or been back to the house.”

Will made a sympathetic noise.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” said Gideon.

“What?” Will said.

“A coincidence,” said Gideon. “That both her and I have children who are—sickly.”

“Gideon,” said Will reasonably, “forgive me for saying so, but that is a load of codswallop.” Gideon blinked at him. “For one thing, you have your beautiful daughters, neither of whom were more than usually ill when they were babies. For another, all of what happened to your father was his own doing, and happened long after you were born, and neither you or Gabriel were sickly.”

Gideon shook his head. Will was so kind, so eager to spare him the consequences of his family’s sins. “You don’t know the extent of it,” he said. “The extent of Benedict’s experiments with dark magic. They were ongoing, from as long as I can remember. The demon pox just sticks in the memory, because it is rather lurid.”

“And also we were there,” said Will, “when he turned into a giant worm.”

“Also that,” said Gideon grimly. “But two sickly sons, small and frail—I cannot say with certainty that it is a coincidence, that it has nothing to do with the depredations of my father. I cannot risk the possibility.” He looked at Will imploringly. “It took Jesse years to become ill,” he said, “and Thomas has been ill so much already.”

There was a profound silence. Quietly, Will said, “You sound as if you mean to do something.”

“I do,” said Gideon with a sigh. “I must look at my father’s papers, his records of what he called his “work”. They are at Chiswick, and I must go and ask Tatiana for them.”

“Will she see you?” said Will.

Gideon shook his head again. “I don’t know. I hoped her anger would cool, over time, and her resentment. I hoped the fact that the Clave gifted her with all my father’s wealth and possessions would help her find peace.”

“Well,” said Will, “if you go, you absolutely must leave Thomas with us.”

“You wouldn’t want him to meet his aunt?” Gideon said innocently.

Will looked at him seriously. “I wouldn’t want him, or any of my children, on the grounds of that house!”

Gideon was taken aback. “Why? What’s she done to it?”

Will said darkly, “It’s what she hasn’t done.”

Gideon could see Will’s point. Tatiana hadn’t done anything to the house. Nothing to change, or clean, or preserve it in any way. Rather than restoring it or redecorating it to her own tastes, Tatiana had simply allowed it to rot, blackening and collapsing in on itself, a ghastly monument to Benedict Lightwood’s ruination. The windows were clouded, as though fog were seething indoors; the maze, a black and twisted wreckage. When he opened the front gate, the hinges screamed like a tortured soul.

It did not bode well for the emotional state of its resident.

When Benedict Lightwood died in disgrace from the late stages of demon pox, and the full history of his infamy was revealed to the Clave, Gideon laid low. He didn’t want to answer questions, or hear false sympathy for the damage done to his family name. He shouldn’t have cared. He’d known the truth of his father already. Yet it stung his pride, when he shouldn’t have had any pride left in his besmirched name.

The houses and the fortune were taken away from Benedict’s children by order of the Clave. Gideon could still remember when he had found out that Tatiana had brought a complaint against him and against Gabriel for the “murder” of their father. The Clave had first confiscated their possessions, and finally laid out the situation: Tatiana Blackthorn had petitioned the Clave for Benedict’s fortune to be given to her, as well as the Lightwood’s ancestral house in Chiswick. She was a Blackthorn now, not the bearer of a tainted name. She made many accusations against her brothers in the process. The Clave said they understood that Gideon and Gabriel had had no choice but to slay the monster their father had become, yet if they were to speak of technical truth only, Tatiana might be considered correct. The Clave was inclined to give Tatiana the full Lightwood inheritance, in hopes of settling the matter.

“I will fight this,” Charlotte had told Gideon, her small hands tight upon his sleeve and her mouth set.

“Charlotte, don’t,” Gideon begged. “You have so many other battles to fight. Gabriel and I don’t need any of that tainted money. This doesn’t matter.”

The money hadn’t mattered, then.

Gabriel and Gideon discussed the matter, and decided not to contest her claims. Their sister was a widow. She could live in the former Lightwood manor at Chiswick in England, and at Blackthorn Manor in Idris, and welcome. Gideon hoped she and her son would be happy. As it was, Gideon’s memories of the house were, at best, ambivalent.

Now he waited at the front door, its paint mostly peeled off, with deep gouges here and there, as though some wild animal had tried to get in. Maybe Tatiana locked herself out at some point. After a time it swung open, but waiting behind it was not his sister but a ten year old boy, looking somber. He had the midnight black hair of the father he’d never met, but he was tall for his age, willow-thin, with green eyes.

Gideon blinked. “You must be Jesse.”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Yes,” said the boy. “Jesse Blackthorn. Who are you?”

Jesse, his nephew, after all this time. Gideon had asked so many times to see Jesse when he was a child. He and Gabriel had tried to go to Tatiana when she had the child, but she turned them both away.

Gideon took a deep breath. “Well,” he said. “I’m your Uncle Gideon, as it happens. I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last.” He smiled. “I was always hoping for it.”

Jesse’s expression did not improve. “Mama says you are a very wicked man.”

“Your mother and I,” Gideon said with a sigh, “have had a very…complicated history. But family should know one another, and fellow Shadowhunters, as well.”

The boy continued to stare at Gideon, but his face softened a bit. “I have never met any other Shadowhunters,” he said. “Other than Mama.”

Gideon had thought about this moment many times, but now found himself struggling for words. “You are…you see…I wanted to tell you. We have heard that your mother doesn’t want you to take Marks. You should know…we are family first, always. And if you don’t wish to take Marks, the rest of your family will support you in that decision. With the—the other Shadowhunters.” He wasn’t sure if Jesse even knew the word Clave.

Jesse looked alarmed. “No! I will. I want to! I’m a Shadowhunter.”

“So is your mother,” murmured Gideon. He felt a slight twinge of possibility there. Tatiana could have disappeared like Edmund Herondale, abandoned Downworld entirely, lived as a mundane. Shadowhunters did, sometimes; though Edmund had done it for love, Tatiana might do it out of hatred. That she had not gave Gideon hope, although, he was sure, foolish hope.

He knelt down, to be closer to the boy. He hesitated, then reached out for Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse stepped back, casually avoiding the touch, and Gideon let it go. “You are one of us,” he said quietly.

“Jesse!” Tatiana’s voice came from the top of the entrance stairs. “Get away from that man!”

As if prodded with a needle, Jesse leapt away from Gideon’s reach and retreated without a further word into the shadowed recesses of the house.

Gideon stared in horror as his sister Tatiana drifted down the stairs. She wore a pink gown more than ten years old. It was stained with blood he well knew was more than ten years old as well. Her face was drawn and pinched, as though her scowl had been etched there, unchanged for years.

Oh, Tatiana. Gideon was flooded with a strange amalgamation of sympathy and revulsion. This is long past grief. This is madness.

His little sister’s green eyes rested on him, cold as if he were a stranger. Her smile was a knife.

“As you can see, Gideon,” she said. “I dress for company. You never know who might drop by.”

Her voice, too, was changed: rough and creaking with disuse.

“Have you come to apologize?” Tatiana went on. “You will not find exoneration, for the things you have done. Their blood is on your hands. My father. My husband. Your hands, and your brother’s hands.”

And how was that? Gideon wanted to ask her. He had not killed her husband. Their father had done that, transformed by disease into a dreadful demonic creature.

But Gideon felt the shame and the guilt, as well as the grief, as he knew she intended him to. He had been the first to cut ties with his father, and with his father’s legacy. Benedict had taught them all to stick together, no matter what the cost, and Gideon had walked away. His brother had stayed, until he saw proof of their father’s corruption he couldn’t deny.

His sister remained even now.

“I am sorry you blame us,” said Gideon. “Gabriel and I have only ever wished for your good. Have you—have you read our letters?”

“I never was fond of reading,” murmured Tatiana.

She inclined her head, and after a moment Gideon realized this was the closest she would get to inviting him in. He stepped across the threshold nervously and, when Tatiana did not immediately shout at him, he continued inside.

Tatiana led him to what had once been their father’s office, a sculpture in dust and rot. He averted his eyes from the torn wallpaper, catching a glimpse of writing on the wall that read WITHOUT PITY.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Gideon said as he took a seat across the desk from her. “How is Jesse?”

“He is very delicate,” said Tatiana. “Nephilim like yourself wish to put Marks on him, because they are intent on killing my boy as they have killed everyone else I love. You sit on the Council, do you not? Then you are his enemy. You may not see him.”

“I would not force Marks on the boy,” protested Gideon. “He’s my nephew. Tatiana, if he is that ill, perhaps he should see the Silent Brothers? One of them is a close friend, and could come to Jesse at our house. And Jesse could know his cousins.”

“Mind your own house, Gideon,” Tatiana snapped. “Nobody expects your son to live to Jesse’s age, do they?”

Gideon fell silent.

“I expect you want Jesse to marry one of your penniless daughters,” Tatiana went on.

Now Gideon was more confused than offended. “His first cousins? Tatiana, they are all very young children—”

“Father planned alliances for us, when we were children.” Tatiana shrugged. “How ashamed he would be of you. How is your grubby servant?”

Gideon would have struck any man who spoke of Sophie so. He felt the rage and violence he’d known as a child storm within him, but he’d desperately taught himself control. He exercised every bit of that control now. This was for Thomas.

“My wife Sophia is very well.”

His sister nodded, almost pleasantly, but the smile quickly became a grimace. “Enough pleasantries, then. You came to Chiswick for a reason, did you not? Out with it. I know what it is already. Your son is like to die, and you want money for filthy Downworlder remedies. You’re here as a beggar, cap in hand. So beg me.”

It was strange: Tatiana’s obvious, undeniable insanity made her insults and imprecations undeniably easier to bear. What was she even saying? What Downworlder remedies? How could remedies be filthy?

Had Benedict destroyed Tatiana as well? Or would she always have been like this? Their mother had killed herself because their father passed on a demon’s disease to her. Their father had died of the same sickness, in disgrace and horror. Will Herondale could dismiss it all as nonsense, but could it be a coincidence that Tatiana’s son, and his son, were both sickly? Or was it some weakness in their very blood, some punishment from the Angel who had seen what the Lightwoods truly were and passed his judgment upon them?

“I need no money,” Gideon said. “As you well know, the Silent Brothers are the best of doctors, and their services are always freely available to me. As they are to you,” he added with emphasis.

“What, then?” Tatiana said. Her head cocked slightly.

“Father’s papers,” Gideon said in a rush of expelled breath. “His journals. I think that the cause of my son’s illness might be found there.” He found he didn’t want to say Thomas’s name in front of his sister, as though she might decide to conjure with it.

“A man you betrayed?” Tatiana spat. “You have no right to them.”

Gideon bowed his head to his sister. He had been prepared for this. “I know,” he lied. “I agree. But I need them, for the sake of my child. You have Jesse. Whatever our differences, you must understand that we could both love our children, at least. You must help me, Tatiana. I beg you.”

He’d thought Tatiana would smile, or laugh cruelly, but she only gazed at him with the impassive, mindless stare of a dangerous snake.

“And what will you do for me?” she said. “If I do help?”

Gideon could guess. Get the Clave to leave her alone, to let her do as she wished with Jesse, for one thing. But in Tatiana’s madness, who knew what she would come up with.

“Anything,” he said hoarsely.

He lifted his head and looked at her, at his mother’s green eyes in his sister’s pitiless face. Tatiana, who would always break her toys rather than share them. There was something missing in her, as there had been in their father.

