#there's litterally two days until I will have to be on the move for stockholm :'3

[mitamicah]

Tonight I dreamed that I accidentally found myself in a tattoo studio where a person was having second thoughts about some tattoos they'd wanted to get. Me out the blue then said: Man, I wish I could help you, maybe get the tattoos for you for something.

Next day I had two random cat guys (like meaning cats not catboys) on my arm and it sort of looked like a half sleeve made up of silly kittens

And now I want a cat tattoo x'D

[fxtalitygod]

II. ~𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥~

Pairing: Trueform!Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were determined to survive, longer than anyone, even if you were set to marry him.

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, Y/n going through trauma, slightly implied r*pe, dubcon/noncon, mentioned breeding (non-kinky), crying during sex, Implied Stockholm Syndrome, slight mentions of suicide, Pet names (Y/n called Little Flower 3-4x) mentions of murder, language/swearing, mentions of infertility, pregnancy

Word Count: 3.2k

Note: I'm sorry this took a while, I've had a bit of writer's block. Anyways, I am proud to say that this will not be a series that will be no longer than five parts I hope. Also, I have opened my asks! If you want to ask me any questions about this story or to talk about hcs, maybe even suggestions. Moving on, enjoy part two of Survival!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules•

• Pt.I • Pt.II • Pt.III

The rumors were indeed false, at least for you. For the women who still had a functioning mind, such as yourself, life with Ryomen Sukuna was far from luxurious.

After your first night with Sukuna, you had a second mind to end your suffering, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Despite the circumstances, you still had a family praying for your well-being, so to end it all would be selfish. To break your promise for relief would be selfish.

You sat up from the bed, turning to see that Sukuna was still there, seemingly asleep. There was a moment you thought about killing him, but you knew better. Although seemingly defenseless, you knew he wasn’t a normal man, he was most likely awake sensing your every movement.

Deciding to ignore the presence of the four-armed man, you attempted to stand up. Your attempt was futile. You collapsed almost immediately, the aching pain between your legs too great to ignore.

When you looked down, you saw the damage that Sukuna had done. There were bruises, bite marks, and scratch marks littering your body. The state of your body left you horrified. You sat there staring at yourself for almost twenty minutes until the door opened, four to five housemaids walking in to take you to the bathing room.

Leaving the room, you managed to spot out the man from last night, the one who had unwillingly watched you get violated. The two of you made eye contact for only a few seconds, both of you too ashamed and embarrassed about the situation that had occurred the other night.

You eventually ended up in the bathing room. You were scrubbed down by the housemaids, who attempted to be careful with you considering the state of your body. There were moments when they did poke at a bruise or mark, causing you to hiss a little. The reactions they gave you when you made the sound of pain caused you to pity them.

Every time you hissed or flinched, the maids would quickly pull back and cover their forms as if shielding themselves, they thought you were going to hit them. You wanted to reassure them, but you knew it wouldn't fix the past trauma they had acquired during their years of service at the temple. You decided that it was best to earn their trust over time rather than force it.

Eventually, the maids left you by yourself, trying to give you space after the events of last night. You sat there, staring at your reflection in the water. You looked at the bruises and marks covering your shoulders and neck, bringing your hand to hover over them slightly. You felt violated, completely disgusted, you wondered what you had done to receive such punishment.

A few tears, unknowingly to you, escaped your glossy eyes. You did nothing to wipe them nor tried to hide them, you just let them fall. You figured these moments when you were by yourself, would be the only moments where you could let all your emotions out, which would be often.

You sat there silently crying, losing track of time, until a few maids came in to help you out and get you clothed. Just like your wedding day, you were blanked out, everything was crashing down on you. You were trapped here for god knows how long.

"Sukuna-sama has requested for you, L/n-sama" One of the maids whispered.

Yeah, you were trapped, he wasn't going to let you go anytime soon.

You were led back to Sukuna's chambers, the trip short and silent. When you arrived at Sukuna's chambers, you noticed that he was nowhere to be seen. You turned towards the door only to see that it had already been closed, the maids heading off to attend to other matters around the temple.

You stood there for a while, waiting for the man you called husband, but there was no indication of him coming anytime soon. You were beginning to grow impatient and anxious, so to calm yourself you decided to explore the room more. There was nothing that really caught your eye until you turned to see a beautiful kanzashi on the other side of the room- it looked so out of place. Curiosity began to get the best of you and you decided to walk over to examine it, but stopped in your tracks once you felt warmth hit the back of your neck.

"Snooping around are we?"

Your soul almost left your body right then and there, but you managed to keep your heart beating at a normal rate and kept your breath from hitching.

"I apologize, I was only looking."

Through your peripheral vision, you could see Sukuna smirking, seemingly amused with your response.

You avoided making eye contact with him, deciding to stare at the wall in front of you. You could feel his fingers mess with your kimono slightly, it was only when he started fiddling with your bow did you begin to panic a little. He only smirked as he began to taunt you a little more by slightly tugging at the bow, continuing to tease you by tugging different parts of your clothing, sometimes revealing a hickey or two, before pulling his hands away.

"It's pretty isn't it?"

You took a small swallow before giving him a response, preparing your voice to avoid stuttering.

"It is, whom does it belong to?

"No one, I haven't found someone to give it to," he said with an amused tone.

You only nodded your head slightly, hoping to get the small talk over with so he would get to the point on why he sent for you.

"You're an interesting one Y/n, you haven't given me one reaction ever since you got here," he said in a teasing tone, "Are you a statue of some sort?"

You could see he was trying to provoke you in some way, but you weren't going to give him the satisfaction. You only shook your head and looked away, avoiding eye contact.

Sukuna slightly frowned at the lack of response, but before he could try to press you a bit more, the door to his chambers opened. Looking to the entrance, there was a woman dressed in a beautiful kimono. When she walked through the door she was seemingly shocked, as if something was different or out of place.

"Have I mistaken the time?" the woman asked innocently, though you could still sense the venom in her voice.

"No, this is when I would be seeing you, but we've currently found ourselves enamored with this kanzashi, right Y/n?"

You didn't dare look at the woman, you could already feel her eyes burning into your skull. You didn't fear the woman herself, but you did fear whatever delusion she had painted. It was clear that this woman had romanticized her relationship with the four-armed man.

"I suppose," you said, but not without a slight hesitance.

As much as you didn't want to deal with the woman, you were also afraid of Sukuna's displeasure of your response. Unfortunately, your life would be dictated by Sukuna, especially in terms of life and death. If he were to ever become dissatisfied with you, he could kill you at any moment.

"You can leave, you're presence is not required."

The woman was shocked once again. She seemed about ready to say something, but some unknown force had stopped her. You turned to look at Sukuna only to see that he was admiring the kanzashi.

Unknowingly to you, the woman didn't halt her words by choice. The woman had opened her mouth to give you a piece of her mind, but Sukuna had shut it down with a piercing look. It was a warning, a warning of telling her to keep her little mouth shut or be severely punished, and not in a way she would like.

It didn't take long for the woman to take her to leave, deciding on having a 'discussion' with you some other time

Focused on the woman leaving, you hardly noticed Sukuna's movements. When you turned your head to look at the kanzashi, you noticed it had disappeared, so when you felt a slight poke on your head, you were a little surprised.

Arms were placed upon your waist, turning you around. Sukuna stared at you with intensity, one you weren't familiar with. Although you've only known him for less than a day, you could already tell he was acting abnormally. Before you could figure out his peculiar behavior, he reached over and grabbed, what you had assumed to be the kanzashi, out of your hair.

He let out a hum before placing the kanzashi back in its original place. It didn't take long for him to plaster his infamous smirk onto his face.

"Well then my Little Flower, I believe you can go now."

"You didn't need me for anything?" you asked, slightly confused.

"Curious are we?"

Having a realization of what you had said or rather asked, you became a little disgusted with yourself. The way you sounded when you asked the question almost made you sound desperate, desperate for something you did not want. That wasn't the only problem, you had also questioned him. You didn't know what set Sukuna off nor how his punishments were given out, but you weren't willing to risk anything.

"No, I apologize for questioning you," you said quickly, your head bowed down.

You heard a deep chuckle, one that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel his shadow looming over you, you could feel his stare on you. You could practically see the evil grin painted on his face.

"I accept your apology, but I'm afraid you will still have to be punished; however, it will have to be at a later time, for now, you may leave."

You could clearly understand what he was hinting at, bringing fear into your soul. Your eyes widened as a vivid flashback of the night before popped into your head. Before you could process his words properly, a maid walked into the room and led you off. You managed to bow to your husband before leaving, but after that, you were mindlessly walking around the temple.

This was your life from this point forward, you would be nothing more than Sukuna's trophy wife and you had to live with that.

It had been around 9 months, almost a year, of living in the temple and you were starting to get used to it. After your one 'punishment,' you were never punished again. In the little time you were there you had started to become a little actress, acting dutifully around the temple and obeying every order given to you. As much as you wanted to kill Sukuna, especially with the many chances you got, you never did. You thought it would be better to build on his trust rather than recklessly killing him, there would be a point in time when that day came, but for now, you would be his perfect "Little Flower."

You had already befriended some of the wives, trying to at least form some good relationships so you weren't completely miserable. Some of the acquaintances that you made had been girls you had known in your village before they were sent off to be wed. The first thing you noticed upon seeing them is that they seemed somewhat drained as if something had died within themselves and you knew exactly what that something was.

Innocence.

All of Sukuna's wives, including yourself, have lost their innocence on the first night of being with the man. From the moment he lays you on his bed you are doomed, for that's where he strips you of your purity. Looking at your old friends, you could tell that is what happened.

However, some of the wives you were less familiar with didn't lose just their innocence but their sanity as well. Some of Sukuna's wives had romanticized the relationship they had with him, mixing up fear with love. The woman you had encountered on your second day was proof of that.

After your first encounter with the woman, you had run into her more often. She had tried putting you in your place by somewhat threatening you after your first day of meeting her, saying she was Sukuna's main wife; she was the favorite, and that. you. should watch your back. Unfortunately for you, she wasn't the only one to believe that. Many women believed that Sukuna had an actual relationship with them and loved them, ranking themselves amongst each other, the woman who had borderline threatened you, whose name you didn't bother to learn, being number one.

No one aside from her knew about you, but that changed quickly. After your first couple of months, after getting settled, Sukuna began requesting you to be in his chambers more often. At first, you would only stay nights and leave in the morning but, eventually, Sukuna wouldn't let you leave, forcing you to endure both the nights and mornings in his bed. It wasn't until your belongings were moved to his room did you notice the attention you were starting to get and not just from Sukuna, but the rest of the wives as well.

Women were starting to harass you, disrupting you when you were out doing tasks around the temple. Despite the harassment, you always got back up, not wanting to let those women have the pleasure of seeing you fall apart.

Ultimately, getting sick of the lack of response, the women stopped, some even starting to admire you a little. This is when you started to become the little actress; this is when you really started to climb the ranks.

If you couldn't escape the temple, you were going to make sure you survived; however, there would be some drawbacks to this little plan of yours, but you were determined.

Even if you had to get pregnant, and unknowingly to you that was what a certain someone was after.

Today, after hearing a few rumors from the staff and some of the wives, you figured out why Sukuna had started to keep you around more.

Sukuna was trying to get you pregnant.

Sukuna had grown determined to see your stomach round with his child. He would go rounds upon rounds with you, day and night, trying to get you pregnant, so much so that you had started to feel numb; you could no longer feel anything as he destroyed your body. You didn't moan, whimper, or scream in pain, you would lay there in silence, taking it like the perfect "Little Flower." You would only allow tears to roll down your face, feeling violated. There were moments you would fake a moan or whimper, trying to satisfy Sukuna to make sure he wouldn't grow bored of you and leave you out for the wolves.

The whole situation revolted you, but you were willing to flush away your dignity to survive, however, throwing away your dignity wouldn't solve all your problems.

"Y/n, are you sure you aren't infertile?"

You were shocked when you heard that question leave the lips of one of the younger spouses of Sukuna.

"Excuse me?"

"W-well, I'm only asking because most of the other women here got pregnant after their first night while it's taken you almost a year, does that not bring any suspicions or worry in the slightest?" the girl asked hesitantly, worried that she had offended you.

Your heart rate began to increase quickly. It could be a possibility that you were infertile, but you didn't want to believe that. It wasn't that you wanted to bear Sukuna's child, but if he were to ever think that you were unable to carry an heir, he would kill you on the spot, what were you to do then?

You tried to calm yourself by thinking of your bloodline. You've never heard of any pregnancy issues with any of the women throughout your family, it was quite the opposite in fact. Your family was known for carrying healthy and strong children, especially when it came to curse techniques and energy, so why would you have any issues?

You calmed yourself down a little before responding to the young lady, trying to sound as calm and collected as you possibly could.

"No, I'm confident in my bloodline's lack of infertility, so no, I don't believe I'm infertile."

The girl only nodded, feeling a little ashamed for questioning you, but quickly recovered once you rubbed her shoulder to let her know that she hadn't offended you. However, you couldn't help but look down at her swollen stomach. The sight made you worried, but you couldn't falter now, not after everything you've gone through.

"Y/n-sama, you are being requested."

Shivers went down your spine as you heard the approaching maid. You slowly got up and started to make your way towards the all-to-familiar room, but not without looking back at the young girl's round stomach.

It didn't take you long to make your way to Sukuna's quarters, memorizing how to get there without getting lost. Your hand hovered over the door, hesitant on whether you should go in or run. Coming to a decision, you ignored your instincts and opened the door.

Upon entering, you could see Sukuna hunched over, his hands held together. He raised his head to make eye contact with you, his piercing gaze going straight through your soul. The room was silent, the door shutting being the only thing that was heard.

Sukuna stood up and approached you slowly, causing your anxiety to grow. He grabbed your waist and tugged you to be closer to him, only leaving a small gap between the two of you. He began to disrobe you, pulling the bow of your kimono and watching it fall to the ground. From there he began to examine your body.

Placing his hand on your breast, he began to grope at it. Even though his touches were discomforting, you could sense something was off. Sukuna's touches had no sexual intent, but rather something else. It wasn't until he placed his hand upon your stomach did you realize what he was checking for.

"When is the last time you bled?"

You were confused with his question at first, but once you had caught understanding what he was asking, your eyes widened. Not only were you shocked by his question, but by your own answer.

"Three months ago..." you trailed off, trying to not look at Sukuna's grin.

You looked down at your stomach, your hand hovering over it. What had you done to deserve a fate like this? What sins had you committed? Even though you knew that this is what you needed to survive, you were still disgusted with not just Sukuna, but with yourself as well.

"Well, based on my observation..."

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'Don't say it.'

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"My Little Flower..."

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'Shut the fuck up.'

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"It seems that you're..."

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'You've made your point.'

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"Pregnant."

[seijorhi]

Could u do something w the reader finally breaking away from dabi only to realize that she has absolutely nothing and needs him?? Idk maybeee?? Sorry if this is a trash req 🤡🤡🤡nanshsjanzbdsiminsecurejsbsjsn

Bby, no!! Not a trash request at all 💕

Dabi x female reader

TW implied abuse, implied non-con, Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, reader has some issues

Warmth

It’s been raining for a while, the droplets falling like sleet in the howling wind, soaking you to your skin.

You haven’t moved.

Sitting on the cold pavement, arms wrapped loosely around your knees, you try again. You take a deep breath, open up your palm and bite your lip…

White petals bloom, a daisy unfurling in your trembling hand-

And wilts, just as quickly.

You don’t have the energy left to cry as you slowly let the rotting flower fall to the asphalt. It joins the countless others littering the ground around you, dead before they ever really grew.

They used to bloom in the cracks of the pavement as you walked by.

Is this what a year without using your Quirk does? Or is it just… is it just you that’s broken?

A siren wails somewhere in the distance, but you pay it no mind. The city’s a dangerous place - you know that better than most, but tonight it doesn’t bother you. In the midst of a storm, tucked away down an alley with a broken streetlight you’re all but invisible to those not looking.

And nobody’s looking. You’re nothing but a shadow here.

Another gust of wind blows past and you shiver, pulling the thick, black hoodie tighter around yourself - for all the good that it does. Even the rain hasn’t washed away its lingering scent of smoke, whiskey and menthol. It wraps around you like a vice squeezing you tight, but it’s familiar in its own way. He’d only been wearing it the night before, his arm slung over your shoulders as the two of you spent the night drinking at the bar. Well, he drank - you nursed yours all night long, only taking tiny sips whenever those cerulean eyes flickered pointedly over. He knows you don’t like to drink, especially around them, but he seems to find it mildly amusing to drag you with him when they go out regardless.

You’d grabbed it without a second thought as you’d sprinted out of the bedroom. You could hardly go running down the street in pretty lace panties and an oversized wife beater.

The warmth of the afternoon sun, the soft breeze that tickled at your skin as you ran, it’d felt like heaven. Freedom. Even as fear and paranoia chewed at your guts and pushed you forwards it was… exhilarating. You wanted to laugh almost as much as you wanted to cry - from happiness or grief or an overwhelming, indecipherable mix of both, you honestly couldn’t say.

How quickly that joy turned to ash.

“Oh no, honey. They moved out - when was it, dear… maybe six months back?” the elderly woman turned to her husband, who nodded sagely.

“Yep, ‘bout then. It’s such a shame, I hear somethin’ awful happened to their daughter. Killed in a Villain attack if I remember rightly?” he mused. “I think it must have been too painful to stay, but I suppose…”

The rest of his words had faded into white noise.

Dead.

He’d never said a word about your family, but you’d always thought… some part of you hoped that they were out there searching for you, waiting for you to come home. And even when he stuck that Quirk cancelling cuff around your ankle, when his lips burned against yours as he moved inside of you, you held onto that hope so tight.

But the home you’d dreamed of is gone.

Your life is… gone.

And what’s left of those pretty daydreams? You’re nothing but a ghost. No money, no possessions, no clothes but the ones and your back and even those aren’t really yours at all. You have nothing.

Even your Quirk, the pretty parlour trick that it was, has abandoned you.

So why bother moving? The rain is icy as it lashes at your skin and there’s a gnawing ache in your stomach - you haven’t eaten since last night.

You have nothing left.

More dead petals fall and you hug yourself tighter, sniffling under the downpour. Where were you supposed to go?

Did Dabi know that the rest of the world had moved on without you? He’d never brought up your family or your friends, not even to threaten them when you acted out. It was as if the moment he’d stolen you away, they ceased to exist. You were his now, and that was all that should have mattered to you. He wasn’t wrong, you suppose. Everyone likes to believe that they’re special, irreplaceable but… they’re not. You’re not.

Except, maybe, to him.

“Mine,” he growls, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other entwined with yours as he fucks you into the worn down mattress. “My girl, my fucking- hah - my fuckin’ babydoll.” He steals another kiss, always too rough, too much teeth and tongue, but the heating broke last week and Dabi is so, so warm.

He’s softer, later. One arm slung over your waist, your bare back flush to his chest. There’s a brand on your hip, and his fingers trace it idly. “We’re leavin’ this shithole soon,” he murmurs after a while. “Heroes sticking their noses where they don’t belong and all that crap, gotta lay low for a little while. Means I’m gonna be home a little more than usual, but… ” he breaks off, and you can feel his lips curl into a smirk as they brush along your neck, “you don’t mind that, do you, babe?”

We. Always we. From the moment he’d stolen you - saved you, in a twisted turn of events you preferred not to linger on - there was never a doubt in his mind that your future was his. Whether it was with the League or going at it alone, your place would always be with him.

He stole you. Kept you chained to his bed, fucked you until you were a babbling mess and burned his name into your skin. He hurt you when you acted up and sometimes just because he liked the way you looked, all scared and trembling in his arms. He teased you mercilessly and forced his love onto you at any and every opportunity, but-

“You know I’m never gonna let you go, right?”

He’s said it enough times that you don’t stiffen anymore, but you roll over regardless to meet those burning blue eyes. “Why?” you whisper.

Dabi’s silent for a little while, staring at you. You’ve been with him for months now, and not a day has gone past that you haven’t wondered, but never once have you asked him.

Afraid of the answer, maybe.

You still don’t know what possessed him to step in that day, whether that was truly the start of this obsessive mess, or merely the tipping point.

Eventually he shrugs, “‘cause you need me,” he says, like it’s a simple fact - an undeniable truth of the universe, “and I fuckin’ need you.”

You should hate him, and maybe a part of you does, but when the air around you crackles and blue flames flicker to life a few feet away, it’s not fear that races through your heart.

Dabi’s soaking wet, his normally wild black hair plastered to his skin, his ragged tee translucent and hugging the toned muscles of his abdomen - even his flames sizzle ominously under the deluge, but if the downpour bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

His cerulean eyes are fixed firmly on you - huddled in the corner, pale and trembling, illuminated only by the soft glow of his Quirk - and the grin on his face is almost manic.

“Time to come home now, doll, don’tcha think?”

It’s almost definitely a threat. You know him well enough by now to recognise the rage that blazes under that too wide smile.

You could try and run. See how far you make it before those pretty blue flames reach you. You might even be lucky - if you’re quick enough, maybe you could lose him in the dark warrens of the city’s underbelly.

But as you rise to your feet, soaked to your skin, teeth chattering and shaking like drowned rat, you don’t.

It’s a cold night, and Dabi is so, so warm.

[ateezmakemeweep]

365 days.

mafia!yunho

word count: 9k

angst, fluff, smut (warning: stockholm syndrome)

request

he knew it was irrational, the intense longing and fascination with the girl he saw the night his father was murdered. he had been watching you for an hour, your hair blowing in the wind as you stared out at the ocean with a small smile on your face. 

you had been perfectly content and tranquil, your feet sinking into the sand with your white sandals in hand. every time he tried to pull his attention back to the men talking with his dad, you’d make another move. a simple quirk of your lips or head tilt to the side that fully captured his attention. 

he wanted you and he didn’t even know you. he had no idea why the pull toward you was so overwhelming, the possessiveness he knew he always had at an all time high. 

his dad made his way over to him and followed his line of sight, shaking his head as he asked if he knew you. but before yunho could answer, the sound of a gun shot and his father’s pained groan caused him to snap his head toward the man. 

the man who raised him, told him one day he’d have to carry on this business and subject himself to the worst types of criminals, fell into him as blood seeped through his shirt. yunho could only watch the man bleed out in front of him, set him onto the floor and press his large hands into his dad’s bullet wound as chaos erupted around him. 

their men attacked the others, more gun shots and grunts from punching and kicking surrounding him until he saw the exact moment life left his dad’s eyes. tears welling up his vision and his fist punching the ground because he just watched his father die. it’s something he always prepared him for but never thought would actually happen, the hole in yunho’s chest already filling him with so much sadness and devastation. 

and then when he looked up toward the beach, you were gone too.

it took him five years to find you.

and when he did, the empty hole in his chest finally felt like it was healing. he knew it was fucking crazy and that it made no sense. that he could look at a person just once, not even have a conversation with them, and claim them as his. 

but he wanted you and he always got what he wanted. 

that’s why he waltz right into the private party you were in, took a glass of champagne from the waitress’s tray with a wink, and watched. he watched your boyfriend flirt with girls behind your back and the way you were so carefree and alluring. 

your smile effected everyone in the room, men and women, and it’s like you didn’t even know it. you saw your boyfriend’s advances toward anyone but you and slapped him across the face, a smirk appearing on yunho because he’s hoping you’ll be that feisty with him. 

he followed behind when he saw you making your way to the bathroom, an elaborate path of twists and turns that makes a part of him angry and protective over you; it’s dark and dangerous here, what if some psycho decided to stalk you?

his body was itching to follow you into the doorway, take your face in his hand and tell you how long he’s waited for you. how much he’s missed you and is so happy he finally gets the chance to know you. but this plan has to be executed perfectly, not being able to afford fucking this up and losing you again. 

but he also couldn’t not say anything to you, watching you waltz out of the bathroom and look around at the large, gaudy building. he loved the way your eyebrows pinched together, looking around and your lip turning up almost in disgust at how ritzy this place was.

“are you lost, baby girl?” 

you looked up at the sound of his voice and he wanted to smirk at the blank stare you threw his way, narrowing your eyes even further before brushing past him and back down the hallway. there wasn’t a flicker of recognition in your eyes, and he didn’t expect there to be, but he hopes there will be tomorrow, watching your retreating figure until you’re back at the main lobby of the party.

you wake up in an unfamiliar room, in different clothes than the ones you were wearing last night. you quickly try to piece together what happened before you start to panic, desperate to remember if maybe you got a little too drunk and went home with a random man.

but you know that wasn’t the case, remembering walking down the alley to go home and hearing footsteps behind you. turning around and seeing nothing but the gravel and shadows of the buildings. an arm catching you around the waist made you scream out, the last thing you remember feeling before your mind fogs and you can’t think of anything else but falling into a deep slumber. 

you’re thinking, however, that if you were kidnapped, this is unusual treatment. because you’re in a silk nightgown with a comfortable king sized bed under you. the room is beautifully decorated and the outside window looks like something of a villa, a pool and grassland of flowers shining in the sun. 

you lift your head and feel your eyebrows knit because instead of something normal like a tv or dresser at the front of the room, there’s a shower. it’s a beautiful, fancy shower, with neon lights inside and two luxurious rain shower heads. 

you stretch out your bones getting more and more stiff and alert as you look around the unfamiliar room, your feet hitting the floor as you reluctantly make your way to the door; what are the odds it’s even unlocked? you think about knocking or calling out for help but what good would that really do in what appears to be a mansion like this?

you push open the door and hum in surprise when it’s open, making your way down the hall. it’s dark and full of expensive statues and artwork, taking in the columns and high ceilings as your feet start to pick up. there doesn’t appear to be anyone around so you have to hurry up and find the nearest exit, your head snapping side to side as you quietly run down the stairs and through the large house. 

you’re in a room that resembles a living area, couches and chairs sprawled out around the area. pictures cover the walls and you’re frantically searching for another exit or archway when something in particular catches your eye. you shake your head because you almost don’t believe what’s in front of you, your stomach sinking and heart racing because-

“what the fuck,” you mutter out, walking over to the fireplace where a portrait of you is hung up. your face and eyes are staring back at you and the eerie feeling that rips through you makes your heart start to pound even more, to the point where you think you’re about to pass out. 

who the fuck would have a picture of you hanging and why the fuck? were they some sort of creepy stalker? was he watching you now through some cameras, waiting for you to cry out for him and-

“are you lost baby girl?”

you stiffen at the deep voice that sounds like it’s right behind you, the words sounding so familiar but you can’t quite place them. and when you turn around, you see a tall man staring down. his shoulders are broad and his eyes are dark and intense, looking down at you in a way that makes your skin both crawl and warm. 

his hair is slicked back and then it’s finally the way his lips quirk up that you remember him: the man from last night outside of the bathroom. the reminder sends you into a silent panic, the frantic beating of your heart starting to pound in your ears before you feel yourself grow faint. 

you’re only slightly aware of being picked up and carried over to a chair, being plopped down on a cool leather seat that feels nice against your warm skin. the crackling of the fire hits your ears before it’s replaced by the sound of ice clinking around in a glass, the presence of someone kneeling below you causing your eyes to flutter open again. 

and there in front of you is the man, his dark eyes and towering presence even as he’s bent down next to you. you watch as his hand reaches out, littered with tattoos on each knuckle, and you do your best not to flinch away. 

“suck it.” 

his demand leaves no room for objection, the ice cube he’s holding out for you cold and wet on your lips. you refuse to meet his gaze as you open your mouth slightly, his fingers pushing their way through your mouth and making your heart and stomach squeeze; if it’s fear or ill placed arousal, you’re not sure. 

but it quickly turns to anger when he pushes down on your lips. he swirls the wetness over them as you meet his gaze, this bizarre mix of hard warmness as he explains to you that you probably passed out from shock. you can’t even stop yourself from spitting the ice cube at him, watching him with cold eyes as it hits his chin.

the way he tenses and his eyes darken make you think he’s about to hit you but you could give a shit, looking at him with such ferocity as anger courses through your veins; who the hell is this lunatic and why does he have you here? why does he have a picture of you hanging above his fireplace like it’s some sort of family portrait?

his jaw clenches and he rips himself away from the chair, his hand flying up to his hair before you straighten yourself up and shake the remaining nerves away.

“who the fuck are you?” you snap, “why am i here?” 

he doesn’t answer your questions, just looks at you with a challenging look like he almost doesn’t believe you’re talking to him like that. you purse your lips to the side, biting at the inside of your cheek when you jump up from your seat despite your pounding head. 

“are you gonna answer me or not?” you ask, making your way over to him like he doesn’t completely tower over you. “who the fuck are you and where did you-”

“sit down.”

you narrow your eyes at his demand, the way his voice is calm and steady despite the darkness in his eyes only making you more eager to poke at him. he’s completely ignoring your questions and expecting you to listen, making another wave of anger course through you. 

“fuck you and answer me,” you snap. “why do you have that portrait of me?”

“sit down,” he repeats, an edge to his voice though still steady enough. but you couldn’t care less, desperate and getting more and more anxious to know who this psycho is and to know-

“where am i?” you ask, voice high and booming through the living room as you raise your pitch. and that seems to be what makes him crack, makes him step forward and grab you by the arms roughly. he pushes you back down into the chair, words dying in your throat as he manhandles you. 

“sit the fuck down.”

the silence between you is thick as he glares at you, your own eyes wide and fiery as you meet his stare head on. it could be thirty seconds or two minutes but you both don’t say a word, just have a stare off that makes him take your jaw in his hand roughly. 

“you wanna know why you’re here or not?” his voice growls out, the power behind it not even scaring you because “that’s what i’ve been asking, you fucking-” 

his hand squeezes your face and your eyes narrow because you refuse to wince from the pain. 

he lets out a sharp exhale before releasing his hold, giving you a warning look before he takes his drink and makes his way over to the fireplace. he stares dramatically at the flames and if your chest wasn’t heaving from your heavy breaths and fear, you’d yell at him to spit it the fuck out. 

but you have to remember you’re dealing with someone who just kidnapped you, that you’re gonna have to try and control your temper if it means getting the hell out of here.

“i saw you five years ago,” he surprises you by saying, “the night my father died.”

you raise an eyebrow at the his words but don’t have time to dwell on them. can’t try to see if you remember him at all or think about where you might’ve seen this tall, handsome nut job before he starts talking again. 

“i’d been watching you on the beach right before he got shot. i kept trying to look away but i...couldn’t. you just captured my attention and i don’t know what it was about you.”

his words make you swallow as you watch him talk, his tense shoulders and hand gripping the glass as he probably relives the moment of his father’s death. and you feel bad because that’s awful, to see a loved one die before your very eyes, but what the fuck does that have to do with you? 

“but then you were gone,” he continues, “my dad was gone and then so were you. and i became...consumed with this feeling to find you again. i wanted you to be mine then and the feeling never went away.”

you can’t help the small laugh that leaves you, shaking your head in disbelief. how could he have gotten that feeling from just looking at you? he didn’t even know your name or have a conversation with you; if you had to guess, it probably all had to do with physicality. 

because neither of you were blind, both two good looking people and if he wasn’t a kidnapping lunatic, you’d be attracted to him in a second. but you also don’t believe in being owned - you’re your own person and refuse for someone to refer to you as theirs. 

“that sounds pretty fucking crazy to me,” you snap, crossing your legs as you squint your eyes and look at him. “you didn’t even know me and you still don’t. i’m not something to be owned, especially by someone like you who thinks kidnapping me would automatically make me yours.” 

“i know,” he says. and for a second you think maybe you got it all wrong. you don’t know what any other possible scenario could be but if he knows you’re not his and that he can’t just take you, then what the hell is this for? what’s with the freaky portrait and abduction? what’s with that-

“that’s why i’m giving you a chance to fall in love me.” 

your eyes bulge open at his words, looking at him in disbelief and shock because this fucking guy cannot be serious. neither of you say anything until you shake your head, watching him walk toward you when he sees you’re ready to bolt and scream at him. 