Now she did smile. “I have just the task in mind,” she said.

Gideon braced himself.

“On the other side of the road from this estate,” Tatiana said, “is a mundane merchant. This man has a dog, of an unusual size and vicious temperament. Quite often he lets the dog run free in the neighborhood, and of course he comes straight here to make mischief.”

There was a long pause. Gideon blinked. “The dog?”

“He is always making trouble on my property,” Tatiana snarled. “Digging up my garden. Killing the songbirds.”

Gideon was utterly positively sure that Tatiana did not keep a garden. He had seen the state of the grounds on his way in, left to crumble as a monument to disaster no less than the house itself.

There were definitely no songbirds.

“He’s made a disaster of the greenhouse,” she went on. “He knocks over fruit trees, he throws rocks through windows.”

“The dog,” Gideon said again, to clarify.

Tatiana fixed her piercing gaze on him. “Kill the dog,” she said. “Bring me the proof you have done this, and you will have your papers.”

There was a very long silence.

Gideon said, “What?”

#gideon lightwood #will herondale #tlh #the last hours #chain of gold #cassandra jean #flash fiction #cog2 #november

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badacts · 4 years ago

Text

the water is rising/i’m too tired to swim

There was nowhere else on Earth like Smallville. Or, for that matter, off of it.

Of course, little but the high holidays and complete disaster seemed to bring him back here these days. Sometimes he had to wonder whether regular adults felt the same as him, living so far from the places they’d grown up in. That aching wonder at being able to come home, with the overlapping whisper of a sense that that home couldn’t last forever.

Disaster made Clark Kent more introspective than Christmas, it turned out.

Bruce, who had stripped down to the suit baselayer with a pair of Clark’s sweatpants pulled over top, was leaning against the railing of the porch. He appeared to be watching the sunrise, though Clark suspected that was a front for him staring into the middle distance lost in thought. Clark would swear part of the reason the man kept the lenses in his cowl down during League meetings was to disguise the difference between his absent thinking expression and the force of his focus.

“How’s he doing?” Clark asked, voice kept low. Ma and Pa would be up soon anyway, but after the late night they’d caused it was the least he could do.

“Lantern is fine,” Bruce replied. His only tell was a tightening of his knuckles on the railing, there and then gone.

“And you?”

This earned him a look. “Any word from Diana?”

“She’ll be here by tonight with news. But we have our orders.”

“Orders.” Bruce’s expression was one of immense distaste. “We have a round table for a reason.”

“That’s what I’m usually telling you,” Clark replied, just as he normally would, and then winced. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Now Bruce’s face had gone still, an indication either that he was angry or that he genuinely had no idea what Clark meant. Clark, used to treading that particular line on the side of caution - at least in this one respect - felt his eyes becoming inexorably attracted to his feet. Being back home turned him into an ashamed eight-year-old too easily.

“I should have been prepared,” he said.

Because he should have been. He should have known. Of all the temptations and causes, there were few other things Hal Jordan would like to throw his life away for with that particular degree of abandon. This had been Clark’s problem, and he should have been able to solve it without ever involving either of these two men, with their particular idiosyncrasies.

Just - kids were a hotspot for both of them, even kids from far-flung planets being trafficked across a variety of civilisations that just so happened to include the human ones. Bruce had long accepted that it was more reasonable to live for children, not die for them, but Hal hadn’t got that memo yet.

“You can’t possibly imagine that I’m angry with you.”

“I,” Clark began, and then stopped. To be honest, he hadn’t really imagined that Bruce wasn’t.

Bruce turned to look at him more fully, coolly assessing. The huff afterwards was indecipherable.

“Bruce-”

The man had turned back to the horizon. He said, “Clark, have I ever struck you as the type to make excuses for Green Lantern?”

Clark stepped up and leaned against the railing next to him. “There was never any danger of anyone accusing you of favouritism, certainly. Well, not towards Hal.”

The huff this time was definitely shaded with amusement. “Lantern can take responsibility for his own mistakes, Kal. He doesn’t need you falling on your sword for him.”

It wasn’t a mistake, Clark didn’t say, because he didn’t need to. But Bruce’s anger would translate as it liked to - Clark had known him for long enough to know that.

“Well, what’s a mission without the post-mission pervasive guilt,” Clark replied, an attempt at humour. Because it was Bruce, it didn’t fall flat. That was one thing about the man no one who didn’t know him would guess - humourless he may seem, but he was capable of poking fun at himself. Or maybe it was just because he knew Clark well.

It was Hal’s bloody victorious smile that had done it, he thought. Or maybe it was Batman’s sudden anger, alien from beneath the cowl which usually presented only the cold judgement of old god. That fierce protective anger usually reserved for Robins, in a situation where there were no Robins to be found. Or that Clark hadn’t known that Green Lantern might be a focus of it, hadn’t known there was anything there to know.

It wasn’t that it didn’t make sense. It’s that he hadn’t considered it, not once.

“You boys need to get to bed,” Ma said from the door. She was folded warmly into her dressing gown, the one Lois had got her for Christmas a few years back. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been up all night.” Her cool hand settled on Clark’s back, like it had from the time he got tall enough she didn’t have to hunch to do it.

“I’m always up all night,” Bruce replied, with a lilt of amusement at himself.

“Well, maybe in those cities that never sleep, that works. Out here, if you don’t sleep with the sun, you won’t get through a day on the farm,” Ma replied. Her other hand pressed to Bruce’s back, there and gone. “You look exhausted.”

“Well, if I need to help milk cows later,” Bruce conceded. It was entirely possible that he had no idea Ma and Pa didn’t keep dairy cows on the property, and hadn’t since their last gentle old house cow had gotten too old to calve. For a man with a seemingly encyclopedic knowledge on many topics, his practical knowledge of farming was limited to desultorily prodding at the inner workings of Pa’s old truck.

“Off you go,” Ma ushered, shooing them into the house like a woman her size shouldn’t have been able to. “I’ll wake you if the world is ending.”

“Not if I hear it first,” Clark said.

Bruce retreated to the guest room, feet soundless on the rugs along the hall floor. Martha was right enough, that he needed sleep. As irritating as it was to need it now in particular, he could concede that there was little place safer than Superman’s family home while Superman was in it.

Hal was curled on his side in the guest bed, though he twitched and roused at the sound of the door opening. “Mmff. Hey, baby.”

“Lantern, it’s me,” Bruce replied brusquely.

“Nothing wrong with my eyes,” Hal said. He moved under the duvet, and then hissed out his breath. “Unlike my ribs, fuck.”

“Give me a pillow.”

One incredulous brown eye focussed on him from amidst said pillows. He seemed to have placed them strategically, though Bruce wasn’t sure when. “Over my suppurating corpse.”

Of course. Bruce picked up his cape from the pile of his gear in the corner and spread it on the floor beside the bed. There was at least a thick rug, some kind of synthetic shag.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Bruce replied. “You ought to do the same. You’ll be coherent enough for a strategic meeting later.”

“That’s a funny way to describe you and Clark arguing in the kitchen while Diana watches and laughs internally,” Hal said, “But it does explain a lot about your personal approach to injury recovery.”

“It’s just a concussion.”

“If you could tell yourself from six hours ago that, I’d appreciate it.”

Bruce wore that like the censure it was meant as. He knelt down on the rug, though it made his spine complain and his hip crack audibly. Another shade of embarrassment. At least this one was in front of the team member most likely to understand human fallibility.

Hal heaved a gusty sigh. “Just get in.”

“What?”

The single eye managed to convey challenge as well as the rest of the man tended to. A hand pushed the blankets back.

“It’s a double,” Bruce said. The Kents clearly didn’t have many guests visiting who measured over 5’8”.

“We can snuggle,” Hal replied.

“With those ribs?” Bruce asked, but conceded. The floor had never looked tempting, but it failed to even begin to measure up against a bed with Hal Jordan in it.

“Unbelievable,” Hal muttered as Bruce slipped in beside him. The mattress was body-warm where he’d sprawled across it, and a touch too soft. It rolled them into the centre together, something Hal seemed eager to take advantage of. Wary of bruises, Bruce allowed himself to be nudged onto his back with Hal’s good side belly-down on him, head cupped into his shoulder.

Once settled, Hal let out a momentous sigh. “Nice.”

“I live to serve.”

“Well, that’s not true, but okay,” Hal said into his shirt. “You scared the fuck out of Clark.”

That’s not at all how Bruce remembered the situation, but it seemed cruel to contradict someone with a head injury. Also, Hal’s good arm seemed to be trying to wriggle between Bruce’s back and the mattress, and it was distracting.

“He thought you were going to produce kryptonite from some orifice and rip his stomach out his nose,” Hal continued. “You told him it wasn’t his fault, right?”

“Of course,” Bruce replied. “I told him it was yours.”

Hal huffed a laugh. “Actually, it’s yours, if anything.”

Bruce looked down at him. After a moment, Hal’s head rolled so their eyes met. There was amusement on his sleepy face. “You really shouldn’t’a started going out to fight gods and aliens in leather and kevlar. Or you shouldn’t have slept with me. One of those two things.”

“Guess which one I think it is.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve got regrets. Well, so do the rest of us, you’re not special. And, might I just add-”

“I’m not sure I could stop you.”

- you still ended up in bed with me right now.”

Bruce sighed through his nose, looking to the ceiling. “There’s only one spare bed.”

“You could have shared with Clark. It wouldn’t be the first time, right?” The tone was distinctly lascivious. Hal shouldn’t have had the blood content for that quite yet, but it proved his healing capacity if nothing else. Bruce felt an expression of distaste cross over his face, but doubted Hal could see it from his position.

“This is purely for practical reasons,” he said, like there was anything in his life he’d done out of practicality. And like he didn’t have an arm around Hal’s shoulders, curling him close.

“Sure, pull the other one,” Hal said, “It’s got an alternate reality where we somehow managed to only ever fuck once on it.”

“The regret gets stronger every time you open your mouth.”

“As if.” To prove his point, Hal gave him a lazy grope. “Did you share those regrets with your-”

“Shh,” Bruce interrupted. He removed Hal’s hand, though not with any particular degree of firmness.

The truth of the matter was that Bruce was not in the habit of lying to himself - he was firmly of the belief that that particular habit, more than any other, got one killed. And perhaps the best he could expect was dying in a manner of his own choosing, but if he got to pick, being surprised by something he’d willfully ignored was not the way he would go.

He’d known since that night that it was never something that he’d do just the once. Case in point: Hal Jordan wouldn’t let it happen that easily.

He’d also known that it was a problem. A personal problem. One that didn’t start or end in the bedroom. That had also proven true.

In the quiet, Hal had settled. His breath was warm on the skin over Bruce’s heart.

“You feel so good,” he mumbled. “How do you always feel so good?”

Bruce had been wondering the same thing. He just held back tighter.

#batlantern #halbruce #hal jordan #bruce wayne #clark kent #dc #how many times did i CHANGE TENSE y'all #my fic #batman #green lantern #title from drown by martin garrix

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senjuushi · 4 years ago

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General headcanons for the new gun boys?

OwO I’ve had this ask waiting for a while, but.... here we go! Time for a little infodump of things I’ve thought of~ There are only a few that I can say are “general”, but I’ll try to go into detail!