“what the fuck are you talking ab-”

“i’m giving you a chance to love me on your own. so you can see that i felt something for a reason. not because i forced you but because you’ll actually have feelings for me, too.”

“i don’t want a fucking chance, i don’t need one,” you snap, sick and tired of the ludicrous nonsense coming from this grown man. “i have a boyfriend and a life to get back to. i don’t know you and you don’t know me and you’ve gotta be really fucking deranged to think i’m gonna stay here and-”

his words cut you off as he plops down in the chair next to you, explaining his men have already “put a hold” on your life as you know it. e-mailed your work and left a note for your boyfriend and family, made it seem as if you wanted a break and took a much needed vacation they had all been begging you to go on.

“and if you don’t love me, i’ll let you go,” his deep voice tells you, like he’s gonna be so gracious toward you and your wishes. “but i’m just asking for you to see what it’d be like. to have a life with me and see if you could love me.”

you don’t know how to process what this man is saying to you, thinking that he has to have some sort of mental illness. using his piecing eyes, towering frame and good looks like that’s gonna somehow be enough for you to fall at his feet. 

but if he thinks it’ll be that easy, he has another thing coming.

because while yes, he’s attractive and yes, you could see yourself being attracted to him if he wasn’t a raging lunatic, you will absolutely not submit to him. so you turn your head to the side and smile at him, a small, sarcastic smile with your eyes narrowed as you look at man staring down at you. 

“go fuck yourself,” you say through gritted teeth, jumping up from your chair and away from him. you only get about three steps before he gets up and grabs you around your waist. his hands are large on your waist as he throws you back down on the chair, pulling you by the hair so your neck is craned up against the back of the cushions. 

you’re only slightly aware of his knee between your legs, more so focused on the way your heart is pounding and breath is strangled from his tight, strong hold on you. how his dark eyes are boring into yours and how his hand is hovering over your chest. 

it feels like he’s got you completely caught and that you can’t do a thing about it. your mind racing to push and fight and get away from him but your body doing it’s own thing. tightening at the way his knee is so close to your pussy, his hand almost grazing your thigh while his other is right next to your head.

“i’m not gonna touch you or do anything you don’t want me to,” you hear him mumble in your ear. you can feel your heat against his knee as his breath fans across your neck, noticing the way you shiver and how it’s the firs time you’ve given in since he brought you here.

but he also sees fear and that unsettles him. makes him feel like you think he’s a monster.

“i’m gonna wait until you come to me on your own. ready for me to touch you and then begging for me to fuck you.”

you sharply inhale as he completely rests his hand on your boob, feeling the sheer size of it in comparison to your chest and not being able to help but swallow nervously. and then he squeezes and a gasp leaves your mouth, his mouth hot and close to your ear. 

“but don’t fucking provoke me,” he warns lowly, his knee pressing against your dress that’s pooling loosely between your legs. “because i won’t be gentle.” 

you don’t even realize you’re shaking until he pulls away, watching him let out a sigh as he walks back over to the fire. his walk is cold and calculating despite the way he’s so hot and unpredictable, a burst of anger in his eyes before you can even blink. 

the crackling of the fire rings in yours ear again as you look over at him, feeling a wet tear on your cheek that you didn’t even feel escape. 

“i’ll give you 365 days. if you don’t love me by then, i’ll set you free.”

another round of panic and anger fills you despite the terror you’re feeling, shaking your head and wiping at the tear before you spring up and start to run. but the man only growls again, snapping his head around before the sound of his feet following you cause you to speed up.

but it’s no use because he wraps his strong arms around your waist and shoves you against the wall, his chest flush against your back. you feel his lower body pressed into your ass and you want nothing more than to kick him right between his legs, knowing that that is probably the reason for all of this. 

“if you just want to fuck me, then get it over with. don’t try to say this is about love, you sicko.”

you hear him chuckle in your ear before he takes your hair in his large hand, wrapping his fingers around it and pulling so you’re looking at him. he can see in your eyes that you’re scared but also ready to fight, the searing determination and anger in them making him all too excited and fond of you. 

“it is, baby girl, what do you take me as? a perverted monster?” he asks with a smirk and you’re so so tempted to spit in his face and continue to curse at him. but you can’t because then his lips brush yours, not enough to classify it as a kiss, but just a little tease. just enough to feel your breath tangle and mouths to part on one another. 

“and i already told you i’m only gonna fuck you once you’re begging.”

you tried to escape again the next night. 

stayed camped out and hidden away in your room all day until it became dark outside your window. he had come in a few times to check on you and you had faked a slumber each and every time, your lip curling when you see he had left food for you. 

what a polite kidnapper, you thought, giving you deadlines to be set free and food like he’s the poster child for psychotic abductors. 

but then what you discovered about him proved that, maybe, he really was psychotic. or at least very much a criminal. because one second, you’re rushing down the hall and through the main room where your picture is creepily hanging and the next you’re outside. 

the cold night air hits your face and you tell yourself not to get too excited yet, you still have an acre of land to maneuver while also avoiding him and the several other men you think must work for him. the other men you see standing in a circle, your tall, broad kidnapper looming over someone curled into a bloody pile on the floor.

and then without a second thought, you watch his arm extend down and a gunshot rings through your ears. it’s the first time you’ve ever heard that sound and you watch with wide eyes and a pounding heart as the bullet hits the man and his shaking, shriveled up body stops. 

dark familiar eyes meet yours as you feel yourself grow faint, a pair of arms wrapping around your waist before you hit the concrete floor underneath you. 

the next time you open your eyes, you’re back in the bedroom. still so shocked by how nice it is, how soft the bed is under you and the view outside the bright, sunny window. you stretch out your body as you try to remember how you got here, remembering the way you crept around the house desperate you find a way out.

“are you okay?”

the deep voice coming from the corner of the room causes you to jump, looking over to see the man’s long body leaned back and sitting in the chair. he’s watching you carefully and shirtless, his board shoulders and toned stomach on complete display. 

it makes you swallow as you try to not allow your eyes to roam, remembering that this is the man who’s forcing you to stay with him for a whole year. a whole year and he hasn’t even told you his name yet. or told you his occupation, but it seems kind of obvious given what you saw last night.

how him and his men hold such a powerful, strong presence. how they have guns and protection at all times and they were able to so callously watch a man die. 

“i’m sorry you had to see that,” he says, his soft voice sounding so foreign to your ears; but then it gets that deep growl back and you find yourself not being able to look away from him. “but he deserved it. he was hurting children and betrayed us. we don’t allow that type of shit.”

you can’t help the smirk that crosses your face at the comment, your tongue poking at your cheek as train your gaze on his face and feel something vengeful and petty course through you.

“but kidnapping women is okay?” 

his eyes narrow at your comment but he only pops his neck to the side, his eyes raking over your exposed legs in the night dress you’ve been wearing since yesterday. you notice his eyes on you and raise an eyebrow, not missing the dark look in them as he takes in the sight of you. 

“what exactly do you do?” you ask him with a raised eyebrow. “since, you know, i don’t even know your fucking name.”

he smirks, bending his head down so he doesn’t laugh because okay, maybe this whole situation is a little absurd. 

“sorry about that. i’m yunho,” he tells you when he looks up, his deep voice a contrast to the glint of amusement in his eyes. “and i’m a... business man. the head of a corporation, we’ll say.”

you let out a scoff as you shake your head, jumping up from the bed and making your way over to him. “if i’m stuck with you for a year, you’re gonna fucking be honest with me. you can’t just keep everything from me and expect me to-”

he’s out of his seat and you’re on your back in a second, the soft bed under you as he looms above you. despite the harsh way he got up and pushed you back, nothing is threatening. he’s just looking at you with his usual hard stare, his long finger tracing down on your neck and over your pulse point.

“listen to me carefully, pretty girl,” yunho breaths out. “i am gonna be honest with you about everything. my intentions with you and anything regarding that. but my work stuff? you’ll know what you need to know about that.”

you let out a shaky exhale as you look up at him, ignoring the way his finger on your neck makes you feel warm and like a piece of prey caught. 

“because that’s what’s gonna keep you safe. the details are dangerous and you need to stay out of it,” he continues, his hand softly running through your hair. his eyes roam over your face again, moving to caress your cheek and you don’t wanna believe it but it’s actually a soft and sweet touch. 

“i know you don’t believe me, now, but your safety has quickly become my number one concern.”

you swallow down the lump in your throat, staying trapped underneath him as looks over every bit of your face. you don’t understand him, how he could go from hot to cold and how he could look at you in such a way that holds care and desire. 

he pulls himself away from you and makes his way over to your door silently.

“you should get showered and dressed, we’re going shopping.”

your eyebrow quirks up as you look at him, sitting up on the bed and turning so you can look at him. “oh?” you quip, “so now you’re trying to buy me?”

his hand comes up to his face, rubbing over it in stress before he meets your eyes. “no,” he grunts out lowly, your eyes running over the long, tattooed fingers you can’t seem to look away from. “but you’re gonna need clothes, are you not?”

“i guess i am,” you bite out in annoyance, rolling your eyes when he leaves the room without another comment.

you felt bad about spending his money for all about five seconds.

but now. now you were almost doing it vengefully, picking up the most expensive pair of shoes you could find just so he could be charged the absurd amount of money.

but by the sixth store, you saw it was no use. because he just handed over his black card without a care in the world, like you weren’t raking up thousands and thousands of dollars on clothes and shoes. and you think about how someone so obviously a criminal attains that kind of wealth, hooking the lace bra that matches your black thong when no other than he himself bursts through the door.

it’s in the same manner in which he took you from your life, abrupt and absurd and like he belongs in that room, deserves to be seeing you standing there half naked like this lingerie is for him. “get out,” you snap, not caring that his eyes are on you but more so at the way he thinks he can just do that. 

he only raises his eyebrow at you, bursting in just because he thought you were in there for far too long and was paranoid you somehow escaped him and his four men. but instead he’s met with the sight of you, lace complimenting your skin so well and it’s taking everything in him not to crumble at your feet. 

especially when, after he doesn’t answer, you advance further with a look in your eye that makes his dick twitch in his pants. “get. out,” you say through clenched teeth, pushing him back until his back hits the door. “or else.”

“or else what?” he challenges, not being able to help the way a smirk spreads across his face or the way his eyes roam your body. you’re just so fucking hot and angry, nothing like the woman he thought you were five years ago but finding this way better.

the way you’re so feisty and don’t back down, the way you act like this but then submit the second his hand is on you. because you’re bound to say something in a second that’s gonna make anger course through his veins and-

“or else this will be the last time you’ll see me like this,” you tell him with a smirk, not thinking twice about palming him through his pants the same way he did your chest. ”it’ll be a long year for you, don’t you think?”

and just like he predicted, his hand reaches around your throat and he backs you up until you hit the cold mirror. you look away so you don’t smirk at the reaction you just knew you were gonna get, hearing the way his breath turns ragged and his vein bulges out of his neck from trying to control himself. 

“i can promise you that won’t be the case, baby girl,” he growls in your ear. the tiny chuckle you release causes him to tighten his hand around your neck even more, your hand reaching down again so you can cover his bulge. 

“are you promising or hoping?” you ask him, your voice breathy and eyes teasing as you look up at him through your lashes. “because those are two very different things.”

you watch his jaw tick and eyes darken even more before he releases his hold on you, staring down at you for a few silent moments until you’re finally alone in the dressing room again. and when you are, you rip the lingerie off and slip on your dress again, annoyed by him and this situation and your ill placed arousal at teasing him. 

“i’m done,” you announce as you walk past him, crumbling up the underwear and bra in your hand before throwing it at his face. you roll your eyes at the familiar sound of feet following you, walking yourself out of the store and back to the car he all but dragged you into hours earlier. 

later that night at dinner, however, his eyes and demeanor take a turn that calm your irritation. it doesn’t halt it or dissipate it by any means but you crazily enough find that you’re...accepting of the conditions. it started when you sat down and saw all your favorite meals cooked, raising an eyebrow when you asked him just how long he’d been stalking you. 

he only rolls his eyes and tells you he watched you carefully at the party you first saw him at, how he noticed you avoided all the red meat and your eyes lit up in particular when it came to the pasta and seafood dishes. 

“what a gracious kidnapper you are,” you tell him, resisting the urge to moan in delight when you pop the ravioli in your mouth; fuck him, it really does taste good. you look over to see a blank look on his face, raising your eyebrow questioningly from across the table. 

it takes a while to get the conversation going, the both of you just commenting on the food or clothes before he finally thinks about how to approach it. 

“i know this is a...hard situation. but for it to work, we both need to try.”

your eyebrows pull together at his comment, putting your fork down as you cock your head to the side. and once he’s sees you’re about to say something, most definitely sassy and anger-inducing, he talks again. 

“we can make this year either really fucking good or really fucking hard. but we both need to try, y/n. you need to see this as an opportunity given to us by fate.”

“by fate?” you question, voice raising as you feel irritation fill you. “you fucking took me, yunho. you planned this all out and kidnapped me. this was completely your doing!” 

his fists clench as drops his gaze away from you, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough until blood is drawn. he knows you’re right and that this instant of meeting wasn’t fate. but him seeing you that night was, him getting that feeling and not being able to stop thinking about it was. 

“but first seeing you wasn’t,” you hear him say, his head snapping up to look at you. “it felt like i was given you before my dad died. that i couldn’t take my attention away from you because...something knew i was gonna need you.” your eyes narrow as you listen to him talk, the honest and brashness in his tone making you keep your mouth shut. 

you still think it’s fucking crazy and it still doesn’t make sense. but you know what trauma can do to the mind also. 

“but then he was gone and so were you. and i can’t find my father again until i die but i found you again. i found you.” the words don’t sound like they should be coming out of his mouth, the deep voice that growls curses at you with eyes that flare just as much darkness. 

but now he gets up from his seat to walk over to you and you don’t find yourself being scared. the way he circles your chair not making you feel like he’s a big bad hunter and you’re a fragile little deer. 

“you keep saying i have to try,” you say, spinning around in your chair and looking up at him. he’s watching you so carefully, like he’s hanging on every word you’re saying tonight because you haven’t cursed at him and tried to run away. “but you’re not much better yourself. you have a temper too.”

“i know,” he says, bending down so his face is at your level and a small smirk on his face looking almost...cute. “but i want you to help me. help me learn to be more...gentle. for you.”

you let out a quiet sigh, nodding your head before you bite down on your lip and look up at him with something darker in your eyes. “and it’s still true what you said the first night? that you won’t...force me to do anything?”

his hand reaches up to caress your cheeks as he shakes his head, the soft look in his brown eyes the nicest you’ve seen since you know this man. “i’m not the monster you think i am,” he says, his eyes falling to your lips before he looks into your eyes again. “and i hope you’ll see that one day.”

the next few weeks with yunho were rather....calm. he ate every meal with you and you guys got to know each other a little more. no snippy comments or reminders that he’s technically holding you hostage, just conversations that were light and let you two see more about each other.

how he’s tough and hard but has a soft side. how even though he’s harsh with his men, you see the fond way he looks at them. he learns that even though you’re naturally bratty and roll your eyes way too much, you also have a sweet smile that could melt away almost any of his qualms. 

but getting you on the plane proved to be a challenge. 

“i’m not a sack of potatoes you can just transport from country to country, yunho,” you snap, “and why do i have to go anyway? you barely tell me what you do for work in the first place.”

he only took your face in his large hand and squeezed, realizing over these past few days just how much your eyes linger over them. his long fingers covered in black ink, usually with sliver and black rings adorning them. 

“you’re going because i’m going,” he answers lowly in your ear. “and i’ll put you over my shoulder if i have to.”