Marks

• I... don’t have too many headcanons for him yet, aside from the fact that I’ll forever be calling this cutie “abuse bait”. So instead of a headcanon, y’all get a bit of character analysis. Marks is the only one of the moderns to have “Master” in his likes section. Even freaking Mauser doesn’t have “Ashley” there. This implies a level of attachment from this boy that’s both terrifying and so, so sweet. Marks is baby. He’s a good, good boy, and that trust and open adoration he has makes it so easy to abuse him... He really is abuse bait...

• But to try for a headcanon, well, here’s a simple one. Marks would do anything to please his Master. He’s a pushover. If he was attached enough to them (which he obviously is), they could tell him to lick their shoes and he’d barely hesitate. Master is his world, and all he wants is for them to be happy, so with a little convincing and manipulating... what does a good gun like Marks need with things like pride? His line about ‘wanting to be used by his Master’s hand” also makes me think that he’d seriously crave physical intimacy, which would be yet another manipulation point for him.

Like Two

• Despite his more abrasive nature and apparent dislike for his brothers, Like Two is a lot more like his equally-pink counterpart than either of them really want to think about. This is pretty obvious with the whole “muscle/strength training” thing that the two of them seem to be fond of, but it goes much deeper. Like Two tries to seem like he’s a tough, capable weapon who will tell anyone who tries to baby or look down on him to fuck off...

But the reality is that he has the same streak for wanting to be spoiled. And the same feminine tendencies. To put it simply, if you whispered in his ear that he’s your precious little princess, Like Two would blush and melt just the same as LIke2 would... he’d just be a lot more angry about it. And a lot more intent on trying to deny that his face is crimson and he can barely talk properly.

Arisaka

• I’ve said this one before, but his childlike body is the result of both trauma and the gun equivalent of failure to thrive. Arisaka is a Japanese gun who was used in WW2... he’s seen some shit. Not good stuff. And those things kind of fucked him up. I mean, we all can see how dead inside he looks. Just imagine how much trauma is lurking beneath the surface of those empty eyes.

Another point in favor of this is that, almost without fail, gun size corresponds to physical maturity in the boys. Smaller guns usually look more like children, while larger guns are more adult-like. Arisaka is the only one that I can think of who has a large gun but still looks so youthful. Between that and his extremely disturbing history, I headcanon that his human body is between 18-20 years old... just extremely stunted. He’s short, scrawny, and immature-looking because he was so traumatized as a weapon that he, like human children who suffer extreme circumstances, couldn’t grow and mature properly.

Herme

• My prevailing headcanon for Herme is that he has some serious identity issues. Namely, in his profile... he talks about how he and the other gun boys are exactly that-- guns. They’re made of metal, and there’s no need to treat them like humans. This clearly shows a disconnect between his human self and his existence as a weapon, but it also clashes with how he talks about his life’s history and family in much the same way that a human would. The way I see it, he’s got some strong conflict between a deeply-rooted view that he’s nothing but a gun and the innate humanity that he clearly can’t fully suppress.

• I’m probably going to have to fight canon on this one, but because of Herme’s polite, respectable, useful personality and his issues with seeing himself as anything but a tool, I’m firmly believing that he’s very submissive to his Master. Anyone who’s not Master? They get a capable, arrogant man who won’t hesitate to put those beneath him in his place. His Master? (Or perhaps even humans in general?) They get a polite, respectful, obedient tool who fulfills every order to the best of his ability-- no matter if it hurts him. There’s a war in this man between being a weapon and his own ego, and the side of him that knows to be good is winning.

Springfield

• It’s barely even a headcanon at this point, but I see him as very physically weak and fragile. This covers the obvious (frail health, weak body, constant fatigue and bouts of illness), of course, but it also extends to other things. To give a ridiculously specific example, I see this Springy as having very, very sensitive skin. As in, he bruises easily and badly, it's easy to break his skin, even light scratches leave temporary marks, and he's overall very sensitive to touch. There’s also the possibility that he has scarring/damage to his human body because of what we can see on his gun... and those areas might be even more delicate than the rest of him.

• Another one that I’ll probably have to fight canon over, but I strongly doubt that other moderns would like him very well. He’s not a real modern gun. He’s just an antique who’s trying too hard. He’s weak and useless anyway, so it would be an embarrassment to even consider him to be one. Those things would be in Springfield’s head at the very least... and it’s likely that some of them would have been used against him too.

Siegblut

• Honestly, most of what I’m getting from him so far is that the core of his personality is overcompensation. I mean, the whore has big shoes to fill. He’s Herme’s successor. That’s a lot to live up to. Siegblut (ha, I used his actual name for once) probably has a ton of issues when it comes to wanting to be something he’s not. So what if his whole deal is being good enough? It would explain why he’s trying so hard to look like a tough guy.

• And on that note... he’s a fucking housewife. I will take no argument. And I’m not sure if he hides that kind of thing yet... but just imagine how cute it would be to tease him over how domestic he can be. Maybe if he likes homemaking so much, you should just take him off the battlefield and make him your wife, hm? It might suit him better than trying to live up to Herme like he has been for so long. He’s just way too easy to bully lmao.

#Marks #Like Two #Arisaka #Herme #Springfield #Siegblut #Headcanon

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phantastus · 4 years ago

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Is there any symbolism behind the bird scientific names tags representing Silent Hill characters? Like, did you pick them for any particular reasons? 👀

Oh man, well, I guess I never went into detail about them anywhere. They definitely were picked for a reason but the reason is related to a currently-unwritten fanfic and literally who knows when that’s going to happen (Gravity needs to get finished first and who knows when that’s going to happen :’]), so I might as well try and do it now.

When I was in college I started coming up with concepts and symbolism for a fic project and because I’m obsessed with birds all of it involved birds and the title of the fic was appropriately “Four and Twenty Blackbirds”, with the ‘four’ specifically referring to Harry, James, Heather, and Henry (because they were the main characters). Each of them had a different ‘blackbird’ species representing them.

So when I decided to make separate aesthetic/inspo tags for individual characters (I already have a #silent feels tag for general SH inspiration, but I am crazy and it was NOT CONVOLUTED ENOUGH FOR ME), I decided to use the scientific bird names since it was conveniently already cemented in my brain. THIS IS GOING TO BE VERY, VERY LONG SO I’M PUTTING IT UNDER A READMORE. Click for pretentious Silent Hill fan analysis.

HARRY MASON | CORVUS BRACHYRYNCHOS (American Crow)

Harry Mason is the “”generic”” all-American protagonist who rises to a heroic status pretty much out of sheer determination and a commitment to his loved one. He’s not an unusual person, in fact he’s deceptively normal-- so the American crow felt right for him since they’re so common. You see them so often you don’t even think about them, but they’re smart, resourceful, and resilient survivors (something that especially comes into play with Harry post-SH1 when he’s eluding the Order). Harry is underestimated because of his normalcy but he’s capable of incredible things.

Also crows (and other corvids) have deep, almost humanlike family bonds between parents and offspring. They’ll maintain relationships even after the babies grow up and become fully self-sufficient, with the adult children regularly visiting their parents and socializing or helping to take care of younger siblings.

In the context of the fic Harry’s symbolic/prophetic connection to such a common “pest” species is sort of a derogatory assignment on the part of the Order/the town, as he’s seen as a heretic troublemaker (CULTS HATE HIM!! LOCAL MAN STEALS MESSIAH AND THWARTS FATE WITH ONE COOL TRICK!)

JAMES SUNDERLAND | CORVUS CORAX (Common Raven)

Ravens are like the most symbolic corvid, every gothic poet/novelist/artist and their grandma used them to represent death, grief and malaise, and James’s story is nothing if not filled with all three of those things. I mean, come on: “By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” -Edgar Allen Poe, u know where it’s from.

Also in college, I got very interested in the myth “Raven Steals the Sun”, which has a number of different variations (it’s a story shared across multiple First Nations peoples of the Pacific Northwest and Alaska, there’s no one clear origin-- you can read about a couple of versions here!) but most involve the titular Raven delivering the Sun to the world after stealing or freeing it from a dark place where it was kept. Depending on the version, Raven's motives can either be purely selfish or more benevolent, and sometimes starts the story as a pure white bird who is stained black with soot in the act of taking the Sun. The duality of Raven’s intentions as well as the theme of light/warmth being hidden in darkness until it’s brought out felt fitting for a character whose motivations are complex and left a little ambiguous in canon (James grapples with whether his own act was purely selfish or one of love/mercy) AND someone who is naturally warm and caring but slipped behind a cold, dark wall of depression and self-isolation. The theme of being permanently marked/transformed by an act, whether for good or for bad, felt fitting too.

(Obligatory Disclaimer That My (Very White) Personal Interpretation Should Not Remotely Be Considered An Authentic Take On The Myth And Is Not Intended To Be Appropriation. For fic purposes the story would only have come up as an interesting symbolic parallel/running motif among many others, not a Literal Connection. James is a clueless white dude and Silent Hill doesn’t even take place on the west coast.)

“BUT WAIT! Doesn’t stealing the sun from a malevolent party and freeing it sound sort of like Harry rescuing Alessa/Cheryl/Heather??” Yes, this was going to be a source of in-character confusion and a surprise twist when it turns out they got their birds mixed up. Blah blah nothing is as it seems and destiny is mutable.

One time while I was walking on a foggy beach I got followed around by an enormous raven who was just sort of waddle-hopping after me looking forlorn and scruffy and the experience stuck with me and now all these years later my enormous galaxy brain is just like “That was Big James Energy”.

Wow that was long, I’m sorry.

HENRY TOWNSHEND | CORVUS FRUGILEGUS (Rook)

The most obvious symbolism is probably the chess piece with the same name-- that felt fitting for Henry since he’s probably the protagonist who has to do the most strategizing. Between his limited inventory and his progressively-more-cursed apartment and escorting Eileen and his five billion trips across multiple fractured Otherworlds, my poor guy has a lot to mentally keep track of. In the fic, he was going to wind up being the one to keep track of all the weird complicated bullshit items and rituals they had to complete to get through the Otherworld.

The rook chess piece also resembles a castle, and unlike the other protagonists whose stories progress in a linear fashion, Henry operates from/returns to his home base shitty cursed apartment.

BUT ONTO THE BIRD the rook is a corvid like the crow and the raven, and shares their pest/death omen status in popular culture. Just appropriate for SH protags in general since they keep getting in the way of the cult’s business and also misfortune follows them.

In the SH3 Crematorium Puzzle (I’ll talk more about that in Heather’s section), there is a poem: "The black Rook is the praying sort Who hears the gods in the skies His whispered petitions go on without end And glassy and dim are his eyes" Obviously this does NOT describe Henry as a person, but it IS eerily reminiscent of the title that was thrust upon him: Receiver. Maybe if Walter’s plans had succeeded, this is how Henry would have ended up.

There is also an old belief that if rooks abandon an established “rookery” (place where they regularly roost), it’s a sign of calamity to follow. If Henry the Certified Homebody (tm) bursts out of the apartment complex and goes staggering down the street, you should get out of that apartment complex.

HEATHER MASON | AGELAIUS PHOENICEUS (Red-Winged Blackbird)

Oh boy this one’s probably the weirdest but here we go.

The first obvious thing is that unlike the other three, the red-winged blackbird is not actually a corvid (it’s from the Icteridae family, not the Corvidae family). In-universe, this was supposed to represent Heather being inherently different from the rest (like... she basically is an iteration of the Silent Hill deity), even if she seems to be a normal human. Harry’s act of stealing her from the Order and changing her appearance/name to hide her was going to be depicted as “dousing Her in black ink, but [the ink] not able to fully conceal Her radiance”. The red and gold shoulders of the blackbird visually symbolize her “””true nature””” peeking out.

I also associate her specifically with the MALE red-winged blackbird (the female looks completely different, hooray sexual dimorphism) because gender is a fuck and Heather understandably has some really intense and complicated issues with womanhood/femininity. One of my favorite aspects of her as a character is how she blurs the line between masculine and feminine, especially since she’s been through so much... extremely gendered violence, to put it lightly. Heather Mason says FUCK YOUR GENDER BINARY.

As a fun side-note, Heather is also represented (or appears to be, ymmv) by a bird in canon! The SH3 Crematorium puzzle (on hard mode) features a series of poems each about birds, and each one represents a character if you squint. Heather seems to be referenced in this one: "The Wren, with pure heart as yet unrefined Makes us laugh with his feeble lip-smacking But still we all know he shall never grow old And he knows not how much he is lacking." Heather’s role as a brash, foolhardy youth who talks tough to cope is pretty blatantly summed up in there, as is the fact that she’s... functionally immortal and keeps fucking reincarnating. The wren, a plucky little bird, is perfect for her. The part of the main riddle that references the wren is also... ominously on the nose, given Heather’s backstory: "Burn the one who knows no death Pure, adored by those above No prayers within, just simple love.”

YET ANOTHER CREMATORIUM POEM could be construed as representing the town’s God (or the spiritual force of the land, w/e), damaged/corrupted/turned malevolent by All The Bullshit: "The Kite, hot, crazy, and panting mad Sweet shackles that tease and excite Death itself would drive him wild Red blood that turns milky white" Heather is a pure-hearted protagonist in one sense, but there’s plenty of not-so-subtle hints to a bloodlust and desire for violence just waiting to break free (ESPECIALLY when Heather does certain things that could be considered taking on the role of God). So to me the Kite is what happens when Heather gets sick of being nice and decides to go apeshit.

“BUT WAIT what does this have to do with the red-winged blackbird?” The inherent trinity of Heather’s character (Alessa/Cheryl/Heather, the Mother of God/Daughter of God/God Herself) deserves a bird trinity too. I’M GREEDY, I WANT *ALL* THE BIRD METAPHORS!

Red-winged blackbirds are bold little shits who will straight up harass birds of prey. Kind of like Heather does to God.

The fact that “phoeniceus” was part of the scientific name was a VERY delightful coincidence-- but I’m not complaining about how satisfying I found it that my Bird Choice (tm) inadvertently connects her to the concept of the phoenix, poster child of pyrogenesis.

That was even longer than James’, I’m so sorry.

SO THAT’S THE META BEHIND THOSE CHOICES FOR THE FOUR MAIN CHARACTERS. If you’re still interested after all that BS, I can write up another (probably much shorter) post for the other characters. Thanks for the ask!

#Silent Hill #Harry Mason #James Sunderland #Heather Mason #kit rambles about silent hill #my dumb fanfic #poppycrowns

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fiveisnumber1 · 4 years ago

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More Dad!Five headcanons cuz I can't really stop thinking about this adorable concept (some we've already discussed but sharing for the others):

Penn has a nightmare one night and Five is already awake because he woke up from one too and didn't want to disturb Reader. Baby Penn toddles in with his favorite blankie (knitted by Uncle Klaus) and asks to sleep with Five and Reader. And of course Five scoop up his son and then Penn asks why Five is awake and Five decides to be honest and say he had a nightmare too. Penn thinks about it for a moment as if digesting the fact that adults can have nightmares too and then snuggles closer to hug Five and says "It's ok Daddy. I'll stay with you to make them go away" and Five has to swallow the lump in his throat. He gently pats Penn back to sleep and Reader wakes up after a while and asks if everything is OK. She can tell when her boys have nightmares and Penn is fine now but she wonders about Five. His eyes are calm and reassure her so she just moves closer, puts her arms around them and they all fall asleep.

Five is the "chill" parent while Reader is the firm one. The H8 and the Hargreeves had a bet about this. The Hargreeves expected Five to be the strict one cuz he's their (technically) older brother and is always bossing them around but the H8 all knew Reader and they also had a (slightly) more objective view of the relationship dynamics since Five didn't exactly boss them around. He was just one of them. The H8 end up winning the bet. Five melts the moment Penn brings out the pout and tears and Reader is standing there pinching the bridge of her be nose and trying not to laugh cuz Five is just so sweet with how quick he gives in to their son. (She has to put down her foot when Penn asks for two cookies before dinner though and man is it hard cuz Five turns on the pout too just to side with Penn).

Idk what power Penn would have but I definitely think he would have them because both his parents do (which actually makes me wonder... Does Claire have powers?). The first time they find out, Five is so proud. 20 minutes later he's having a breakdown cuz he's terrified he'll be like Reginald and force his child to run away. For once even Reader can't calm him down. It's finally Allison who comes and manages to get him to breathe and talks to him until he finally relaxes because she had the same fears when Claire was born and she is ready to promise Five that she knows he won't make the same mistakes she did let alone the cruel things Reginald had done.

Reader loves to put Penn to sleep using music. Nightly songs are a common thing because he loves to listen to them too. Sometimes it's just the piano. Sometimes it's just singing. Sometimes it's both. Five just leans against the door to Penn's room and smiles looking at the two people he loves most.

Penn is terrible at anything math or physics or chemistry (Feel free to change this headcanon). I am lowkey projecting but as someone who comes from a family of math wizzes, there is ALWAYS an odd person out. Literature is my A game but I can't understand science past biology or theoretical physics (numerical is impossible). I feel like Penn would be the same (but again, it's up to you).

Reader and Five gift Penn with his own little locket on his 5th birthday because he loves playing with theirs and cuz it's a family thing now. The picture inside has all three of them. They give him a non expensive one when he's five and the real gold one when he's old enough to responsibly take care of it.

The H8 and Hargreeves and Cousin Claire spoil him ROTTEN. It's a wonder he grows up to be a decent well adjusted kid with how much he has everyone wrapped around his finger (but also the amount of love poured into him is insane and it makes up for all the love Reginald never gave his own children).

They tell Penn the truth about the apocalypse eventually and it just makes him love his parents even more because of how hard they fought to be together and save the world that he has grown up in.

I feel like Penn would have some sort of stuffed animal or toy but I haven't decided what yet. (My mind is suggesting octopus but further suggestions are needed).

These headcanons are so cute!! I love the idea of them gifting Penn his own locket because that’s something that was special between the two of them that they wanted to bring him into that. Claire would also be such a great older cousin to him and tell him all the stories that Allison told her.

In terms of stuffed animals I think he would have a dinosaur one, like this:

I can just see Penn holding up his dinosaur stuffed animal in the air towards Five and asking his dad excitedly to rewind time and bring the dinosaurs back. And Five gets very sad that he has to explain to Penn that he can’t bring back the dinosaurs for him.

Okay so I have a lot of thoughts on Penn’s powers (and powers in general for that matter so they’re below the cut)

So I definitely think Penn would have powers. My thought process is that powers are a recessive trait therefore both parents would have to have the power trait for their children to have powers.

So let’s say:

P - is the dominant trait of powerless

and

p - is the recessive trait of having powers

So in Claire’s case, her father Patrick does not have powers nor does he have any recessive power abilities so in all cases, the dominant trait is the presented one and Claire has no powers (see figure 1)

Fig. 1:

In Penn’s case where both his parents have the recessive trait of powers, he would have powers as well since the only outcomes would be all recessive. (see figure 2)

Fig. 2:

As for what his powers are I can see him having both of their abilities or having a mix of his parents.

If he has both of their abilities we already know what he’s capable of but if he has a mix I think that could also be interesting.

Like say he sees a flower, not in bloom, he could then manipulate it’s molecules forward through time so now it is in bloom or there’s a fire that’s dying out and he manipulates the molecules back in time so it’s a complete full going fire. It’s a bit more difficult to try and describe the logistics and the larger implications of mixed powers because I’m not fully sure how they would work but it’s still an interesting thought.

Also if he does have both his parents' powers or even a mix I feel like he would need to be good at math and science just to better understand and use them but that doesn’t mean he has to prefer them.

Sorry, this is long I just really love genetics and Punnett squares.

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mendespideys · 5 years ago

Text

double trouble | s.m.

pairing: reader x dad!shawn mendes

a/n: i originally posted this as a peter parker fic (x) and reposted it as a shawn mendes fic on my shawn mendes blog. now that i have combined both blogs, i decided to post it again here,,, so i promise i didn’t steal it. both are my original work 🤷🏻‍♀️

p.s. shawn can be however old you want him to be

The day had started out like any other day. Well, as normal as it can be when your husband is a successful singer and A-list celebrity by day, and a dad by night. Once you were ready for the day, you had fed Flynn and put him a plain grey onesie, knowing he’d end up spilling something on it throughout the day. You had been in the middle of maneuvering his denim joggers on when Shawn waltzed into the room. Seemingly in a very pleasant mood, he picked up the squirming toddler from the floor and put the pants on him with ease. He shot you a smile beaming with accomplishment to which you had only scoffed and rolled your eyes. Granted, you were grateful you didn’t have to deal with the little boy pushing and screaming because he didn’t want to wear pants.

You were grateful to Shawn in general, really. He was the best dad you and Flynn could have ever hoped for. Although not exactly planned, Shawn had stepped up the second you revealed you were expecting. Once the cat was out of the bag, Karen and Aaliyah had insisted on throwing a baby shower since the two of you decided to keep the gender a surprise. Despite not wanting something big, the two of you didn’t have the hearts to decline the offer. Their not-so-subtle questions were a great distraction as you dealt with the first few months of pregnancy as Shawn finished up the last shows of his tour.

While Shawn got himself ready, you had packed some snacks and a spare change of clothes for the almost three-year-old. Shawn had a show back home in Toronto tonight and had begged for Flynn to come with him to soundcheck while you ran some much-needed errands. Knowing he wanted to spend as much time with his son as possible before embarking on a small North-American tour, you had agreed immediately. He would be with his dad and dozens of other adults, so what could possibly go wrong? Eventually, the two boys were ready to go and you had kissed them goodbye, laughing at your son’s uncontrollable excitement. Locking the door behind them, you had scanned the house, trying to figure out the best place to start.

Shawn was the love of your life and you loved him to death, but he was still a kid at heart and hadn’t always been the greatest at cleaning up his mess. Flynn hadn’t even turned three yet, so you couldn’t exactly expect him to put away all his toys although the two of you had tried your best to teach him. Connecting your phone to one of the many Bluetooth speakers within the house, you had gotten to work, realizing how desperately the house needed to be cleaned.

It had been a great day; the living room was cleaner than it had been in weeks, the bathroom was clean, and you had even been able to buy some new groceries and macaroni, which appeared to be Flynn’s current favorite snack. You had been contemplating what to do next when the Snapchat story showing Brian and Flynn messing around suddenly changed into the calling screen. Seeing Shawn’s name across the screen, you had answered, which lead you to this current moment.

“You- I- You did what?” you accuse, too scared to worry about the tone of your voice.

“I lost our baby,” Shawn repeats slowly as if to mask the panic coating his words. “I lost Flynn.”