“you wouldn’t fucking dare.”

but oh would he. because now here you sit, with your arms crossed, jet lagged  and a puss on your face as you sit in a ritzy hotel. he’d been making you sit here like some perfect little trophy waiting for him, your eyes following him as he sat down and talked with another tall handsome man.

and maybe because you were pissed or bored or knew by the way they kept glancing your way that they were talking about you but you couldn’t help the way you pranced over there with your vanilla ice cream cone in hand. licking at it slowly as a dollop of white covers your lip, wiping at it with your finger before swirling your tongue around it to lick it off.

“are you talking about me?”

your eyes meet yunho’s who looking at you with a guarded expression, the other man smirking as he introduces himself as mingi. “i was telling him what a...gentle, obliging woman you are.”

you raise you eyebrow as you lick at the ice cream, looking right into yunho’s eyes as you decide to poke the bear just a little bit. because he forced you on that plane and completely rendered you unable to move for the entire flight. he kept his hand on your knee and his cold skin felt nice on your warm leg despite the rage you felt. 

so now, you think, he deserves to be fucked with a little. in a way that he can’t fight you back on because he promised not to touch you. so you make sure to keep your gaze on him the entire time, swirling the ice cream around your mouth and tasting the vanilla on your tongue. 

“is that right?” you hum, looking at mingi as you lick off the white cream that’s covering your lips. 

“stop it,” you hear yunho’s voice growl but you can only smile, walking closer to mingi before you lick at the ice cream again. mingi’s eyes move to your lips for a split second before going to yunho, watching the way his friend is growing enraged and bothered. 

“you want some?” your voice suddenly asks, circling the tip of the ice cream with your tongue before pressing it to mingi’s lips. the man shakes his head and you turns your head to the side, a little hum leaving you just as yunho’s arm wraps around your waist and roughly pulls you into him. 

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

you turn around and meet his gaze, your eyes heated and vengeful and you think you’re probably having a little too much fun with this. 

“i’m bored,” you tell him flatly, reaching down for his hand before bringing it up to hover over your stomach. he sharply exhales but then instead of placing his hand on your skin, you drop the ice cream cone in his hold and walk off toward the elevators without another word. 

the hotel room is laid out eerily similar to your bedroom at...the room at yunho’s, a large bed placed in front of a full length shower with lights and an array of sprayers; you wanna know when this bizarre style of room became the choice for wealthy criminals. 

you strip down out of your clothes and walk toward the shower, turning on the faucet until the water is scorching. you laugh to yourself as you think of the way yunho’s probably downstairs still frustrated and anger at the stunt you pulled. 

you both promised to try with each other but how can you not have a little fun? especially when he forced you on the plane to a new country and already set the tone for the day? you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t hear the door open or yunho take in a sharp breath, your naked body exposed as water drips down the curve of your back. 

you only know he’s here when his naked body is next you, craning your head to see his broad shoulders and erection in the steamy air. you can’t seem to tear your eyes away despite what’s going on in this moment, far too distracted by how big his cock is. not like you’re surprised, though, given the sheer size of him. 

“you just gonna stare or are you gonna try to put on another show?”

his voice is even and low but there’s an underlying tone of frustration that makes you all too amused. you bite down on your lip so you don’t smile, instead choosing to let your eyes roam over his body. 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

a huff leaves his mouth and he shakes his wet hair out, making his way over to you until he’s standing over your body. your eyes travel up his torso and pecks until you’re looking at him, your skin wet and only a few inches from grazing. 

“you wanna touch baby girl?” he asks, his voice deep and strained and you wanna laugh because it’s almost too fucking easy. you place your hands on his chest and turn him until he’s pushed against the wall, his adams apple bobbing at the way you press your naked body on his. 

the sexual tension and attraction has been palpable this entire time but it’s only getting more and more intense as the days go on, your hands sliding slowly down him as you feel him start to shake underneath you. you know he probably wants to throw you against the wall and wrap his hand around your neck, warn you lowly that he’s not gonna touch you but that you better not provoke him. 

but instead he just takes it, his head leant against the wall and his chest heaving as your fingers trace right above his cock. you’re not gonna lie and say you’re not wet and aching between your legs now but you can’t focus on that, far too distracted by the way it seems like you finally have him under control.

and it’s because of that you look at him, pump his wet dick just once in your hand and hear him growl. you smirk in his face as you circle the tip before pulling your hand away, feeling something hot and fiery sear through you at the way he looks so worked up over this; his eyes are dark and hazy and he looks about to ready to fuck you against the wall. 

you flick your hand so the water and his slick precum fall off your hand, rolling your eyes before you turn around and go to exit the shower; but then, just as you predicted, he reaches out and roughly spins you around. his hand is on the back of your neck and your mouths are just inches apart, his lips brushing yours and you can feel how ragged and rough his breaths apart. 

“how many fucking times do i have to tell you not to push me?” he growls against your mouth. “don’t you think your little stunt downstairs was enough?” you only look up and meet his gaze, the teasing look replaced with a hardness that causes him to squeeze you tighter. you just look so unbothered while he’s ready to explode, everything about you and your presence overwhelming him.

“you’re gonna make me do something i don’t wanna fucking do.”

and at the time, you think his words just mean he’s gonna go back on his words and show you that he’s a monster. that he’s gonna take you even though you’re not crying out for him and you can’t say you’d really be surprised at this point. 

so you only shrug your shoulders, quirking an eyebrow challengingly. “yeah? and what’s that? fuck me even though i’m not begging for you?” 

and that’s exactly what you think is gonna happen when he drags you down the hallway of the suite in a robe. you’re fighting against him but his hand is wrapped so tightly around your wrist, walking into another dark room as he throws you down on the bed. 

you rut against it and try to run away but he only pushes you down with a lowly growled “stop it.” you feel yourself start to panic slightly when he cuffs both your hands, black leather around your wrists and sliver chains attached to the high posts of the bed. 

you nearly kick him in the face when he does the same thing to your ankles, your growled out curses and screams telling him to fuck off falling on deaf ears. you’re completely spread out in front of him as he looks at you from the bottom of the bed, his body free of clothes as he peers down at you without a word. 

you don’t know what the fuck he’s about to do but you can’t stop the way you’re shaking. out of fear and arousal and fury and everything you’ve felt for the past month and a half of your life. you two just wordlessly stare at one another, his eyes never leaving your face despite the way your legs are spread, before he breaks it off and takes a seat on the couch. 

you narrow your eyes when his hard cock hits the air, the sound of the door opening making you swallow and tense; you half expect to see mingi walk through the door, some sort of sick twisted idea that yunho had to prove that you’re his.

what you don’t expect, however, is to see a woman you’ve never seen before walk in the room, clad in the black lingerie you threw in his face when you were shopping that day. something about it unnerves a crazy part of you but you don’t say anything, can only watch as she crosses the room and bends down into between his legs.

you bite the inside of your cheek and swallow down, almost not believing it when you watch her take his cock in her mouth. your mouth falls open slightly at the way he throws his head back and letting out a small groan, wondering what kind of sick shit he’s pulling right now.

his head falls back as you watch her head start to bob up and down, her hands laid out on his thick thighs and making something in the pit of your stomach burn.

he watched you flirt with mingi and now he’s making you watch this. watch as he moans and fucks up into this random woman’s mouth. his head rolls back up to watch you, your eyes wide and unable to leave the sight in front of you. 

but then the second you meet his gaze, you look away. 

because it’s too much, to see his glassy eyes full of arousal and lust as someone else sucks him off. as he moans and thrusts his hips frantically while you’re spread out right there and feeling wetness seep between your legs. 

“look at me,” you hear his deep voice growl. you swallow and bite down on your lip, the sound of the chains clattering when you try to move away at the sound of him moaning again sending a satisfied smirk on his face.

“i fucking told you to look at me.”

you can’t help but look up at his words, feeling yourself swallow a whine when his eyes roll back into his head. the girl’s head bobs faster and faster on his dick, his large tattooed hand grabbing the back of her hair as he bites down on his lip.  

the room is full of sounds of his strangled grunts and her slurping, the way you flail and rut against the clanking chains making you more and more angry. why is he doing this and why is it working? why are you so effected by seeing someone else get him off and wishing it could be you?

because the burning ache between your legs is too much and you feel the wetness on your thighs. 

you can’t tear your eyes away from him when you know he’s about to come, the way he bites down on his lip and fucks up into the hot mouth sucking and licking him. he makes sure to look right at you when his mouth falls open, releasing into the girl’s mouth and making a hot pang of desire shoot right through you. 

you’re clenching around nothing and hate that you feel this way, how wet and ready you are for him to push that girl off of him so he can fuck you. fill you up the way you feel the need to to be despite everything so fucking wrong with this situation. 

but when he makes his way over to you, the girl wiping at her mouth as she walks out of the room, he doesn’t look like he plans on doing so. he only leans over your body and can smell the arousal on you, his large hand in between your legs and on the soft, wet sheets. 

“maybe now...you’ll be a good girl for me. and won’t pull the shit you do.”

you look up at him through hooded eyes and feel your mind clouded, his flushed face looking down at you with such a hard stare. you try to touch him but you’re still completely tied up, a whine leaving your mouth as the chains clatter and your restraints just get tighter. 

“yunho,” you whine out and the sound of your name falling from your lips almost makes him crack. but he only takes your face in his hand, his thumb running against your lower lip that you immediately take in your mouth.

you look up at him as you suck his finger, swirling your tongue around him and feeling your pussy throb. he watches for a few seconds before shoving his finger down you throat until you gag, shaking his head as he trails his finger down your chest and circles your hard nipple. 

“do you want to touch me now?” you hear him mumble lowly in your ear. a broken whine leaves your mouth as you whine out a yes, to beg him to fuck you and that you need him his cock and want him now. 

“please,” you whine and you don’t even recognize your own voice. 

because the pounding in your ears and between your legs is completely overpowering you. he leans closer to you and takes your face in his hand, his body overs yours and his hot mouth by your ear making your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“i’m gonna fuck you so hard baby girl,” he grunts lowly and the words fill you with such relief and excitement. your pussy clenches in anticipation and you pull against the restraints so you can touch him and have your hands on him. 

his eyes watch you carefully, the way your robe has fallen off your shoulders and your nipples are hard in the air. how your legs are shaking and he wants nothing more than his bury his face between them.

but you pushed him to this point and now, even though it pains him, he has something to prove. it’s why he bends down to kiss at your inner thighs, his lips and hot mouth so close to your pussy you feel tears in your eyes. 

“i’m gonna fuck you until you scream for me,” you hear his deep, strangled voice says. he can’t help but lick up your pussy just once, toying at your clit just to get a taste of you as you widen your legs and scream out at the feeling.

but then his mouth is away and he brings his face to yours, pressing his lips to your mouth in a kiss. the first real kiss you two have had thus far, where your lips are parted and you can even taste your heavy arousal on him.

“but it won’t be tonight, baby girl,” he hums, kissing down on your neck before pulling away and leaving you panting on the bed. he makes no move to untie you or fuck you or do anything, just leans his head against the bed frame and looks over your body with lust in his eyes. 

“after all, we have a whole year together, don’t we?”

[chubbymoongoddess]

TW: Mentions of mpreg, slavery, rape and stockholm syndrome.

if this isn't your thing, don't read it. This is also set in modern times.

Longer version.

Omega Jm born into a royal family, making him the prince. It's rare for male omegas to be born, so he's extra special. The more he grows over the years, the more beautiful he gets. He literally has every man and woman in the kingdom wanting him by the time he's 21. Not only is he gorgeous, but he's humble as well and his kingdom loves him for that just as much as they love him for his beauty. Jm takes to time to greet and speak to everyone he can on his outings, making sure to listen to any complaints they may have so he can relay them to his father. Literally the definition of an angel.

Well, one night he goes on an unsupervised outing. Everything goes well until he's on his way to return home. It's late and the streetlamps are really the only lights on so it's not that easy to see. One minute Jm is conscious and well aware of what street he's on and the next he's out cold, body being hauled into a windowless, unmarked van. Of course this would happen on the one night he decided to sneak out by himself. He should have known better.

He wakes up with a massive headache in a cold, damp stone room, much like a cell, with shackles on his feet and wrists, the ones on his feet being connected to the wall. His breathing is heavy as he's terrified and it only accelerates as the door to the room opens, a strange man he's never seen before walking in with an annoying smirk on his face.

"Well, well, our gorgeous prince finally awakens."

Jm backs up against the wall as much as he can, voice shaking as he speaks. "W..Who are you? Where am I? Why.. Why are you doing this?"

The man just laughs, moving over to Jm, grabbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You're very sought after. I'd be stupid if I didn't try to catch you. You're going to sell for a very high price."

He was terrified before but those words make Jm's blood run cold. Fuck.. Fuck he had been captured by slave traders. If he was sold he knew he'd most likely fucking die after being tortured and abused for god knows how long. The only thing he could think to do was to plead for his life.

"No!! No please! I..If you let me go I.. I can get my father to pay you anything you want! Just please let me go!" There were tears in his eyes and his voice was wavering, bottom lip quivering as he tried not to sob.

The man just laughed, letting the omega's face go as he moved back toward the door. "The only thing I'll get if I let you go is sent to prison. What, do you think I'm stupid? Shut up and get some rest. Tomorrow is the auction day and I won't have you looking like some sort of sleep deprived zombie." and with that, he left, leaving Jm alone to sob himself to sleep on the hard stone floor.

Morning comes and jm is taken to a large room filled with seats with a single, circular stage in the middle. He watches as one by one, different people of different ranks and genders are auctioned off, until it's finally his turn and he's dragged up onto the stage by the shackles. He stands there as men start placing bids on him almost immediately. It doesn't seem to ever stop and jm just wants to go home. His attention is diverted when a man, obviously an alpha by his build, jm can't make his scent out in this room, stands up, offering more than 70 million usd for him. It's over then. the auction is won as nobody else wants to bid higher. Jm is led off of the stage and into the back room to meet with the man who bought him. He'll admit, he's pretty handsome, but that thought shouldn't even be running through his mind right now. The man doesn't ask his name. He knows who he is. They all know who he is. All the man says to Jm is "I'm going to have so much fun with you."

The omega is transported back to the alpha's home and luxurious doesn't even begin to explain how nice his house is. It's basically a mansion surrounded by massive, well kept gardens and fountains. Jm swears he hears a horse whinny in the distance. On his ride there, he's told what he will be used for. Sex and feeding. It scares the fuck out of Jm and he starts to try to get out of the carriage. He does NOT want this. There's no way he's ever going to want this! The alpha just grabs him by the hair and yanks him back. He's have made it a few steps away if the alpha wasn't so quick. Once he's shown his room, which is no more than a bedroll on the ground in the dungeon, he's explained the rules and what the alpha expects of him. He answers with a bitter "yes sir."

He's given an hour or two to "settle in" before the alpha comes back with servants wheeling in a little cart full of food. He hasn't eaten in a while so he is hungry, but only eats until he's full. After refusing a few times, the alpha forces his mouth open and forced the rest of the food into his mouth, leaving Jm with a bloated stomach that renders him too full to move. It's then that the alpha commands him to undress and get into "presenting" position. Jm panics. He's too full to even fucking move and he really doesn't want this alpha inside of him. He pleads, struggles even, but the alpha has had enough of the omega's resisting so he forces him into the position himself. Jm blocks out everything that happens next. All he knows is that he fought as hard as he could the whole way through.

This goes on for months with jm resisting and fighting back each time. It has resulted in him having a few black eyes, bruises littering his body. He hasn't gained any weight because he purges everything he eats when the alpha leaves him alone for the night. In fact, he's lost weight because of it. It results in more beatings. He doesn't want to give in, his will is strong and he keeps telling himself that he'll fight until the day he dies. That is until he finds out that he's carrying a pup. It was bound to happen, he had gone through a heat not too long ago and the alpha was in his "room" non stop. Things changed then as Jm's world came crumbling down. He couldn't continue to fight when there was a pup inside of him. He couldn't bear to have it hurt, despite it being his rapist's spawn. The next time the alpha comes in, Jm just looks up at him and opens his mouth. There's not much light in his eyes and the alpha notices. He asks what's going on and Jm reluctantly tells him. The prince has never seen the alpha's face light up the way it does at the news. Before he gets too ahead of himself though, he asks if Jm is going to be good from now on to which the prince quietly nods. The alpha is pleased with this and unshackles Jm from the wall, leading him out of the dungeons and down one of the many long hallways in the mansion. He's lead to a large bedroom, furnished with all sorts of things from bookshelves to a large tv hanging on the wall with a soft looking couch in front of it. There's a bathroom attached to the room as well. The only thing that Jm can really focus on is the bed.