“I’ll be there in five,” you inform quickly, hanging up the phone before your husband has a chance to reply.

Luckily for you, the traffic in Toronto wasn’t unbearable and you didn’t live too far from the venue. Weaving between cars, mopeds, and pedestrians, the only thing on your mind was Flynn. Well, that and the furious speech you were going to give Shawn. A small voice in the back of your mind was trying to calm you down but to no avail. He was a small toddler and he couldn’t have gotten far, but your mind was far beyond trying to think rationally. Shawn was more than capable to find and handle your son, you knew, but the thought of Flynn running around alone among heavy - and expensive - equipment was scary. Too scary to stay home and await more news.

When Flynn was born, Shawn swore he would protect him at all costs and you believed him with every fiber in your body. You knew it wasn’t Shawn’s fault. Flynn’s small and loves to play hide and seek, and he could have easily run off expecting Shawn to look for him like he has done so many times at home. Trying to remind yourself of this, you found it increasingly more difficult to not blame your husband for the disappearance of your son. Ignoring the ache in your chest at the thought of something happening to Flynn, your body releases some of the tension as the familiar stadium comes into view. Pulling into the parking lot, you stop the car and jump out, too frantic to care about the three parking spots you’re using.

There are already fans waiting in line and you make a quick beeline for the back entryway. The security recognized you immediately (or they could possibly see the determination on your face and decided not to question it) and let you inside. Not having been to the Rogers Centre for a while, you wrack your brain, desperately trying to remember which way would lead you to Shawn. Finally remembering where to go, you rush past the fairly oblivious workers, mumbling apologies as you push past them. You fish your phone out of your pocket, getting ready to call Shawn, when you spot him sitting on the edge of the stage next to Andrew, Flynn standing in his lap. Coming to a halt momentarily, you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of your unharmed family. Shawn notices you as you rush toward them, his mouth agape in surprise.

“I found him,” he informs quietly as he stands, squeezing his eyes shut as Flynn steals his glasses off his face. “He’s fine.”

Brian makes his way over, making a joke that you’re unable to hear but it makes Andrew laugh. You’re too preoccupied with the task at hand to care. You showing up to one of Shawn’s rehearsals wasn’t uncommon. It was more of a rare occurrence after Flynn was born, but the two of you tried to visit as often as possible. Brian and Andrew seem to notice the shift in Shawn’s mood, but neither of them dares to move. Directing your attention back to your husband, you decide to give him a piece of your mind, unable to control your frustration any longer.

“You could have told me,” you exclaim, glancing up at your husband smiling innocently, the unknowing toddler secure on his hip. “I probably broke five traffic rules trying to get here, you asshat.”

“Ass!” Flynn exclaims, clapping his hands excitedly, bouncing up and down in Shawn’s arms.

“Flynn, no, don’t-” you try, but the toddler is already repeating the word followed by countless giggles.

“That one’s on you,” Shawn announces, pressing his lips together so his laughter won’t encourage his son further. “Flynn, we don’t say that word, okay? Bad word. Only mommy says bad words.”

You scoff at his cheesy grin, holding your arms out for your son. Shawn hands him to you and you hug him close, ignoring his little grunts of protest. Shawn looks back to Andrew and gives him a look you can’t bother to decipher, but the older man just chuckles. Pressing your nose against Flynn’s brown mop of hair, you inhale his natural scent, your heartbeat decelerating by the second. Your son was here and he was safe. You never doubted that Shawn would have done anything in his power to save Flynn if anything would have happened, but even just the thought of something harming him had been terrifying.

“You better get better at not letting your kid out of your sight, Mendes,” you state, regaining the attention of your husband. “Because in seven months you’ll have another one.”

“What?” Shawn whispers, his eyes scrambling toward your stomach for confirmation. They widen immediately as he notices the small baby bump barely hidden by your black t-shirt.

“Oo, double baby Mendes trouble,” Connor exclaims, entering your field of view. “Better start practicing those multitasking skills, dude!”

Shawn hands Flynn off to Andrew, who happily accepts the squirming toddler, before effortlessly jumping off the stage. He’s next to you in an instant, either ignoring Connor’s words or he hadn’t heard them. There’s an undeniable happiness dancing across his face as his lips stretch into a wide grin. A small giggle escapes you as his large hand finds its way to your barely-there-bump. It wasn’t how you imagined telling him, but it was good enough.

“We’re having another one?”

You nod. “Yep. Baby number two is on their way!”

Before you can fully comprehend it, his well-sculpted arms (which were part of the reason there was a baby number two) wrapped around your waist. Shawn spins you around quickly, a string of cheers and hollers escaping him. The sudden movements don’t take long to make you feel uneasy and Shawn puts you down, apparently sensing it.

“I love you,” he gushes, his hand resting against your cheek. “I love you and our little family so much.”

#shawn mendes #sm #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes x reader #dad!shawn #dad!shawn mendes #shawn mendes x y/n #reader x shawn mendes #shawn x reader #reader x shawn #shawn mendes x you #reader insert #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes one shot #mom!reader

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seizethecringeofproduction · 3 years ago

Text

New Years - Saints Row Fanfic

Featuring: @kiyumiakuji @shuyaakuji @hirokiakuji & @tomoyukiakuji

Is a Ronin Centric Fic; Contains a bit of trolling at the start

2008/1/1 | 8:30 AM

The cool winter breeze flowed gently through the streets of Tokyo throughout New Years’ Day 2008, the first day of January as well as the new year. Even though the sun was just now rising over the western horizon, the city had never been asleep for a second - traffic was still bumper to bumper while the streets themselves were littered with crowds of people walking here and there, be it to their place of work or just to some hangout spots. True that some spots were not as busy as others, but no matter where one went it was still Tokyo. Flashing signs and billboards littered the streets and the sides of the various tall buildings - from high rises to skyscrapers, delivering advertisements to viewers which ranged from the mundane to the far more known wacky if not eccentric type; especially popular were those for that new game show, the one with that pink cat professor that was taking the country by storm.

However, it wasn’t fun, games and heavy traffic for everyone in Tokyo that morning. Case in point being the rather dull boardroom of Tatsubishi - a conglomerate based in the metropolis that is best known internationally for their automobile manufacturing and distribution; ranging from SUVs, Trucks, Cars, Motorcycles and extending even to the likes of helicopters, airplanes and more, it was a name that plenty of people throughout the world would have least heard one time in their lives. What may not be as widely known about it however was the fact that the entire corporation had a rather insidious darker side - seeing as how it was the front for the dreaded Yakuza Oyabun known as Kazuo Akuji. The man was known and feared throughout all of Japan as not only one of the most ruthless businessmen, but also one of the most brutal Yakuza leaders. The crimes which are alleged to be traced back to him are among the most horrifying in Japan’s history, many bodies mysteriously found in rivers throughout Honshu are said to be of those who wronged him. That is, if there’s even a body at all. With a decade spanning career in both the business and criminal worlds, Kazuo is as respected as he is feared. His name instills both honor and dread into those who hear it, as one most certainly does not want to hear it outside of a positive context.

Though it was no secret that the man was not getting any younger. Many debated just how old he was, but regardless of the specific age he was old. Most knew only that he was at least late 70’s or early 80’s. While most of his body, hidden beneath his blazer suit, was littered with innumerous tattoos befitting an oyabun of his caliber, the parts of him that were visible to the naked eye were still very much wrinkled. He seemed to look both perpetually irritable as well as tired - and to be fair, much of the time that would be considered an accurate description of his mood. His hair, long ago a rich shade of black was long since greyed. He still had a full head of it, but it had receded some since the bloom of his youth. While most of his body had seemingly taken a withered and somewhat frail appearance, he was still nevertheless considered to be a mighty swordsman - more than capable of defeating even a much younger man in battle even in spite of the fact his joints would very likely give him hell not long afterwards.

Point was though, he was in the evening of his life. Soon, would be the eternal night. The only surprise left for a man his age. Sitting at the head of the board room with all of his underbosses sprawled about before him, all he saw were men who a few decades ago were introduced to him as the young sons of those who sat before them. Granted, these men themselves were not spring chickens either - most of them were at least in their 30’s or 40’s and at most in their 60’s, but all of them had in common the fact their one and only oyabun during their lives was none other than Kazuo - the man sitting before them on that very day.

Thinking over this fact with a contemplative sigh, he realized one thing that had been on his mind for the past 18 years. That the day he had long since been waiting for had finally arrived. It was time for his own next in line.

As he stood up, he didn’t need to make any sound at all. The entire room of underbosses and bodyguards fell entirely silent - all eyes instinctively turning to Kazuo himself as he moved, his eyes scanning the entire room to ensure their attention before he even began speaking. Not even a cough was made, nor a sip of tea. Any such disrespect would have been grounds for very swift ‘discipline’. Cupping his hands behind his back once the silence of the room was truly deafening, only then did the old man finally speak what was on his mind:

“Gentleman, this has been a very pleasant meeting. I am very proud of the work you have all done over the previous year - the clan has grown ever more honored as it is feared throughout Japan. I have been the oyabun of this organization for longer than most others of my rank have been alive; let alone operating free of imprisonment. I have seen as many of you and your fathers go as I have the winter change into spring, and spring into fall. I have fought in wars, I have married, I have had three children and three grandchildren. I have turned my clan into one of the most powerful and influential not only in our corporate world - but in our criminal world as well.” he then had a particular pause as he finally arrived to the true point of his speech, “However…” he said, “I have come to the decision that there will be more changes this year than simply the succession of my subordinates; I myself will be stepping down as your oyabun.”

His words elicited many wide eyes from all of his underbosses, as well as chills echoing down their spines. Even the famed - and bald - swordsman Jyunichi, standing right behind the old man, was surprised to hear the words. While none of them said anything, they looked at each other in bewilderment, their discussions being as silent as the room itself when Kazuo wasn’t talking. Only when he began speaking again did their attention sharply turn back to him.

“I know that this change is most unprecedented, but after many months - years even, of rumination over it, I have come to the conclusion that it is for the best. My retirement shall be effective as of the first of this April, giving you the next four months to become adjusted to my chosen successor; my son.”

With one of Kazuo’s hands now gesturing towards the double doors used to enter the room, all eyes were promptly on said doors as they - as if on cue, flung open for just a few seconds as another figure entered the room. It was, of course, a young man. A very much younger man than Kazuo, though. In fact, the man was no older than 18 - just barely an adult.

Actually, he was technically 17, though only until April. That was not a coincidence.

His face was completely devoid of wrinkles, and his hair was entirely jet black and slicked back in a ‘respectful’ style. His body was slender - toned well by regular exercise. Even as he stood there dressed in a black blazer suit complete with black power tie that featured a golden dragon etched onto it’s ‘tongue’, while he vaguely looked like his father one would not have guessed their actual relation in a million years. Yet this baby faced, smooth skinned boy was in fact the oyabun’s son. All of the underbosses stood from the seats and promptly gave this late teenager his due respect by bowing in his presence as he walked to be right beside Kazuo - the son exchanging a respectful bow of his own to Kazuo, his father saying to him;

“My son, you have little idea of how long I have waited for this day to come. Counting only the years since you have been born, it has been only eighteen. But counting the years before, it has been since I first became oyabun.”

Looking to his father with the utmost respect, the son returned his sentiments:

“It is an honor to be your successor, father” he bowed again, “I will continue leading the clan to greatness, just as you have before me.”