He immediately starts to tear up, moving toward it. At first the alpha thinks he's going to try to run for it and he starts to reach for Jm's hair to yank him back but when he notices that he's moving toward the bed, he stops, watching as the omega carefully sits on it. It's been months since he's been inside of an actual room like this and all he wants to do is sleep. He asks the alpha if it's okay to which he responds a simple "after I'm finished with you." Of course it would be like that. Jm nods with a sigh and lets everything happen as normal, only this time, when the alpha is finished, he unshackles Jm, taking them in his hand and leaves, locking the door behind him. For the first time in months, Jm doesn't purge and he takes a shower before falling asleep.

Four months down the line, Jm is a different person. He's only been smacked a few times in the face since he's found out he's pregnant. After the last slap two weeks ago, he hasn't acted out since. He does his very best to keep "his alpha" happy, referring to him as master, owner..even my alpha . This has had him rewarded multiple times with things he asks for. Certain foods, games, anything to keep his mind busy when he's alone. He's thought about asking to call his family once, but decided against it as he knew he'd get punished for even suggesting it. Due to all of the stuffing the alpha made him do and since he was no longer purging, Jm had gained and it had definitely begun to show. He only ever wore robes anymore but he could feel how his ass bounced as he walked, could feel his thighs rub together more, there was even a bit of pudge on his stomach that wasn't caused by the pup. It.. It oddly felt.. good?

Jm exhaled and quickly shuffled into the bathroom to look at himself. His stomach wasn't very big yet but there was a rather noticeable bump and as he ran his hands over it, he bit his lip. The moment he turned around to look at his ass in the mirror though, he started to leak slick. It only got worse as he reached back to smack himself, watching his cheeks jiggle. He figured he had some time before the alpha came back so, he leaned back against the sink, groaning as he felt his ass spread against it slightly. He started to stroke himself, whimpering and keeping his noises to a minimum, lest anyone would hear. somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was wrong. He knew he shouldn't be feeling this way, but at the moment, he really could not care less. He came harder than he had ever came before after a few moments, panting heavily as he rested back against the sink. He began to wonder if he'd get more praise and rewards if he continues to gain and bare offspring for his alpha. He'd have to possibly ask the next time he came in. The prince cleaned himself and the mess he made up and went to sit on the bed to wait.

When his alpha came in, he found Jm sitting on his knees with his hands on his thighs. He raised a brow at the omega, moving over to stroke his cheek. He asks what's going on and Jm asks him about everything that's on his mind, promising he'll be a very good boy if the alpha agrees to this. His alpha is taken aback, honestly. He agrees almost immediately and explains that this is what he has bought Jm for. The omega nods and immediately crawls closer, opening his mouth for the food that his alpha had brought him. He was going to be the best boy possible from now on.

-----------------------------------------------------------

In my mind I see Jm getting to be about 450-500lbs in this. Still very mobile despite his weight. He essentially gives this alpha quite a few offspring, enjoying it each time. He eventually "falls in love" with this alpha, falls in love with how he is a servant to him. Loves the way the alpha makes him do certain things like crawling on his hands and knees, begging for his food or his alpha's cock sometimes. There's no dumbification really in this either. Jm is just tired of being beaten and he falls in love with.. feeling how big he's gotten and enjoys all of the belly rubs and groping his alpha gives him. He's able to see his pups, though not much. I kind of had an idea of this alpha eventually agreeing to let Jm see his family once as well. Idk.

[yandere-sins]

I absolutely love the way you depict yandere!Sylvain! His ruthlessness when you set him off and his saccharine side when you show him an inkling of affection, coupled with his almost desperate desire to be loved... hnnnngh, so good. 💕

I do take pity on him with how you make the reader hurt him with cutting words though (thinking about the “I could fucking kill you right now” and the “you’re so cute when you’re struggling” prompts in particular), and was wondering if I could perhaps make a request where reader eventually develops Stockholm Syndrome so he can finally have his happy fantasy even if the reader is a bit broken?

Aww I haven’t been that mean, have I? Tehe (・ωｰ)～☆ Fine then, let’s cut the boy some slack! Thank you so much for requesting him, I took the liberty to change it more to broken rather than Stockholm as you know I am not into too much compliance, hope that’s okay! ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

The plate set down in front of him was filled like always. You weren’t the greatest cook alive, but Sylvain appreciated every meal you prepared for him - especially with only the few ingredients he managed to bring to you. Being able to sit at the same table as you, eating and chatting about his day, was his absolute highlight after all the hours he spent away from you. It was the only time he could truly felt at peace.

You two munched away on the oozy soup you had prepared, spoon in one hand each and the others on top of the table. He eyed yours secretly, watching your fingers move and how the scars on your skin tightened when you did. Those were all his. It would have been much better if he could have littered your skin with hickies instead of scars, but those had to suffice now.

Sylvain remembered how every one of them happened, and he counted them at night when you laid in his arms, feeling them up with his hands. Even if his memories about his rage were fuzzy, since he always recounted every blemish on your skin, he knew when and how they appeared. A macabre way of worshipping this part of you, but it meant so much to him.

Lately, however, new scares had become rare. Both of you were relieved about it, especially Sylvain. To him, it meant that the struggles finally had ceased, and you accepted his love. His love, and more so, him. Nothing could have made him happier than that. Reaching forward slowly while he proceeded to eat, his fingers poked at yours, your hand flinching away in reflex. It upset him, but he too had bettered himself, and as such, he did his best to understand you.

But at least you didn’t yank away from his touch. Just a month ago, you’d probably have jumped up and attacked him verbally, but now you merely flinched before relaxing your hand again. Part of you probably remembered the many ways he touched you. Rough and unpredictable, to the point you were crying with his calloused fingers wiping away the tears. Those memories were what scared you in the moment of the touch, but you knew better than to resist it.

Playing with your pointer first, he caressed it tenderly, drawing around the outlines of it. You may have cringed a few times more whenever his roughed up fingertips got stuck on a scar or dry skin, but he was easing you into the touch. Slow and gentle, it was one way of showing his concern for you. It wasn’t long until he pushed his fingers into the gaps between yours, lifting your hand carefully as he felt you tense in discomfort before linking your fingers with each other.

Just like that, Sylvain had achieved everything he ever wanted.

A domestic meal with you while holding hands across the table, just like a couple of newlyweds. Even if it was quiet since you stopped speaking altogether days ago, you both were still here. Scars on your body, scars in your hearts, but you were together at least. Maybe it wasn’t the love out of books, and perhaps you two would never be able to converse what you truly felt. But the flame of love had won over the one of hate, and Sylvain was the one going out of this battle successfully.

“It was delicious,” he thanked you for the meal, his hand still holding yours tightly. Nodding, you stood up to clean the table, but he never loosened up his grip on you until you were right next to him. Instead of letting you do as you wanted, he put his arm around your legs and pulled you close, looking up at you with adoration in his eyes. “Can I get a kiss?” he asked innocently, smiling at you sweetly.

Though you hesitated, you eventually leaned down, kissing his forehead and making him chuckle. “That was sweet,” he sighed, and you felt his hand approvingly pat your thigh. “Now, can I get a smile?”

Looking at you expectantly, Sylvain was waiting for his smile. Some part of him wanted this prove of you still being capable of emotions like these, and another part wanted to test you. But you complied. What else were you supposed to do?

But as he watched your expression turn into a forced grimace, a smile so horrible on your body which was a mere empty shell, he finally began to realize that his reality was far less perfect than he wanted it to be.

[yandere-daydreams]

I give you 1 (one) coupon to go absolutely buck wild and write the most self indulgent thing you can think of. this is still a request so you'll be working on them while you write what you want!

This may not be very self-indulgent, but I’ve had something like this swirling around in my mind for a while, now. Maybe I should save a coupon like this, but we all know my self-control isn’t that strong.

TW: Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Isolation and Food for the Tenders. 

The yard was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in months.

Shoto had been set on the idea of a new house for a while now, dead set, in fact. His apartment was nice, and it’d worked for the two of you, but a proper house was what he’d dreamed of, somewhere outside of the city, away from neighbors and big, without the suffocating walls and cramped spaces of your prior-home. He’d been considerate, letting you help, if only for an excuse to hold you in his lap and talk about how homey this one was, or the cozy master-bedroom the two of you could share in that little cottage on the outskirts.

But, you’d tolerated his lingering touches, brushing off every time you caught him scrolling through a list of baby-names and disregarding how loving the move had made him. You were as claustrophobic as he was, by now, to tell the truth. And if you had to spend one more day staring at the plain walls of Shoto’s bedroom…

It probably wouldn’t be very good for your relationship, to say the least.

Old habits remerging aside, the house was everything you’d dreamed of. A little isolated, sure, but the feeling of sun on your skin, of grass on your feet and wind, fucking wind, made up for your lack of neighbors, for the fact that there wasn’t another house as far as the eye could see. There’d been a window in your old room, but the bared, blurry glass didn’t do the simple sensation of being outside justice, even with chain loosely clamped around your ankle, a ‘safety measure’ Shoto had insisted on.

He was always so worried, like that. You couldn’t blame him, though, not with all the weeks you spent breaking windows and chewing through your restraints, ‘being such a little brat’, as he would say. You two laughed about it now, luckily.

You’re not sure what you would do if he decided to hold a grudge.

You felt Shoto before you saw him, the Hero slotting himself silently against your side, his body-heat (or lack thereof) a pleasant shift from the day’s oppressing heat. There was no audible greeting, only a hand on your thigh and a smile pressing against your forehead, something that could’ve been a kiss, if he wanted to try a little harder. But, you were happy to lean against him, to be with him. And he shared the sentiment, as far as you could tell.

His voice was soft, when he spoke, more of a whisper than anything. “You’ve been out here for hours, sweetheart,” He mumbled, his arm moving to your waist, encouraging you to move closer. You just rested your head on his chest, as comforted by the sound of his heartbeat as you were by the warmth on your skin. “Do you want anything to drink? I could use some help unpacking too, if you want to come inside.”

“A few more minutes,” You replied, cuddling further into him. “I didn’t spend enough time outside, before you started keeping me at home. I think I’m going to try to change that, this time.”

He laughed, his free hand making it to your jaw, tilting your head up to face him. You opened your eyes reflexively, purring as his lips brushed against yours. You were thankful for his current mood, lazy and affectionate, rather than how… passionate he’d been, when you two arrived last night. You were the one to deepen the kiss, leaning into him as he played with the idea of pulling you closer, settling on squeezing your side, instead. You pulled away giggling, flustered and blushing, but you regretted looking away from Shoto as soon as you did so.

You’d almost forgotten about the tall, metal fence wrapping around the span of your clearing, poles straight and packed so tightly together, making it impossible for you to scale it or slip through the bars. There were automatic locks on every door in the house, too, something you failed to think about until now. Most of the time, they were open, but Shoto was still the only one access to the keys. The more you thought about it, the more barriers you remembered, the more chains and handcuffs and weapons you realized were littered around your new home, placed strategically, in places Shoto knew you’d run to if you ever relapsed.

You were still trapped, and you knew that. You weren’t delusional. You hated the fact that you couldn’t leave of your own volition, that you’d be locked up inside once his vacation-time ran out, that you weren’t in charge of your own life, not really. You dreaded being left alone, you loathed your chains, you hated living like this…

Then, the sunlight hit your skin again, and Shoto chuckled, rubbing gentle circles in your cheek as he pecked at your forehead, distracting you from whatever worrying thought you must’ve been having. Of course, you smiled, melting into his chest and letting the warmth spread over your body.

You didn’t hate Shoto. You couldn't hate Shoto.

How could you ever hate the person who gave you back the sun?

[account-archived]

The Gift

Birthday present for @snarkmaid ! Happy birthday!

Pairing: Hannibal/Will Graham

Words: 3k

Trigger Warnings: murder mention, cannibalism mention, very brief retelling of a fairytale that mentions the subject of incest (completely inconsequential to the plot, but it is mentioned so I thought I’d warn y’all), death mention, blood mention, injury, angst, subtle hints of Stockholm Syndrome

Will knows as soon as he wakes that something is off- it's too quiet, he slept too well, there isn't a cold wet nose pressed into his hand to beg for food. He's not home. Not in his usual home anyway. Blue eyes squint as the sunshine washes over him and despite the pain burning in his abdomen, he raises a hand to shield his face from the excruciating light. The last thing he remembers is bleeding out on Hannibal's kitchen floor and feeling his life drain out of him. No that's not quite right. He has vague images, flashes of incoherent memories that he isn't entirely convinced are real, but that last thing he tangibly remembers is being wheeled through Baltimore International's TSA.

Sitting up isn't pleasant, the effort gives Will the sensation that he's being split open again, but he manages to prop himself up against the plush pillows. The bed is large, much softer than his mattress back at home and yet somehow he is more uncomfortable. The room is spacious, exotic decor littering the walls in a way he personally finds distasteful, but he won't complain- he's alive and breathing. Maybe he should complain. In the corner of the room opposite of the bed is a window that overlooks a city he does not recognize and it only takes him a few seconds to realize he is the farthest away from home he's ever been. "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," he mutters bitterly under his breath, the mere effort of speaking suddenly the hardest thing he's ever done. His throat is dry, his voice weak. He wonders when the last time he's had any water. On the plane.

Tipping his head back against the bed frame, he allows his eyes to close and his breathing to slow. If he focuses hard enough, he can remember. He can remember getting through airline security, but he cannot remember who was pushing him in the wheel chair he found himself confined in. He can remember being stitched up, but he doesn't remember being in a hospital. There's a gap between when he closed his eyes to accept death and the brief moments of consciousness he can recall. Who carried him out of the house? His eyes snap open, cutting himself off from remembering what he knows is true. Even before he hears the familiar footsteps outside of the room, he knows it's him.

The door opens and Will feels defenseless, unarmed and weak from the pain. When his eyes land on Hannibal, his gut lurches and he can feel the sharp sting of the knife in his stomach ripping him open all over again. And Abigail...all he feels in this moment is the deep ache of betrayal. "Come to gloat, Hannibal?" But the pleasant expression on the other man's face tells him everything. Hannibal isn't here to twist the knife in deeper, he's here to ease the pain. The man crosses the room with confident steps, a certain gleam of worry in his eyes where Will had expected pride.

"How are you feeling, Will?" It's a simple question. Straightforward, and yet Will can't help but feel there is so much more behind those empty words.

"You should know. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing when you cut me open." His voice cracks under the weight of what he's said, but he forces himself to go on. "If you intended to keep me alive, why did you do it? To make me weak? To wound me? To teach me a lesson?" His throat tightens, disdain dripping from his tone, coated in venom. "To mark me?"

Hannibal doesn't miss a beat, his back turned to Will as he retrieves the wheelchair from the closet. "I simply intended to give you a fresh start." When he turns to face the other, there's a hint of a smile curling the corners of his lips and that all too familiar glow of pride creeps onto his complacent features. "One version of you dies, another is reborn. I was freeing you from the limiting circumstances you found yourself in." 

Will is about to retort, but his gaze falls towards the wheelchair and his eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t like the vulnerability the object suggests, doesn’t like the idea of Hannibal pushing him around while he’s too weak to move on his own. He isn’t comfortable with relinquishing control, but what choice does he have? Before he can voice his disdain, the other man is pulling the duvet cover back and offering his arm for Will to lean on. He doesn’t comply, staring blankly at the man with relentless disbelief. How could he expect Will to trust him after what he’s done? As if Hannibal has read his thoughts, he pulls back and straightens his suit jacket, allowing the other his space. “If you will not allow me to take you into the kitchen for your surprise, I suppose I will have to bring it to you.”

“I don’t need anymore of your surprises, Hannibal.” The words rush out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his tone rigid as ever. He doesn’t mean to sound as harsh as he does, but it’s warranted. Shaking his head, he attempts to pull himself up but the pain shoots through him and he falls back with a groan. An unwilling display of weakness. Once again, Hannibal bends down to offer his arm, but this time he doesn’t wait for Will to comply, his other arm sweeping under his legs until all of the man’s weight is nestled against his body. Lifting him is effortless and he lowers the man into the wheelchair with ease, but as soon as he has pulled away a strange rush of chills overtake Will at the absence of the other man’s warmth- there was something comforting and familiar about being pressed to his chest. In that moment, he knows exactly who had carried him out of the house that night. “So what exactly is this surprise?”

The ghost of a smile on Hannibal’s face illuminates his eyes in a way that haunts the other man, and yet he can’t look away. “The satisfaction of a surprise lies in the element of secrecy. I wouldn’t want to ruin that for you.” 

“We saw how well your last surprise went.” There is no response from the other, but the silence is confirmation enough that Hannibal knows how he’s hurt him. The question is if he cares. As Will is being wheeled out of the room, he steals one final look out of the window, still trying to piece together where in the world they are. The decor is foreign but not beyond the doctor’s usual taste, if anything the man must feel right at home. Will, on the other hand feels like a bird held captive far from home. The hallway is lit up with the same gothic light fixtures as the bedroom, the walls adorned with portraiture and scenic paintings, the occasional floral wreath adding a liveliness to the otherwise surreal ornamentation. The man already feels so out of place when he catches a glimpse of himself in the gaudy full length mirror at the end of the hall. He almost doesn’t recognize his own reflection, which isn’t an unfamiliar sensation to him- and yet he’s never felt so unlike himself. His dark curls are wild and tousled, his face pale and flushed, his eyes bloodshot and accompanied by dark circles that could be mistaken for bruises. It’s a look he’s worn before, back when he worked too hard and sleep escaped him for days. He imagines he looked just as haggard during his incarceration, but this time he feels it. Will is use to not feeling like himself, he’s even familiar with feeling like his life isn’t his own, but he isn’t accustomed to the sensation that he’s been completely broken down into something unrecognizable. He’s been changed and he knows it. 

Hannibal must have picked up on what Will was feeling, must have felt the shift in the energy. Clearing his throat, he turns the man away from the mirror and proceeds down another loudly decorated hallway, only speaking once they’ve reached the dining room. “You’ve been unconscious for quite some time, Will. You need to replenish your strength.” Will’s stomach lurches when he sees the table set for two, a thoughtfully prepared meal waiting for them. He wonders who they are having for dinner. “Braised duck with a red wine reduction,” the man explains, as if he has once again read the other’s thoughts.

“What’s the occasion? This isn’t your usual fare. Trying something new?” For the first time that evening, he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile, though the pleasantry doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a wry grin, as if he’s made a joke in spite of himself. Maybe he’s just delighted it isn’t Abigail set out and displayed on the dining table. 

“It’s a special day today, Will.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds on Hannibal’s lips, nor is he fond of how often he seems to say it, but he can’t help but shiver when he hears it. “Oh? And what is today?” In an act of defiance, Will takes hold of the wheels of his chair and pushes himself towards the table, away from the other man. “What are we celebrating?”

“Your birthday.” 

The answer is direct, simple, and yet it baffles him. How long exactly had he been unconscious? How did Hannibal know when his birthday was? Had this been a part of the plan from the beginning? “I guess I really have been out for quite some time.” As if on cue, his stomach growls in response to the food set out before him and he wastes no time in helping himself, not waiting for the other to sit down. This pleases Hannibal, who is now standing beside him pouring them both a glass of wine. It feels as if this is the first meal he has eaten in his life and he is shameless in devouring the delicate meat. He hopes there’s more, he doesn’t know if this first helping will satiate him and he knows he can’t go much longer without being properly replenished, as Hannibal put it.

“After dinner, I will show you the surprise.” 

Will manages to swallow before speaking, his brows furrowed in concerned confusion. “This isn’t the surprise?” He watches the other closely as he takes a seat at the opposite end of the table, all the while reaching for his own glass of wine. The red liquid offers a pleasant warmth, but he can’t help but wonder when was the last time he had water? “What else is there? This is...” Enough. It had been a long time since his birthday had been celebrated, much less with a surprise. It was more than he felt necessary. Is this an apology?  

Hannibal does not indulge him in the secret, keeping himself silenced with a fairly portioned bit of duck pressed to his lips. He is slow to allow it to pass his lips, even slower to chew, savoring it in the way Will does not. To Hannibal this is a delicacy, something to take his time to enjoy. To Will this is a means of survival. Once he has cleared his plate of the meat, he starts on the vegetables that have been just as finely prepared as the main course. Their meal proceeds in silence, something Will finds unusual and unsettling. He expected the other to have more to say, as he usually does, but he can’t deny the quiet eases his aching head. When Hannibal does speak, his voice is gentle, soft as if he knows the other is in pain. “I’m eager to show you Italy, Will.”

Those words are jarring. It should put him at ease to know now exactly where they are, but it only makes him irrationally angry. Suddenly, the food tastes sour and he pushes his plate back in disgust, offering a dry laugh as he wipes his mouth on his napkin. “Is that where we are?” It’s not so much a question as it is a retort, but Hannibal takes it quite literally. 

“Yes. Do you not remember the flight here?”

“I don’t even know how you found my passport.” 

“I think you’ll enjoy Florence, it’s a city full of life and beauty-”

How interesting, he’s changed the subject. Will’s face contorts into an expression of disbelief but he forces a smile and decides to play Hannibal’s game, changing the subject once more. “The cabbage wasn’t very good.”

Hannibal wasn’t expecting this, but regardless of how jarring those words are to hear he doesn’t take personal offense; he knows Will is deflecting. Taking a bit of cabbage into his own mouth, he mulls over his next words carefully. To change the subject again would lead them in a dance around each other, a game where neither said what they truly meant but both were courting each other, nonetheless, with unpleasant words. It was a courtship Hannibal was willing to make. “The ancient Greeks believed that each individual person had a spirit present on the day of their birth and it was said that events of major change, such as birth days, welcomed malicious spirits. Everyone was born with evil-quite similar to Christianity’s theory of being born with the original sin, it seems. Candles and cakes and celebrations were used as a way to chase away these evil spirits and purify the individual. So tell me, Will, what ghosts were you born with? What sins did you manifest that you wish to cleanse yourself of?”

A thick brow arches, a hand wavering over the stem of a beautiful hand blown wine glass. “You said this was a rebirth, that I died that night. Wasn’t your intention to free me of my sins? To break the cycle of my crimes? Or was it in your design to birth me into new sin?” He lifts the glass to his lips, letting the wine wash away the hint of gratitude that lingered on his tongue. He might always hate him for what he did to Abigail, but his compliance in this delusion is silent forgiveness; he would comply with this new life he has been given, accept Hannibal’s gift no matter the price they had to pay. “Are you enjoying playing God?” 

Better the devil you know.

A pleasant smile cracks the other’s lips as he stands to collect their dishes, and when he bends down to collect Will’s plate he lingers for a moment. Will can feel his breath hot on the back of his neck, eliciting a shiver- but it isn’t unpleasant. After a moment, the man draws back, the same smile still painted on his face. “I have a new aftershave for you, I think you’ll like it.” Will’s heart hammers in his chest as he forces a nod, his own lips drawn into a tight frown. He remains speechless, but thankfully Hannibal continues to fill the silence. “I think it’s time for the surprise.” 

“I think I’ve had enough of your gifts,” Will scoffs, a hand going to the wound that now scarred his abdomen. 

“I assure you, this won’t be the last-” 

Is he referring to the scar or the dinner? Regardless, don’t they both mean the same thing? 

“You spoil me.” Will’s voice has returned to the dry contempt he can’t for the life of him hide. He doesn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but to admit he was appreciative of any of this would cost him his last shred of sanity. He watches the other man disappear into the kitchen and he feels a wave of relief flood through him. He allows himself to breathe freely for the first time, his shoulders falling forward as he drops his guard. Eager to get away from the table where he felt suffocated, he takes hold of the wheels of his chair and pushes himself away. Exploring wasn’t easy when he was confined like this, but he finds himself positioned in front of a large arched window where he can finally see a decent view of the city. He still wouldn’t have recognized his surroundings if this was the scene he had woken up to, but this offered more perspective to what his new home would be. He knows in this moment, with much regret, that he would never leave. He’s tied to this place now. 

He doesn’t have much time for himself before Hannibal reenters, and when he turns his attention towards the other man he is instantly met with a mixture of confusion and guilt. Hannibal sets the surprise down on the table- a three tier birthday cake decorated in deep purple fondant and blue edible flowers. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time Hannibal.” He can’t rid his voice of the genuine shock and he curses himself for being so vulnerable. It had been so long since someone had gotten him a birthday cake, and he can’t recall a time anyone had ever made him a birthday cake. He approaches the table with some reluctance, watching as Hannibal cuts into the dessert. “I trust you’re not going to sing to me?” Those words earn a soft hum from the other who simply shakes his head and places a generous sized portion of cake in front of Will. 

Marbled chocolate with raspberry filling. Eyebrows furrow, hand reaching for his fork. Just like everything Hannibal made, it looks too fancy to eat but he suspects it’s more than just a visual spectacle. Even before his first forkful passes his lips, he knows it’s going to be the best cake he’s ever eaten. Hannibal is frustrating like that. He attempts to be subtle with his approval, cautious of the other man’s inflated ego, but his wide eyes betray him and he finds himself taking a second bite. Will expects the other to gloat, to make some suave remark about how eager he is to have more of the confection, but the next words out of the man’s lips cause him to stall. 

“Have you ever heard the fairy tale of Donkeyskin, Will?”

He feels as if he’s missed something, his brain working fast to try to piece together the bridge between the cake and the sudden topic of kid’s stories. He allows himself time to process the question, reaching for his glass of wine and only speaking once he’s washed down the taste of chocolate. “It sounds familiar, but I didn’t really spend my childhood swapping fantasies with other kids. Why don’t you refresh my memory?” He feels those familiar hazel eyes fixed on him with such intensity that he becomes uneasy, his heart beating fast in his chest and his mouth becoming dry. Why did Hannibal have to look at him like that?

“It is a story of a king with a beautiful wife and all the riches he could desire, including an extraordinary donkey whose droppings were gold.” 

“Sounds painful-”

“One day his wife was dying and made the king promise her that he would only marry again when he found a woman whose beauty paralleled hers. The king mourned his wife, but in time he began to seek another. Over time it became clear to him that the only woman who was as beautiful as his wife was their daughter.” Will’s eyebrows raise, his face contorting into a questionable expression, but he doesn’t interrupt. “Frightened and miserable, the princess runs to her fairy godmother who tells her to make impossible demands as a condition to the proposal: a dress as bright as the sun, a dress the color of the moon, and a dress the color of the sky. The fairy godmother did not expect the king to produce these dresses, but he is so eager to fulfill his promise to his wife that he has the finest dresses made for his daughter. Perplexed, she returns to her fairy godmother who tells her to ask for the skin of his marvelous donkey- the one that produces gold. Upon receiving this last gift, the princess dresses herself in the donkey skin and flees to a royal farm where she is allowed to work in the kitchens despite her hideous appearance.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me this story or is this what you consider dining room entertainment?” 

The other continues as if he has not heard Will’ interjection, crossing his hands in his lap and leaving his cake untouched. “On certain royal feast days, the princess would wear one of the dresses gifted to her by her father and on one of these days she encountered a prince who fell in love with her at once. He declared that the only thing that would cure him of his longing would be a cake baked by the woman.”

Did he do something to the cake?

“When the princess baked the cake, one of her rings fell in and when the prince found it he vowed that he would only marry the woman whose finger it fit. When he found Donkeyskin and discovered the ring fit her, they married and lived happily ever after.”

It’s in that moment that Will feels something foreign in his mouth, heavy against his tongue and coated in the cake’s raspberry filling. Blue eyes snap up to meet Hannibal’s, his own gaze filled with contempt. How dare he put him in this position? He knows what is is before he spits the trinket out into his napkin, the silver leaving a metallic taste in his mouth. As he looks down at the ring in his hands, the whole world slows down. It feels like both a promise and a threat; a promise that he isn’t disposable to Hannibal but a threat to his freedom. And yet he knows without question what his answer will be. He slips the ring on, the metal encompassing his finger. He feels suffocated, as if the ring were tight around his throat instead, but he also feels a sense of gratitude and relief. Their courtship was finally over. As the pressure in Will’s chest releases, he finds himself reaching for his fork once more. 

“I could have choked.”

“Happy birthday, Will.”

[ghostprincess]

Sweet Things, Ch. 4 (Mysterio x Reader)

Summary: Mysterio kidnaps Y/N Parker as leverage against Peter, as well as because he has taken a liking to her. But the longer she stays with him, the more twisted her reality becomes, until it’s nothing but him. Will Peter be able to save her before it’s too late? Dark!fic, Stockholm Syndrome, dub-con, etc.

Warnings: ffh spoilers, explicit sex, emotional distress, violence, questionable consent, mysterio’s growing list of mental illnesses, coercion, manipulation, uhhh etc

I woke up to bright light filtering through my eyelids and a throbbing headache. 

I winced and went to cover my eyes, but a familiar metal clanking sound held my wrist back. I squinted my eyes open, the light burning as I tried to make out my surroundings. The light was glaringly bright and I blinked a few times before my eyes finally adjusted enough to see. 

I was in a bedroom. 

There was a large window to the left, the frosted glass and thin white curtains doing barely anything to block out the sunlight pouring in. The walls were painted a pale grey with a single piece of artwork for decoration. I couldn’t see anything outside the window, just the bright colors of the sunlight. There were two white doors in the room; one to my right and one in front of the foot of the bed, and a pair of closet doors on the right. 

How did I get here? I wondered, racking my brain for an explanation.

My left wrist was handcuffed to a bar on the headboard and I was still dressed in my ragged jeans and blue t-shirt. I leaned back slowly, mindful of my pounding headache, and then the door to my right opened.

Suddenly, memories came flooding back of the night before and I felt my stomach drop. 

Did we…?

I looked over as Beck entered the room, softly closing the door behind him. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt; the dark colors made his blue eyes glow in the light. 

“Where am I?” I croaked. My throat felt raw and sore, and my voice cracked.

“That doesn’t matter. How do you feel?” He responded bluntly, not moving from the door. 

I took a deep breath and tried to sit up, wincing as the handcuff pulled at my already injured wrist. Beck moved quickly, walking to the edge of the bed and firmly guiding me back down by my shoulders.

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll get sick. Hold still.” He pulled a key from his pocket and leaned over me to unlock the handcuff. 

I had never noticed how blue his eyes were until then; the sunlight reflected off of them reminding me of deep sea waves. His skin looked flawless, and I could almost feel the memory of his facial hair brushing against my skin. A faint waft of his cologne brushed my nose; the same scent he wore last night, his body hovering over mine as he trailed hot lips down my neck…

I slowly moved my wrist down to the bed and looked up at him in confusion.

“Last night… did we—“

“No. Don’t worry,” he cut me off. I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed softly in relief. The pain in my head suddenly began to increase and I groaned, pressing a hand to my head.

“You drank a lot last night,” Beck commented. “You probably have a killer hangover.” He began to twirl a strand of my hair in his fingers, his habit which I somehow found comfort and familiarity in now. 

“Is this room real?” I asked after a moment of silence. He let out a single soft laugh.

“Yes. It’s all real.”

“Then…why am I here? I’m your enemy, aren’t I? Why did you bring me here?” I could feel my heart beating faster and my breathing quicken, telltale signs that I was about to panic.

“Because I wanted to,” he said simply. 

I sat up quickly and stood up, the bed acting as a barrier between us. Beck watched me as I tried to catch my balance.