“I know you will,” the old man replied, “I am the one who trained you. Now..” he then gestured towards one of the open chairs directly to the side of his own, “Let us sit and endure the rest of this meeting, my son.”

2008/1/1 | 1:55 PM

“So how’d it go?”

“Well, I’m going to be the oyabun as of April. Aside from that, most of it was uneventful; talking about finances and operations.”

“Hold on, you’re going to be the oyabun? That’s your birthday gift this year? All he ever gets me is money, literally just money!”

“Don’t worry, Shogo, you know you’re basically going to be my right hand man once I’m in that seat.”

“I know, Hiro, but still! You’re going to be the boss of the entire Akuji Clan!”

“I know, it’s a big responsibility, and an honor. That’s why he’s waiting until April to step down, he wants me to see how he handles things up close before making the switch completely. After that, I won’t have any training wheels.”

The two young men speaking along the side of a kinokuniya international shopping center, and in fact leaning against the walls of said store, were identical twin brothers Hiroki and Shogo Akuji - the sons of Kazuo. Hiroki being the one introduced as his successor mere hours before, though no longer dressed as prim and proper as he was before. He now had a pair of black jeans on rather than silk slacks, with his pants held up by a black leather belt with a dragon styled buckle. Over his smooth body was a yellow polo with a popped collar and white undershirt - and his hair was no longer slicked back but now worn down in a more spiked and ruffled style. His shoes were even exchanged for a pair of black tennis shoes, and around his neck was a golden ‘lucky’ 5 yen coin; all of these clothes and features were copied fully by his brother Shogo save for one - resting on Hiroki’s forehead was a pair of yellow designer sunglasses with black lenses, while on Shogo’s rested a pair of the same brand colored white.

The two brothers stood in that parking lot in the early afternoon, leaning with their backs and one foot each on the wall of the store, the other feet on the concrete ground beneath them as they enjoyed this most casual conversation - the day around them being quite beautiful. The breeze was still very much a cooled winter wind, and the sky was cleared of clouds; it’s blue color joined with the light of the sun to illuminate the entire city of Tokyo in a vibrant and joyous form of brightness.

“Honestly, Hiro” Shogo spoke plainly to Hiroki, “I don’t think you even need those training wheels.”

Smirking, Hiroki gave Shogo a certain cocky look as he retorted:

“I see you’re already brown nosing.”

“No, I’m being serious,” Shogo answered back in a quick yet blunt tone, “You’re totally ready to handle the family business on your own. I mean, it’s basically what he prepared you for the entirety of your life..” and for a moment, Shogo bowed his head in a moment of sudden melancholy that his brother quickly noticed even as the younger twin muttered beneath his breath “Unlike me…”

Placing a hand onto Shogo’s shoulders, Hiroki spoke to his brother in a serious tone of his own:

“Shogo, you’re going to be my-”

“No, I’m not” Shogo interrupted Hiroki, walking away from the store wall, hands in his pockets before he took a deep breath and faced his twin again, “I’m leaving Japan after our birthday this year.”

“What?”

“I’m heading to America” the younger Akuji elaborated, “There’s this place that’s going through total anarchy right now after one of their previous gangs died off, I heard about it from eavesdropping this morning on one of father’s calls. It’s that place those people he wanted to buy parts from come from, I did some research and it’s prime real estate for gangs right now.”

“And you’re thinking of setting up your own gang there?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Wow” Hiroki bounced his brows a bit, remarking “And you did this all without consulting me? What happened to us doing everything together, brother?”

“Well, I hatched this plan during you and father’s meeting today and was gonna bring you into it like always, but…”

“It’ll be difficult while I am the oyabun.”

“Yeah….it would....”

The two brothers then shared deep breaths, sighs. The realization that things were changing between them wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, often Hiroki was all Shogo had through his youth - seeing as how Kazuo would often leave Shogo alone while he spent time with Hiroki, and their sister being a teen girl at the time was not interested in giving her younger brothers much company. After their mother died, Shogo came to cherish the times when Hiroki was with him, allowing him to escape from the fact that Kazuo all but neglected his existence save for when it was time to be mad at him or berate his lifestyle choices. Yet now the brothers were growing up, and while Shogo would love to rule the family organization at his brother’s side - he also wanted to spread his own wings and make a name for himself,rather than only live in Hiroki’s shadow. Perhaps in time, their father would be proud of both of his sons rather than only his first.

Yet still, they were brothers. Though it hurt both of them to an extent, they both understood each other’s needs and desires - though it was hard for him to fully understand, Hiroki understood without being told what Shogo desired more than anything else. Approaching him and placing a hand to his shoulder, the older twin said:

“Well, brother, I look forward to working with you and your gang, even from a few thousand miles away.”

Smiling at his brother giving his approval and nodding as he patted Hiroki on the shoulder as well:

“Thanks, Hiro.”

“Of course, Sho” Hiroki replied, “Besides, lord knows we both need to move out of that crazy house.”

“Speak yourself” Shogo answered before replying with a rejuvenated cocky tone, “If I were, I’d tell Kiyumi to buy her own place and kick her ass out as soon as I get the chance. That place is pretty bitching.”

Smirking and even nodding as he genuinely imagined the scenario which his brother planted into his head, Hiroki’s only response was an agreeing:

“That is also an idea.”

The two brothers then shared a laugh with each other at that moment as they both looked out to the streets surrounding them, as well as all of the people walking and driving about who paid them no mind at all. Shogo couldn’t help but remark:

“To think” he quipped, “You can become the oyabun, but you take an hour on Pumpkin Hill.”

“Oh shut up, ‘How was I supposed to know about the air necklace’.”

“Well, at least we both kinda suck at Yakuza, I guess,” Shogo laughinly confessed, “Though I’m pretty sure I beat the first game before you did.”

“Only because we shared a save file and it happened to be your turn at the time, Sho!”

“Fair enough, but you know one thing I know for a fact you can’t beat me at?”

“What?”

“Getting back on my bike first!” Having been looking right towards him and his brother’s parked kanedas right by the sidewalk on the other side of the avenue road facing them - right in front of a building they liked to refer to as ‘MaxMara’ due to the sign on the front of it. Shogo then darted right towards his - the one that was silver colored with etched in dragon decals and accents of glowing yellow lights throughout it’s form. Hiroki’s was of course, golden colored.

Accepting his brother’s offer for a race, Hiroki soon darted right after him:

“Alright, but you know that getting on is only the first leg of the race!”

“You’re on!”

Managing to quickly break into a sprint as he crossed the street, Hiroki was able to catch up to Shogo in a surprising amount of time as they ran through the parking lot with youthful vigor, Hiroki’s last words before he would have overtaken Shogo being:

“I’m catching up to you, Shogo!”

“Not anymore, Hiro-”

BAM

All it took was a single moment

The loud echoing sound of a gunshot from a tall building located just across the street from the store could be heard from some feet away, though the form of the gunman could only be seen fleeing the rooftop for but a fraction of a second. By the time he had actually heard the shot itself, Shogo had just planted his body down onto his kaneda - and excitedly proclaimed victory:

“Ha!” he laughed, “I won leg 1! Get ready to….Hiro?” the first thing Shogo noticed was that his brother was neither on his bike, nor standing behind him. Instead, much to the younger brother’s horror, he was laying on the ground - a pool of blood forming on the concrete just beneath his head. The left side of Hiroki’s head was marred by what looked like a line of flesh and hair torn right open, with the tip of his left ear being blasted clean off. Blood was absolutely covering the entire left side of his head, though also along the ground were chunks of what was no doubt his skull bone. Despite the occasional twitch, it was clear that Hiroki was not conscious by any stretch of the word - and just looking at the scene, Shogo feared the absolute worst.

“Hiroki!” Without any hesitation at all, Shogo ran towards his brother and almost tripped onto the ground once he knelt down close to him at the speed he had been going. With one hand he scooped up his brother’s head while the other tried to shake Hiroki’s head, desperately trying to just get his brother’s eyes to open; “Hiroki! Wake up! Wake the fuck up, Hiroki!” he couldn’t help but then lash out at the crowd forming around him, “What are you looking at?! Why are you just standing there?! Someone call the fucking ambulence!”

Looking at Hiroki’s face at this moment, in broad daylight, Shogo could see not only the coat of blood dripping from the side of his own brother’s head, but also the heartbreaking fact that his brother was not making any response at all. Whatever he was, he was not asleep. Tears formed from Shogo’s eyes as he realization was striking him oh so hard:

“Don’t die on me, Hiroki” he said while trying and failing to hold his tears back, “Don’t you fucking die on me, Hiro!”

Shogo was able to overcome his tears for long enough to call medical professionals himself, though he shook as he dialed the number - cursing every time he accidentally dialed them incorrectly. He wasted very little time in yelling the moment he had the operator on the line:

“Get the fuck over here! My brother was fucking shot in the head by some, by some fucking assassin or hitman or something! Get over here now, he’s bleeding to fucking death!”

“Okay, okay, sir, I need you to tell me where-”

“I’m, we’re, by the curb on Aoyama-dori Avenue!” Shogo tried to speak more calmly, though he still was in an incredibly frantic tone, “Right in front of that building with the MaxMara sign on it, you know, the Mar’s building! Just, get here fucking quick before he dies!”

“Okay, sir, we have ambulances heading for your location right now, but I need you to please try to remain calm-”

“Remain calm?! My brother is dying in my arms right now!”

“I understand sir, but it will be best for both of you in this situation. I suggest please finding some kind of tourniquet to slow or stop the bleeding-”

Before the lady on the other end even finished, Shogo quickly gasped as he realized he had completely forgotten that. Without even thinking he removed his polo shirt, leaving his body dressed only in the white sleeveless shirt he had underneath. He didn’t care about any of that though, how he looked for once was last on his priorities list - instead he just tied his polo tightly as he could around his brother’s head, desperately trying to do anything he could to slow down the bleeding. He could see the deep stains forming across the fabric even while still tying and tightening it - and it was a hard sight for him to look at. He was no stranger nor fearful of blood, but he was also not ready to watch his brother die. Just beginning to hear the sirens approaching, he looked in their direction with a renewed sense of relief as he said to Hiroki:

“It’s alright, Hiro, I’m not gonna let you die. They’re gonna have you up and walking in no time, I know they will. They have to...you’re gonna wake up...you hear me? You’re gonna wake up…”

Please wake up….

F-Father!

Shogo? Why are you calling me. How much do you need me to pay to get you out of your problem now?

This isn’t anything to do with me, father!

Then what is it Shogo?

It’s Hiroki...he’s in...he was...he’s in the hospital right now!

….

Which hospital?

2008/1/1 11:30 PM

There was a most uncomfortable silence in the hospital room on the night of January 1st, the day of the fateful gunshot. Hiroki now had proper bandages across his head, a respiratory mask across his mouth and IV’s in his veins to keep him alive - though his eyes remained closed in what only looked like the purest and most silent of sleeps. Kazuo himself sat in a chair right beside his bed, gazing at Hiroki’s motionless form with a look that had innumerous emotions running through it at once. The chief among them being shock, grief and utter rage. From the moment he had finally gotten it out of Shogo what happened, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind what had happened - he knew exactly who did this. Who would target his heir in broad daylight like this, killing him in one of the most dishonorable ways imaginable; on a holiday no less.

He repeated the name many times in his head…

Wong.