“No, no, I know you want something… Why am I here, what do you want?” I began to panic, tears coming to my eyes and blurring my vision, making the world spin even faster. “I- I didn’t do anything, w-what do you want? What else can you take from me?” I tried to take a step to the side, only succeeding in falling to the ground. I caught myself on my hands and knees, hurting my wrists even more, sobs finally racking my body as I sat there in defeat. 

A warm hand rested softly on my upper back and I flinched.

“Let me help you,” Beck said softly, and I looked up at him. 

“What?” I asked dumbly.

“You’re sick. Let me help you,” he soothed. “Can you stand?” 

I straightened my back, his hands acting as a guide, and tried to push myself up from my knees. My legs wobbled weakly and I nearly lost my balance, but Beck caught me at the last second, steadying me and lifting me the rest of the way up. The headache was unbearable and I closed my eyes, resting my weight onto his body and allowing him to guide me to wherever he was taking me. 

I heard him open a door and flick on a light switch before he carefully lowered me to sit on the ground. The floor was cold and hard like tiles, but it felt good against my fevered skin. I opened my eyes carefully and watched as he leaned over a bathtub, turning on the faucet. I winced at the loud noise but said nothing. 

Oh god, I’m going to be waterboarded, or he’s going to drown me, or—

“Let me help you,” he repeated, kneeling in front of me. He grabbed the hem of my shirt and I whimpered, grabbing his wrist with a trembling hand. He looked up at me.

“Shh. I won’t hurt you. It’s just a bath.” He waited until I let go of him to pull my shirt up and over my head, then pulled me into a standing position. I reached down to unbutton my jeans before he tried, and started to pull them down my legs self-consciously. Beck made a move to help but stopped when I flinched involuntarily, and finally I kicked them off my legs. I was standing there in my underwear and bra, my arms wrapped around myself, and feeling like I was about to pass out. 

“Y/N, let me—“

“No,” I whined stubbornly. “Turn around.”

“Y/N, you’re going to get hurt—“

“Turn around,” I pleaded, and he relented with a sigh. 

I slowly pulled my underwear down, dropping them onto the pile of clothes, and then stepped into the bathwater. It was hot but the discomfort was somehow soothing, and I lowered myself into the water with a pained sigh as it irritated the small cuts that littered my body. 

Beck turned back around and walked over to sit beside the bathtub. He turned off the water and rested his hand on my back, just on top of my bra clasp.

“I’m going to take this off,” he murmured, and after a few moments, I nodded once and took a deep breath. He unclasped the hook with two quick motions and carefully pulled the bra off as I blushed, covering my chest. He dropped it onto the floor outside the tub and I curled into a ball, trying to keep my modesty. 

Quentin surprised me when he began to softly rub my shoulders with a washcloth and I closed my eyes. 

“Why are you doing this?” I asked softly. Why was he being so kind and caring after torturing me for days on end?

“I want to take care of you.” He began to run the washcloth down my right arm, carefully scrubbing the dirt and blood from my skin. 

“I thought you hated me.”

“I thought I did too."

I didn’t respond, letting him bathe me in silence. He shushed my pained whines when he rubbed against injuries, but stayed gentle nonetheless. 

After washing my hair, I finally felt clean again, as if I’d bathed for the first time in weeks. He helped me out of the bath and obligingly turned until I wrapped the towel around myself.

“This is all I have,” Quentin said afterwards, handing me an oversized grey t-shirt. 

“Thank you,” I whispered, not trusting my voice. I put the shirt on over the towel, then undid the towel and pulled it out of the shirt. The shirt reached my mid-thigh, and I slipped my underwear back on underneath the shirt. He led me to sit on the edge of the bed and got a first aid kit from the bathroom, then began to clean and dress my wounds in silence.

“Quentin… why did you have to kill them?” I asked as he wound a bandage around my left wrist. He looked up and I bit my lip, fearful of his reaction, but he just looked back down and resumed his work. 

“He shouldn’t have gotten involved. I didn’t want to kill him, but he gave me no choice.” 

Tears sprang to my eyes again but I clenched my jaw. 

Don’t cry. Be strong for Peter. For Aunt May.

“Why won’t you let me go?” I asked when he finished. He looked up and reached a hand out, brushing my hair behind my ear. 

“I’m all you have left,” he responded, and I broke down. 

He took everything from me, he killed my family, they were dead again, he killed them because of me, it was my fault… I sobbed and screamed and yelled for what felt like hours, cursing him for doing this to me, for murdering my family, for not killing me.

My throat was raw, my eyes sore from crying and my body aching as I heaved and gasped for breath. I was on the floor, curled into a ball and shaking, and Quentin’s hand rubbed my back in soft, slow circles. 

“I know it hurts,” he murmured, resting his cheek against the back of my head. “I know.”

“W-w-why did you d-do this?” I stuttered weakly. 

“Shh. I can make it stop. I know it hurts, Y/N, but I can make it all stop.” 

He reached up and rested his left hand lightly around my throat, my stomach dropping at the sensation. His right hand rested on my outer thigh and his thumb traced a small circle into the skin.

“I can make it all stop.” I shuddered at the implication. Could he really make it stop? Could he stop the pain? 

“I..”

“I can make all the pain go away, Y/N.” His grip on my throat tightened just a hair, not enough to cause any discomfort, but enough to make my stomach do backflips.

“Okay,” I whispered, and he smirked, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the side of my cheek. 

Quentin took my hand and helped me onto the bed. He crawled over me and pushed me back into the pillows, leaning over me and looking down at me with those deep cerulean eyes.

He leaned down and our lips met in a slow, passionate kiss. I knew it was wrong, I shouldn’t be letting him do this, he killed my family… but I let him dominate the kiss, he’s all I have left.

Quentin kissed me deeper and I whimpered as one of his hands wrapped around my throat again, squeezing just enough to give me a heady feeling. I moaned into the kiss and he tightened his grip, and I slowly felt my oxygen supply begin to cut off, yes yes yes…

He let go and I gasped, breathing the air in a newfound appreciation, and he began to lick and suck at the side of my neck. I moaned in pain when he bit down harshly and he groaned in pleasure at my reaction and bit harder. The urge to push him away, to beg him to stop was overwhelming, but the pain was a catharsis, and I needed it to survive. I moaned in pain again, doing my best not to shove him away, and he let go, soothing the bite mark with his tongue. He leaned in to kiss me again and bit my lip softly, then pulled away with hooded eyes and a hot smirk on his lips.

“Such a good girl for me, baby. That’s it, don’t fight it.” He leaned in again, trailing love bites down my jaw and neck, pulling at my shirt in irritation. I sat up and he pulled the shirt over my head, then pushed me back down and continued his ministrations. He yanked his own shirt off in one quick motion, gripping my panties and pulling them off in the next. 

“Quentin,” I mewled, and he groaned, sucking love bites into the skin around my hip and pelvis. 

“I bet you’re already so wet for me, babygirl,” he murmured, and pressed a finger against my entrance. I moaned loudly and he smirked, looking down at me as he thrust his finger in and out of my core. 

“That’s it, good girl,” he praised, and I arched my back as he added another finger. He used his free hand to wrap around my throat tightly, closing off my windpipe as he slammed his fingers in and out of me, the knot tightening deep within me…

He let go of my throat and I gasped, moaning wantonly and panting for air as the pleasure surged through me like lightning. He continued to thrust his fingers into me as he moved down my body, his head now between my thighs, and I whimpered in anticipation as he lowered his head. 

His tongue ran along my clit and I nearly screamed in pleasure, whimpering pitifully as he brought me pleasure I had never known. He began to lick harder, his tongue circling my clit while he fucked me with his fingers and I had never felt so good before, I needed more.

I didn’t realize I was begging until he pulled away and chuckled at my pleasepleasepleasemore and curled his fingers upwards, and I screamed in pleasure as he stimulated my g-spot. 

“Fuuuck, yeah babygirl,” he panted, watching my expressions like a hawk as he moved. 

“Please, please Quentin, I need you, please,” I begged, and he smirked again.

“What do you need, little girl?” He asked, and I whined, arching my back, don’t make me say it. He pulled his fingers out and leaned forward lightning fast, gripping my throat tightly, and brought his lips to my ear.

“If you want something, you better ask for it,” he breathed, and I nodded quickly, grabbing at his hand until he let go and I gasped and coughed for air.

“What is it you need, babygirl?” He asked, fisting his hand in my hair. 

“I- I need you to fuck me, please,” I whined desperately, please, I need to feel something besides pain…

He yanked his fist in my hair harshly, pulling my head back and exposing my throat, and he leaned down to bite bruises into my throat as he used his other hand to undo his jeans. He let go and pushed me back down onto the bed, pulling off his jeans and underwear, then crawled on top of me again and grabbed my throat. 

“I can’t be gentle with you,” he panted, and I nodded reluctantly, and he lined himself up at my entrance, then slowly pushed in. 

We moaned simultaneously, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, shoving my head into his shoulder as I worked through the pain, and he closed his eyes in pure bliss. Finally, he bottomed out, and I fell back against the bed. He quickly leaned forward to capture my lips in a deep kiss, slowly thrusting in and out and chasing his release. 

“You’re so good for me, so fucking beautiful, baby,” he groaned, and I whimpered in response, arching to meet his thrusts. 

He suddenly began to thrust hard and fast, eliciting a scream from me, and he gripped my wrists and pinned them beside my head, his eyes closed as he chased his own pleasure. I whimpered in pain as his grip irritated my injuries, and he gripped tighter, until tears sprang to my eyes. 

We both knew we wouldn’t last long, and took pleasure greedily from one another as we chased our releases. 

Quentin wrapped both hands around my throat and began to squeeze, gradually increasing the pressure as his thrusts became more and more erratic, and I grabbed at his hands as black spots began to swim in my vision, and I was so close—

“Tell me you love me,” he panted, and I shook my head; he laughed and squeezed my throat harder, and my vision went white as he repeated the phrase.

“Tell me you love me,” he said again, and I finally relented, mouthing the words as best I could, until he finally let go with a groan, releasing inside of me. I coughed and gasped and tears poured from my eyes, choking out the words iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou as I gasped for air, not again, not again, I need to breathe…

He panted and leaned down to kiss my neck again, his fingers rubbing fast circles into my clit, and I moaned, the knot coming closer and closer to breaking—

I screamed as I came, my body spasming as he held me down, rubbing me through my orgasm, and finally, he pulled out, leaving me panting and spent, lying limp on the bed. 

“Good girl,” he sighed. He leaned down and kissed me long and hard before standing up and getting off the bed. I lay there in a haze, too weak to open my eyes as he pulled his clothes back on, then left the room without another word. 

The lock clicked behind him.

[lihikainanea]

A longer BFF!Bill piece, for your perusal.

BFF!Bill is mad as fuck, tiger has to use her safe word, and in general there’s just lots of ~feelings~. Because them Swedish forests can be magical but also scary as fuck.

Alright, next up, BFF!Bill gets all the BJs. I absolutely refuse to write another longer piece or respond in depth to any asks until I get that one out because goddamnit good dude Bill deserves a good beej, even if he’s kind of a prick in this one.

(I’ve missed this gentle bastard)

***

It was the first time you had ever broken a promise to him, but it didn’t feel that dramatic at the time. You were starting to feel a bit smothered, a bit like he was forgetting that you depended on him for a lot because you wanted to and because you could, not because you needed to. Bill meant well—almost to a fault, he always meant well—but he was coddling you to a point where you needed air.

It didn’t help that for the past week, with another two weeks to go, he had taken you back to Sweden to his family’s summer house. A few of them would be joining you next week, but for two weeks you had the enormous house, and all of the land, completely to yourselves. Bill was in his element,  a different side of him always came out here, and it was good to see him unwind and relax. But you were dependent on him—on his turf, a small island quite isolated from the main one with no knowledge on how to operate the boat that took you here, no knowledge of the language, no real way of getting around without his help. It was nice for the first few days, he took you hiking through the thick forests that took up the entire back of the property, had taken you swimming in a lake hidden down one of the cliffs made up of rock. But he had also insisted that you not drive to the only store about an hour away, because the roads were winding and difficult and no GPS worked in the remote area. He had insisted you not go for a walk without him because the wildlife roamed at dusk, and they weren’t the typical raccoons or mice you were used to. He was glued to your side at all times, and when he got a call from his agent for a great part, it took a lot of convincing for him to leave you in the house alone for an afternoon while he took the boat back to Stockholm, to meet with the writer.

“Bill, you’re leaving me here for like, 5 hours. I’ll be fine,” you had insisted, “I’m going to read my book and nap on the hammock. I’m looking forward to the solitude.”

You immediately regretted the last part, it didn’t come out harsh but it was honest and his brow quirked. Shrugging his jacket the rest of the way on, he walked towards you and cupped your cheek in his hand. He leaned down, capturing your lips in his for a slow kiss.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he murmured, “Call me if there’s anything.”

You nodded, stretching on your tiptoes for another kiss and he met you halfway. He hummed, smiling into it when you ran a hand through his hair.

“Break a leg, bud.”

“Thanks kid,” he said as he turned,  “And don’t go into the woods alone while I’m gone.”

You rolled your eyes and it didn’t sit well with him. Walking back to you, he held your chin between his thumb and his forefinger.

“I mean it, tiger. Don’t,” he said, “These woods will spin circles around you if you don’t know the way. You’ll get lost.”

You sighed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes again only because his were still boring into you.

“Okay, I wont,” you said, and it didn’t sound honest to your own ears.

“Promise me.”

You did roll your eyes this time, pulling your chin from his grasp and turning around. But he grabbed onto your elbow, spinning you back around to face him.

“I am a goddamn adult, Bill. I can go for a walk alone. But if it’s going to give you a coronary then fine, I won’t go into the forest alone. I promise,” you held up two fingers in a boy scout salute. He didn’t like your sarcasm and his eyes narrowed at you, but he didn’t say anything else. You waved to him from the dock as he revved the boat, spinning it on a dime and heading back to the main island. Heaving a sigh that was more out of relief than you wanted it to be, you grabbed your book, a glass of wine, and headed for the hammock.

And it was enough to keep you occupied for awhile, but the sun was burning hot that day and you longed for the lake Bill had taken you to just yesterday. It glittered like diamonds in the afternoon sun, so still and calm it looked like a mirror. It was only a ten minute walk once you were in the forest, and you remember the way well enough. On the way back, you thought, you could pick some wild blueberries from the copious bushes that littered the forest, and make Bill a blueberry crisp. He loved blueberries.

Changing into your swimsuit and throwing a sundress on top, you grabbed your phone and headed off into the woods the same way Bill had taken you yesterday. You turned left at the raspberry bushes where you had posed for a selfie yesterday with him, smiling at the memory of how just when you were about to press the shutter button on your phone, he had dipped you and laid a full kiss on your mouth. The camera caught your two faces smushed together, big smiles evident on both of you even with your lips pressed solidly together. You scaled carefully up the big rock a few minutes beyond those bushes, cursing your choice in wearing flip flops. You had forgotten about that rock. It was a bit of climb from there, you remembered, and then you had to veer off at the giant tree where some teenagers had carved their initials.

But after a few minutes—definitely longer than what it took yesterday—that tree wasn’t coming into view. You paused, spinning around confused. Deciding that maybe your judgment of time was off, you kept walking. But the trees were getting more dense, closer together, and you certainly didn’t remember anything that was around you now. Trying not to panic, you pulled out your phone only to find it had no signal, and that you had been walking for 45 minutes. The lake definitely wasn’t this far.

And you were definitely lost.

You spun and tried to retrace your steps, walking quickly back in the direction you were pretty sure you came from. But in your panic you didn’t watch your footing, snagging your flip flop on a tree root. You flailed, holding your arms out in front of you as you tumbled, and the last thing you remember was being propelled face forward down the steep, muddy side of a small cliff.