Wong was the only person Kazuo could think of who not only had a motive, but also the willingness to strike that which Kazuo prized the most. As much as the oyabun understood very well why Hiroki was targeted, he had neither sympathy nor tolerance for it. Watching solemnly as Hiroki fought with all he could to stay alive, it was a sight that no father wished to see in their lives. It was a sight that made Kazuo’s blood boil knowing in his heart and mind who was responsible, wanting nothing more now than to see Wong be put into the ground for this transgression.

With every beeping of Hiroki’s heart monitor, Kazuo’s rage grew beyond his own expectations. Put bluntly, it would be within Wong’s best interests - if one were to ask Kazuo, if Hiroki made a full recovery.

So far however, none of the doctors or nurses were confident in the chances of that happening.

Seated across from Kazuo in the room, the scene was not much different. Shogo waited, covered across his arms and torso in the now dried blood of Hiroki from earlier. His eyes were wide in fear, and body shaking. He could hear the beeping of the heart monitor on account of the door being opened, and was deathly afraid that any moment soon he would hear it flatline. Only by a miracle did that not happen yet. Sitting next to him was the rest of the immediate family - that is to say his older sister and her children. Jyunichi was standing guard by the open door.

As for the sister sitting next to Shogo, Kiyumi was a 25 - going on 26 in February, year old woman. She has been described before as the spitting image of her late mother, though very unlike her in personality. Her hair was long and straightened, and her slender, figured and beautiful young body was dressed in a golden dress - with matching heels and a black designer leather jacket to cover herself in the winter cold. She only looked so fashionable and had makeup one because she was out shopping at the time of Kazuo furiously calling her. Sleeping on either side of her lap were her youngest children, Tomoyuki and Mitsuko. A boy and girl respectively, twins of four years old, to be five in June. On the far side of the bench, next to his younger sister, was Kiyumi's first born - her 9 year old son Shuya, though he will be 10 come November. While not asleep like his siblings, he still sat there surprisingly quietly; largely on account of being bored and increasingly tired.

Speaking of which, that was a reason why eventually Kiyumi quietly stood up - waking up her younger kids and prompting them to softly whine and rub their eyes as she walked towards Kazuo, softly whispering to her father:

“I mean no disrespect father, but my children should be returning home now; it’s getting late and school starts up again as soon as next monday.”

Kazuo first responded with a sigh, looking to Hiroki one last time before looking to his daughter;

“Go. I am not forcing you or them to stay. Just leave me in peace.”

Giving her father a respectful bow, she then turned back to her kids as she began walking towards the door - gesturing for them to follow her. Shuya got up first, followed by the younger two. However, it wasn’t long before Tomoyuki with another whine said to his mother:

“Mother, I have to pee, can I go before we leave?”

Followed not very long afterwards by his sister in a very similar manner:

“I have to pee too, mother!” she whined. Shuya rolled his eyes in annoyance, while Kazuo was too fixated on Hiroki. As such, Kiyumi centered her gaze onto Shogo as she spoke up just enough to grab his attention:

“Shogo” she said, he was at first startled because of his own mindful gaze being locked on Hiroki, though calmed once he realized it was his sister speaking to him as she continued with “Can you take Tomo to the bathroom while I handle Mitsu?”

At first, Shogo tried to deflect the order;

“Why don’t you just ask Jyunichi like you did a few hours ago?”

“Because Jyunichi is in the bathroom of his room right now” Kiyumi said, gesturing to the small room offered within the patient room itself. The door was currently closed. “He’s napping in it, since he needs to have as much energy as possible - father having assigned him to guard Hiroki 24/7, remember?”

“Oh...right…”

“Mother!” Tomoyuki whined again, this time a bit louder, “I really have to go!”

“Okay, okay” Shogo responded, standing up and taking the five year old’s hand, “I’ll take him.”

Leaving the room wasn’t easy for Shogo though, even with the preschooler basically leading him out. He still gave his brother one last look before he was back out in the hall, leading his nephew towards where he remembers the bathroom was. It must have been very weird for those few others in the hall at this hour to see a teenager with so much blood on him walking down the hall with a four year old in hand, let alone the mother so casually holding her daughter not far behind them, the eldest child trailing behind. Nevertheless, nobody said a thing about the sight.

Upon reaching the bathrooms, Kiyumi led Mitsuko right inside of the ‘ladies’ bathroom - and Shogo did much the same in regards to the ‘men’s. There wasn’t really much to it, being a public restroom and all. The room was tiled from the floor to the walls, and while it attempted to match with the white and sterile look the rest of the building had - albeit with a bit more blue, it being a bathroom used by men it had its share of grime and dinginess. On one side of the room was a line of stalls followed immediately by urinals - opposite to the row of sinks on the other side, as well as mirrors.

“Alright, so, you do know how to use a urinal, right Tomo?”

“Mmhm!” Tomo nodded, not even having to be told to walk on over to any urinal and begin fidgeting with his pants. Shogo decided to let him handle his business on his own, and turned away towards the sinks. It was then that he was staring right back at himself in the mirror. At his brown eyes, still looking as though they were in shock - and sporting dark circles beneath themselves from how tired they were. The fact he only had his white tank top on, with it being covered in blood - just as his hands and arms were. Normally, he would take pride in that - but knowing this was the blood of his own brother, he couldn’t help but freeze at the sight. Memories of just a few hours ago flashed again in his mind - cradling Hiroki’s head in his hand, wrapping his polo around Hiroki’s head to stop his bleeding, even the ride to the hospital in the back of the ambulance; staying at Hiroki’s side right up to this very moment. He could picture it all as if it was happening in that moment right before his eyes.

Taking a breath, Shogo approached one of the sinks and decided to at least wash the blood off of his arms and hands to the best of his ability. It wasn’t hard to do, but it was hard to look at. Seeing the blood flow off of his limbs with the knowledge of who it all belonged to, it made him stare not at the mirror but instead at his hands as if in a trance. Shogo was not normally like this, if this was anyone else he wouldn’t even be here - but this was his brother. Not some ordinary person, and not some clan member who happened to get bumped off in front of him. This was someone he actually cared about, and one of the only people in his entire family who he felt truly was there for him these past 17-18 years. Not only did he feel lost, but he also couldn’t help but to feel even colder than he actually was as he looked after his now cleaned hands, tuning out even the sound of the sink’s running water as he just silently gazed down onto his palms - in this moment unsure of what to do anymore.

THUD

That sound, followed by the whine and cry of a small child, quickly diverted his attention. What he saw was something to no surprise, but too much irritation. Tomoyuki was on the ground, having been shoved into the wall of one of the stalls by none other than Shuya. Letting out a very irritated sigh, Shogo walked in between of the brothers - at which point Tomoyuki did manage to get up and hid behind Shogo’s legs for protection.

“Stop” Shogo said as firmly as he could, not having the patience for this right now, “Just, stop.”

Shuya was completely unmoved by Shogo’s tone of voice, and the words he said only egged his uncle on even more:

“He brought it on himself, he was taking too long to finish!”

“Kid, you can’t control how long you have to go” Shogo said, looking down at the petulant brat, “I get you’re tired and wanna go home, but have some fucking patience.”

“You mean like you did, waiting until this moment to become the next in line?” Shuya callously remarked with a smirk across his face as he watched Shogo’s reaction turn from annoyance into full anger, “I guess once we leave you’ll be sucking up to grandfather to seal the deal in?”

Shogo didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t even think. He only acted. His face now red with anger, his hands curled into a fist before he punched Shuya in the face. Shogo himself wasn’t the strongest person by any means, but Shuya being so smaller and even less of a fighter than him meant that the young boy was sent back - letting out a high pitched squeal as he fell to the floor, holding his eye in shock. Tomoyuki flinched at seeing the contact, having peered from behind Shogo’s leg. His mouth was actually agape as the reality of what Shogo did came over him; he froze, not knowing what to do in this situation. Shogo just looked down on Shuya with a face of silent rage, not feeling any regret at all for what he did - in fact, if anything he felt satisfaction over it.

Shuya, starting to immediately tear up as he held a hand over his now sore eye, sobbingly whined:

“I’m...I’m telling mother!” and with that, Shuya immediately ran out of the room - the door slamming behind him in his hurry. Only after it closed did Shogo realize what would likely happen now after what he just did, and let out a sigh. He then turned to Tomoyuki though, who had still been behind him up to this point - the boy flinched a little, but then Shogo in a softer tone asked him;

“You okay? No serious damage or anything?”

Shaking his head, the four year old replied “Nu-uh...I’m okay....”

“Okay” Shogo nodded, “Good.”

After a brief pause, and a bit of twiddling his fingers, Tomoyuki asked in a soft though concerned tone:

“Is….is Uncle Hiroki going to be okay?”

That was not a question Shogo was at all prepared to answer. He looked down at those big, innocent young eyes of his nephew for what felt like a while, desperately wanting to tell him ‘yes, duh’ yet knowing that he had no idea at all whether that was going to be the truth or not. Gulping and kneeling down to be level with Tomoyuki’s eyes, Shogo said the most truthful answer that he could:

“I hope so, Tomo. I really hope so.”

Tomoyuki without saying anything more than gave Shogo a hug, something which Shogo was not expecting - but he couldn’t help but feel a bit better. As ‘badass’ he wanted to pretend to be, he couldn’t deny that this sweet little moment made him feel at least the smallest bit better. Smiling for just a bit, he even patted the young boy on the back. It was a shame that this moment didn’t last longer than it did, because it was just as that face of his broke into that smile when it came crashing down.

Shouting from outside in the hall was the booming voice of his father:

“Shogo!” he yelled, “Attacking your own nephew?! Are you demented?! Must you shame me everywhere we go?! Get out here immediately!”

Shogo could only sigh.

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trans-axian-archive · 5 years ago

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since I apparently hold the power to make people love jiang cheng, I've decided to use this ability to make y'all start treating wen ning right. here are some reasons wen ning is the only boy that matters and isn't a uwu baby tm:

- he's literally just always trying his best. he's a little bit of a fool but his goal is always to help and he never half asses anything

- remember when wei wuxian said wen ning is an extremely talented archer? stop ignoring that

- we all talk about how much lan wangji and jiang yanli and jiang cheng love wei wuxian but wen ning also loves him So much. he's so incredibly loyal to wei wuxian and literally the only person who stayed by his side through everything. like I know there are several circumstances that prevented other people from staying with him (like, yknow, death) but it just makes me feel a lot that wen ning has been there for wei wuxian through everything he's had to suffer :"

- that whole sequence in yi city where he's just fully going ham. wei wuxian isn't even controlling him he's just Doing That to keep everyone else is safe. I love him

- he fucking kept the charm wei wuxian gave him until he died. he kept it on him at all times. he fucking held it in his hands as he died. I can't fucking handle this

- the Looks he gives wei wuxian whenever some gay shit is happening with lan wangji are... Priceless

- he loves sizhui so much. he loves him SO much. the scene where wen ning saves the lotus soup and feeds it to him.... how emotional he gets when he realizes lan sizhui is a yuan...

- that boy really does love with his whole heart. he's very mild mannered but when he cares about someone he Cares About Them. he's so loyal and so caring. I need a moment. I need a fucking moment

- that whole scene where he goes Off on jiang cheng about the golden core. need I fucking say more

- actually, I do need to say more. this scene not only makes me fully lose it because it's fucking badass but it also just shows how brave wen ning is like it's just Such a powerful fucking moment. the fact that he keeps getting up despite jiang cheng whipping him with zidian. how he's so determined to stand up for wei wuxian. wen ning knows everything wei wuxian has been through and in that moment he's just had Enough. he promised wei wuxian that he wouldn't tell anyone about the golden core but jiang cheng just knocked his best friend unconscious and he can't fucking do it anymore. it's such a raw moment because a lot of times wen ning is framed as being very eager to please and mild mannered and agreeable, and he is, but this scene makes it clear that wen ning is also brave and passionate and angry thanks for coming to my goddamn ted talk

- another scene that shows how brave and caring wen ning is: in the temple when he's literally doing Everything He Can to control the saber. *chefs kiss*

- despite everything he's still just so kind and caring and manages to continue to be such a sweetheart constantly

- hes just so fucking cool like he's such a badass have you SEEN him

- he's just ALWAYS helping people. when he saves the yunmeng siblings. when he takes medicine to wei wuxian. fuck

- it's literally canon that he cooks and is good at it. like first of all, stop saying he's a helpless innocent cinnamon roll who knows no life skills I Will stab you. and second of all, that's just so sweet I love him so much he cooks for people he cares about I'm tearing up a little bit

- he loved wen qing so much I'm simply Weeping the baby brother in me Cannot do this

- the fucking radish scene. how could you not cherish and adore this man

- sorry to talk about this scene again but "take this sword to the dining hall or training ground or anywhere you like. find anyone and ask them to unsheathe it. you can see whether they can do it or not, and whether I lied or not. clan leader jiang, you're always such a competitive person, you've been comparing yourself to others your whole life, but you should know that you've never been able to compare with him" is fucking DEVASTATING I think about this every goddamn day

- that fucking scene where he's like covered in mud n grass trying to look like some scary creature. wen ning sweetie I'd do anything for you

- folks I don't know how to break this to you but wen ning is a capable grown ass adult he is Not baby and frankly the reason y'all constantly insist on infantilizing him is because he's Heavily autistic coded send tweet

#I love him so much it's UNREAL #wen ning #wen qionglin #mdzs #the untamed #cql #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #lan sizhui #a yuan #wen qing #yi city arc #ghost posts

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blurred-letters · 5 years ago

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let go ;

✘ — author: blurred-letters

✘ — pairing: reader x jimin

✘ — rating: 18+, smut, angst

✘ — summary: your devotion to jimin reaches new heights as you try your best to ease his pain.

✘ — note: this baby has been in my drafts since october y’all. finally got the inspiration to finish it at midnight on a monday of all times, but it’s finally done! i was inspired by this song and would highly recommend giving it a listen while you read!

Sometimes you really wondered how he did it.

Non-stop schedules, endless practices and late night preparations.. not to mention the weight of millions upon millions of eager fans that he was so desperate to please. There were times when you were truly in awe of how Jimin took everything in stride - never allowing those around him to notice the occasional cracks that appeared in his invisible armor.

However, while they may have gone unnoticed by most, there was little he could do to hide them from you.

Jimin really tried his best - bless him - to keep his head high when he was around you, but the years of friendship the two of you shared served to make you exceptional at reading each other.

Looking up at him from across the table, your heart ached as you took in the lavender circles beneath his eyes and the tired glaze that veiled his gaze. He was exhausted. You had flown to Paris in an attempt to help Jimin relax during his time off but after having his whereabouts discovered by hordes of fans and his privacy invaded yet again, you could tell that this vacation was doing more harm than good.

You bit down particularly hard on a piece of mussel shell to quell the anger you felt for him and winced. Jimin had insisted that he was fine - that it was fine - as he always did, but you knew better than to believe that line at this point and had hurried over to his hotel room under the guise of wanting to watch old movies and stuff yourselves with room service.

“Food’s good,” you murmured, looking up at Jimin with a gentle smile. He picked mindlessly at the steak tartare on his plate, but at the sound of your voice he lifted his gaze to return the gesture.

“Mhm,” he hummed softly, not having taken a single bite, “Really good.”

Silence took over once again and you clutched your fork tighter in your hand. More than once you found yourself wishing that there was something, anything you could do to whisk his cares away, but like the saint that he was - Jimin would never allow anyone to do anything for him that wasn’t absolutely necessary.

As you continued to watch him from your end of the table, though, you found yourself coming to the conclusion that today would be the day you changed that.

“Jimin…” you tried, reaching across the table to cover one of his cold hands with your own, “look at me.”

The tone of your voice had his eyes back on you in an instant. Guilt flashed across them briefly, as though he were a regretful child instead of your lifelong friend, but it disappeared as quickly as it came and your companion let out a dry chuckle.

“Jesus, [Y/N]...” he sighed, “For the last time, I’m fine.” His tone was unintentionally harsh and you felt yourself flinch. “Can we get through one meal here without you looking at me like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces?”

Jimin stood abruptly, tossing his fork carelessly onto the table with a resounding clang. “Jimin please - ” you huffed, reaching out only to have him flinch away from your touch.

“No, [Y/N]. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of you and every other person here thinking that I need to be handled with care. I’m a goddamn adult, in case it slipped your mind and more than capable of taking care of myself.”

To say that his words didn’t cut deeply would have been a blatant lie. Truth be told, you had never seen Jimin as a child. From such a young age he had assumed all the responsibilities of a passionate young man who would stop at nothing to achieve his dreams, even if it meant sacrificing his health and mental well-being along the way. Part of you wanted to yell back at him; to list each and every one of the ways you’d seen him suffer these past few years and insist that you knew best, but of course you also knew better than to fight someone as fiery as Jimin with flames of your own.

Instead, you sat in silence. Watching as the man you cared for with every fibre of your being stalked angrily towards his bed. Jimin didn’t even spare you a glance as he ran his free hand irritatedly through his hair, the other clenching and unclenching into a tight fist at his side.

You fully expected him to come back at you with more choice remarks, to try and somehow convince you to get out right now and leave him be.. so when his usually sturdy shoulders began to tremble, you were unable to contain your surprise.

“Jimin..?” you whispered, slowly getting to your feet. In the silence of the hotel room you could hear as Jimin’s breathing became ragged, his quivering form sliding into a sitting position atop the mattress. You could count on one hand the number of times Jimin had openly cried in front of you, in front of anyone for that matter and it absolutely broke your heart to see him do so. It was nearly impossible to know what was going on inside that head of his, which made moments like this so much harder for you as you wondered what emotions he could’ve been holding on to for so long.

“I don’t want your pity…” his voice was soft and broken when he finally spoke. You opened your mouth to retaliate but he cut you off before a chance could be given. “Don’t deny it. I see it on your face every time we’re together.” Here he paused to hiccup; fat, scalding tears cascading down his flushed cheeks. “I know I need help, alright? I.. It’s just.. Things just get to me sometimes and.. I can’t take my mind off of them. I don’t know how to help myself.”

His words made your chest ache. You felt tears of your own begin to build in your eyes at his omission of pain, but as someone determined to help him, you had to be strong for Jimin. Crossing the room cautiously, you knelt at your companion’s feet and reached up to swipe a burning tear from his cheek. Jimin seemed shocked by your touch, his eyes locking with yours as you continued to caress his warm skin with the pad of your thumb.

“Sometimes we can’t help ourselves, Jimin,” you whispered. “There’s nothing wrong with needing someone else to step in for that.”

Another hiccup. Jimin’s eyes never left your own, though his breathing had begun to return to normal. You took advantage of his calmed state to take his free hand in your own and give it a gentle squeeze before continuing, “I can help you.. If you let me.”

Silence once again consumed you. You could see Jimin weighing this; his tongue poking out briefly to wet his plush lips as he furrowed his brow in thought. It was almost as if you could hear him weighing the years of friendship the two of you shared against what he felt were his own selfish desires. But who were you to deny him anything? If there was some way, any way you could pull his mind out from the dark places it often ventured to, then you were more than willing.

An unspoken agreement seemed to pass through the air between you as Jimin’s gaze once again met yours. Without a word, the hand you held tightened in your grip and Jimin tentatively leant down to bridge the space between you.

As soon as his lips met yours, you could hear Jimin whimper against your skin. Shutting your eyes, your free hand tangled itself in it’s brown locks and you pressed your front flush against his. Jimin visibly relaxed against it and began to kiss you more fervently; as though months of pent up stress and frustration were being elicited from him by your touch.

What came next was a daze of emotion. Jimin’s tongue against yours, insistent and warm; Jimin’s hands against your body as he hurriedly removed the clothing that separated you, the way they squeezed for dear life once your skin was finally revealed to him. The room grew hazy with desperation, Jimin working you with such fervor that it felt as though he thought you might disappear completely.

When he finally pushed into you - ringed fingers gripping your hips as he panted wetly into your neck - you felt the overwhelming urge to cry. This had been your mission from the start - to be there for Jimin, to love him in every way possible, but the pleasure you felt was made bitter by the underlying pain that had caused it. But now was not the time. You had resolved to be strong for him and strong you would be. Burying your feelings with a bruising kiss to his lips, you hooked your ankles around his slim waist and encouraged Jimin to move.

And so he did, eliciting sharp cries from you that were met with groans and curses in response. You pulled his hair, left searing kisses against the column of his now glistening throat; did anything and everything you could to show Jimin your love for him. And when he finally came, pushed over the edge by the clenching of your own release around him, you knew you had given your all to him.

Jimin’s breath came out in soft, warm puffs against your neck as he attempted to calm himself. You too, breathed deeply - absently twirling a few strands of his sweat-sodden hair between your fingertips as your other hand trailed gentle patterns down his back. The room was quiet and warm as a result of what the two of you had done, and despite all that you had felt while making love to him, a strange sense of serenity washed over you as you cradled the boy in question against your body.

While it was questionable what would become of your friendship after this, you put that thought out of your mind and tried to focus on what was important.

You loved Jimin, and he loved you. Whenever he needed you, you would be there for him in any way you could. Mind, body and soul.

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tlhnetwork · 5 years ago

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NOVEMBER’s Chain of Gold Flash Fiction by Cassandra Clare

A Lightwood Christmas Carol, Part 1

LONDON, 1889

Will Herondale was full of Christmas spirit, and Gideon Lightwood found it very annoying.

No wonder some couldn’t bear it, and left for a mundane life. Like Will Herondale’s father Edmund, in fact.

But when Will insisted on taking them all to see the window displays at Selfridge’s, he could not help but worry that perhaps Will had a fundamentally unserious mind after all.

“Oxford Street? Days before Christmas? Are you mad?”

“He isn’t going to get knocked around,” said Will scornfully. “He’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” said Gideon, “we’ll get looks. Mundane fathers don’t usually walk their babies in prams, you know.”

“Fresh London air,” said Gideon dryly, “is thick as molasses and the color of pea soup.” But he acquiesced.

Sighing, he took his son to fetch their coats for their bracing Christmas walk.

Only once they had stopped to purchase some hot cider from a man hawking it down a side street did Will say, “I heard about Tatiana’s son Jesse. Dreadful business. Have you spoken to her?”

Gideon shook his head. “I haven’t spoken to Tatiana in nearly ten years, or been back to the house.”

Will made a sympathetic noise.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” said Gabriel.

“What?” Will said.

“A coincidence,” said Gabriel. “That both her and I have children who are—sickly.”