You didn’t know how long you had been knocked out. But when you came to, the world was spinning. You were lying on your stomach, surrounded by leaves and branches and rocks, and you groaned as your eyes tried to focus. You felt the bugs crawling on you and you tried to shake them off, a wave of nausea hitting you. You collapsed back on your stomach, spitting the dirt from your mouth. You tried again, raising up on your elbows and taking a deep breath. Reaching a hand up you felt for the source of searing pain in your head and winced as your fingers pressed down lightly on a bump that must have been the size of an egg on your forehead. Sitting on your haunches, you scanned yourself for injuries. You ached everywhere, your arms covered in scratches, a deep gash across your left forearm from where you had tried to break your fall. Your legs were scraped to hell, pebbles embedded in the wounds. You only had one flip flop on. Sniffling and biting back tears, you tried not to panic as you righted yourself slowly. You had no idea where you were. Pulling out your phone, your lip trembled when you saw the screen cracked to oblivion.

You took a moment, gulped down a deep breath. Tried to figure out a plan; and you decided that moving in any direction was better than staying in the middle of nowhere. There had to be a way out of these woods somehow, and you definitely wouldn’t find it by staying still. So you hauled yourself up, wincing in pain, and started to hobble in an arbitrary direction with only one sandal on. You sniffled, feeling the white hot flash of pain and looking to see a long gash, sticky with blood and dirt, on the back of your thigh. You felt one on your back too, pulling with every movement of your shoulders, but you couldn’t see it. Resisting the urge to cry, you kept your feet moving—slowly and unevenly, shaking, but moving.

You must have been knocked out for awhile, because you noticed the sun dimming in a way that it usually did around dinner time. You panicked more—it wouldn’t get proper dark at this time of year, but it would get dark enough for the animals of the forest to come out. You tried to stifle your terror at the thought of being stuck, wandering and hurt, in the forest for days.

Eventually, in your wandering and hobbling, you crossed two Swedish children who visibly recoiled when you popped out of an unmarked trail in front of them. They were too young to offer any assistance, staring at you with wide eyes and backing away slowly, and your sheer joy at coming across another human being almost terrified them more. You took a deep breath, steadying your voice. Two kids in the forest alone would definitely have some way of communicating with an adult.

“I need help,” you said slowly, “Do you have a phone?”

The children looked at each other, then at you, bewildered. Right. Bill had told you once that it was mostly people on the mainland who spoke english—this far north, the Swedes were typically unilingual.

A few fat tears rolled down your cheeks, and the kids stepped away slowly.

“No, please,” you tried to keep your voice calm, and reached for the phone in your pocket to show them the cracked screen. You pointed to the scrapes on your arms, and to your phone.

“Do you have a phone? 911?” You tried again, and the kids seemed to understand. The older boy, who couldn’t have been more than 7,  pulled one out of his pocket. Unlocking it, he hesitantly handed it to you and it was an effort on your part not to snatch it gleefully from his hand. You could have cried in relief. Looking at the time, a small whimper escaped your lips. 9PM. You had been in the forest for 8 hours. Bill would be losing his goddamn mind.

You didn’t know how to describe to him where you were, what part of this hell of a forest you were stuck in, and you doubted the kids would hang around so you knew he wouldn’t have a way of texting you back to ask questions, nor would he know if it was really you texting from a Swedish number. So you did the only thing you could think of, and prayed that he understood.

You punched in his number, activated the location services to send him your coordinates, and fired off the text with the tiger emoji. And then you waited. The kids took their phone back and made off in another direction while you sat down in the dirt, praying that he’d find you.

It must have been only about half an hour later that you heard the revving of an engine, heard branches breaking under thick tires and smelled the faint fumes of gasoline in the air. You were trying to scramble to your feet as Bill finally came into view, standing upright on an ATV as he scoured the bushes. You sobbed in relief as you collapsed back on the dirt, and his head snapped to you. Shutting the vehicle off, you saw relief flood his face—but it lasted only a second, before it was replaced with an emotion you rarely saw on him: fury. Blind, raged, fury. 

He crouched in front of you and you reached for him, but he didn’t step into your embrace. He didn’t touch you. You watched as his eyes ran over you, looking for injuries, assessing which ones were worse.

“Is anything broken?” He asked, and you barely recognized his voice.

“I don’t…I don’t think so,” you sniffled. He finally brought his eyes to yours, and you cowered.

“Get on the fucking ATV,” and with that he stood, leaving you there, and made his way back to the vehicle. You hobbled to your feet as quickly as you could, limping your way to him. Bracing yourself on his shoulder, you winced as you swung your injured leg over the seat. He barely waited for you to sit down before he revved the engine, spinning the vehicle and taking off in the direction that he came. You held onto him, pressing your face into his back, and crying openly.

He pulled up in front of the sprawling house a few minutes later, killing the engine and breaking away from you roughly to get off. You waited for him to extend a hand, help you off the seat, but he didn’t—not even sparing you a glance as he made his way into the house. Following him, you stood awkwardly in the kitchen and waited for him to pull out a first aid kit, tell you to sit down, and help you clean the million scrapes that littered your body. Instead, he pulled a beer from the fridge, grabbed his book, and made his way to the patio. You caught his elbow on his way out.

“Bill I’m…I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes again, “I should have listened to you.”

He looked down at you, only the second time he met your eyes since he found you, and you cowered at the amount of rage that still contorted his features. Saying nothing, he turned and made his way outside.

You sniffled, heading to the bathroom to start disinfecting some of the bigger cuts. You started with a shower to get some of the dirt and grime off, and then located the first aid kit in the top cupboard. You couldn’t reach it and honestly feared Bill’s reaction if you asked him for help getting it down, so you found a broom and used the handle to knock the kit off the shelf. It clanged loudly onto the floor and you thought—you hoped—Bill might come and see what the commotion was, make sure you were okay—but he didn’t. Starting with the bigger ones, you winced as you swiped an alcohol swab across the gash in your thigh. That one needed a few bandages, that you stuck clumsily in a line to cover it. You disinfected the ones on your arms, the scrape on your forehead. But when it came to the one on your back, the angriest looking one, you needed help. You couldn’t even begin to reach it.

Grabbing some ice from the freezer, you held it to your head and made your way outside to Bill. He was sitting in an Adirondack chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his sunglasses on and his nose in a book. You kneeled in front of him, placing your hand on his arm and you jumped when he roughly jerked it away.

“Bill I need your help,” you said lowly, “I can’t reach the cut on my back to disinfect it.”

It was as if you weren’t even there. Silent, statuesque, he didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge you in any way.

“Bill?” 

You placed your hand on his forearm again but this time he stood abruptly and you fell back, landing on your behind as you watched him walk back into the house. He had never been like this with you, no matter how angry he was he always made sure you were okay. Never ignored you when you genuinely needed his help. You sat dumbfounded on the patio, tears streaming down your cheeks, as you watched his retreating form. The physical pain you were in, the psychological terror at being lost in a forest for 8 hours without knowing if you were going to be found were awful, but Bill’s cold shoulder towards you, his cruelty, was even worse. You had fucked up.

You limped back into the house, swiping at the cut on your back as best you could, and then put your shirt back on.

You tried again when he was on the couch, nursing a scotch and reading through the new script he had picked up that afternoon. Placing a hand gingerly on his knee, you climbed into his lap and curled up on his chest. You weren’t even there for a second when he scooped an arm under your knees, lifted you, and deposited you roughly on the other side of the couch away from him. You yelped as you landed on your injured thigh, and he didn’t even flinch.

It went on for the rest of the evening. He didn’t look at you, didn’t utter a word to you, no matter how much you sniffled. And when he went to bed, you waited for a few minutes debating what you should do. Would he push you off the bed, if you curled up behind him? It would be cruel, but nothing seemed unlikely with the way he had treated you that night. You hated the thought, and it brought a fresh round of tears stinging to your eyes. 

But you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him. Needed some form of acknowledgement from him. So you headed to the room, got undressed, and climbed into bed behind him. Sniffling still, you reached an arm across his waist and he removed it immediately. It was the last straw. You rested your forehead against his back and sobbed—openly, loudly, and without abandon.

“Pineapple,” you whimpered your safe word, “Pineapple pineapple pineapple.”

You felt his back stiffen, heard the deep breath he drew in through your loud sobs, but he didn’t move. And you panicked more.

“Pineapple,” you kept repeating, louder as sobs still racked your body and your breath came in in deep heaves, “Pineapplepineapplepineapple…”

“I heard you,” his voice was raw and he turned slowly, pushing you onto your back and hovering over you as you winced. He cupped your cheek, keeping your face firmly in place and looking to your eyes.

“Stop,” he ordered, “Enough.”

It made you sob harder. You clawed at him, trying to drag his shoulders to you, but he grabbed both of your hands in one of his.

“Look at me,” it was another order, but you couldn’t stop crying. He stroked your cheek lightly with his other hand—the first sign of affection he had shown you all night—and wiped some of your tears away.

“Tiger, look at me,” he ordered again. Pained, you dragged your eyes to his. Green orbs bore into you, rage still clenching his jaw.

“I am so mad at you right now,” he whispered, and you flinched at how calm and steady his voice was, but he still leaned to press his lips softly to your cheek. He lingered there, breathing you in a bit, as he tried to steady his anger.

“This is not what your safe word is for.”

“I know,” you cried, “But I need your help and you just keep ignoring me and I fucked up and I know I fucked up and I’m sorry.”

And then you couldn’t stop. The tears, the choked words, the rambling.

“I thought I could trust you no matter how badly I fucked up because you always make sure I’m okay but this time you didn’t and I’m not okay and I’m hurt like everywhere and I’m bleeding and in pain and I just need you to say something,” you were rambling incoherently at this point, not even breathing through it, and all of your words were coming out mushed together and hurriedly, broken only by the sobs in between. He stilled even more above you, his eyes flashing as he tried to reel in his temper.

“Please just say something, Bill,” you pleaded. He broke away from you gently, raising up on his haunches as you sat up too.

“Okay,” he yielded, “Okay, I can say something.”

You curled your knees to your chest, waiting. You swiped at the tears on your cheeks as he eyed you.

“There are fucking bears in those woods, tiger. Do you hear me? Bears. I asked you to do one thing—no, I warned you about one thing, about how dangerous these woods are, how not to go into them alone, and your ass is too fucking stubborn to listen to anything I say and what do you do? You try and prove how capable you are by going into the woods alone—the one thing I asked you not to do—and you fucking disappear. For goddamn hours. How the fuck long were you in there? Did you even wait until I was out of view on the lake before completely disregarding anything I say? Why the fuck would you not listen to me about this?””

Bill never yelled. Bill never yelled at you, in particular. But he was now, his anger barely contained as his voice kept rising.

“I was starting to feel smothered,” you mumbled, “I thought you were being overprotective. Like you didn’t think I was capable of doing anything on my own.”

“Overprotective?” He roared, “You thought I was being overprotective by warning you how dangerous that forest is? So instead of talking to me about it, telling me how you felt, you decided to prove a point? Prove to me what a big girl you are, how wrong I am to try and keep you safe on a daily basis?”

You curled in on yourself more as his voice got louder. He was furious.

“You have done a lot of stupid shit, kid, but this is by far the fucking stupidest. You could have died. Do you get that? People die in those woods every year because they get lost, they get fucking eaten by bears, they can’t find their way out. You went in there with nothing—no compass, no whistle, no spray. Who knows what the fuck happened to you that got you so scraped up—“

“I fell, and got knocked out,” you mumbled. His eyes widened and he raked his hands through his hair.

“You got fucking knocked out?” He shrieked, and more of your tears flowed.

“Pineapple,” you whimpered again, because you weren’t sure what was worse: his complete silence, or the way he was yelling at you without abandon. You buried your face in your hands, leaning on your knees and wishing this entire day to just be over. He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his hands over his face. You heard him take a few deep breaths, felt him climb on the bed before his hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them from your face. He stared at you for a few seconds, unblinking, and his gaze was so intense that you had to look away.

“I need a few minutes to calm down,” He said, and his voice was more gentle but still held the thick rasp of barely contained rage, “I’m going to step outside. I’ll be on the back balcony, and I’ll be back in 5 minutes. Okay?”

He tilted your chin up to meet his eyes, and you nodded.

“Set your timer for 5 minutes, kid,” he said, and your bottom lip trembled.

“My phone is smashed,” you murmured. Taking his from the night stand, he set a timer for 5 minutes and handed it to you, syncing it to his watch.

“Press start when you hear the door close,” he instructed, and you caught his arm as he went to step off the bed.

“Bill can I…will you…kiss me?” You asked, “Please?”

He gently removed your hand from his arm.

“I’m still too mad at you right now,” he said calmly, “But when I get back.”

And with that, he left. You heard him grab his pack of cigarettes from the hallway table, and you waited until you heard the door click close, pressing start on the timer and watching it agonizingly count down the entire time. True to his word, when the timer went off you heard the door click open, heard him make his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He appeared in the doorway soon after, crawling onto the bed and stopping in front of you. Taking your face gently in his hands, he pressed his lips to yours. It was meant to be soft but you latched on, looping your arms around his neck and kissing the hell out of him. He kissed you back, and it made more tears trickle down your cheeks. You sniffled, breaking apart from him and leaning your forehead against his.

“You scared the hell out of me, tiger,” he whispered, “And you broke a promise to me. I came home and you were gone. I didn’t know where you were, you didn’t leave a note, and hours later, you were still gone.”

“I was terrified. I thought something terrible happened to you. And it almost did, didn’t it?” He kissed you again, and you nodded.

“I’m sorry, Bill,” you cried, “God I’m so sorry. It was stupid.”

“It was,” he agreed, “Don’t do that again, kid.”

You nodded, reaching for him again and he pulled you to his chest, settling you on his lap.

“I’m sorry for the way I handled it, too,” he apologized, “You can trust me. No matter what, no matter how badly either of us fucks up. I’m sorry, tiger. I took it too far, too.”

He kissed your hair, your nose, tilted your chin up to lay his lips on yours. He swiped his thumb across the dampness on your cheeks, pulling you closer to him.

“Are you okay?” He asked when he pulled away, and you gave a half-hearted shrug in his embrace.

“Been better. My head is killing me. I’m pretty sure my thigh is still bleeding. And I uh, I still haven’t cleaned out the gash on my back,” you mumbled. Swinging his legs over the bed, you clung to him like a koala as he stood slowly.

“Let’s go take care of that one first then,” he said, “We’re going to talk about me smothering you tomorrow, kid. But for now, deal with it. Because it’s happening.”

You smiled, burying your wet face in his neck. Leading you to the bathroom, he set you down gently on the counter top but you clung to him as he went to pull away.

“Are we okay?” You asked tentatively, and he gently leaned his forehead against yours, taking care not to knock the bump on your head.

“We’re okay, kid,” he confirmed, and kissed you sweetly, “And I’ll show you just how okay we are as soon as we get your stupid ass cleaned up, yeah?”

[papa-rhys]

First Aid (Jacob Seed X f!deputy)

Anonymous: Can I have a imagine where f!deputy need help to take a shower and Jacob help her and he secretly loves her? It can be noncon if you want 

Note: The tone of this is kinda all over the place because I wrote it over the course of a week and had 2 migraines in the process. BUT I kinda like that it turned out like that? I feel like it reflects the relationship that Jacob and Rook have. Idk, either way: Enjoy!

| Find more of my stuff here! |   | Spare any change? |

The deputy stumbles up the stairs of the Veterans Centre, holding her injured arm tightly. Jacob follows, rolling his eyes each time she trips, though he still instinctively puts out his arm to stop her from tumbling all the way to the bottom.

She was training when it happened. She was running Jacob’s course for the umpteenth time and she knew it fairly well, but unbeknownst to her, Jacob had a surprise for her this time; a curveball in the shape of a new opponent to fight. A fellow prisoner who’d drawn the short straw. Rook had rounded the corner and an unprecedented speed – a corner that was usually empty – and the prisoner had been lying in wait for her. Grabbing Rook’s arm and twisting back with a sickening crunch, the prisoner threw Rook to the floor and began beating her until Jacob finally stepped in.

“I think it’s broken,” Rook had told Jacob, showing him her already bruising arm as the training area was cleared for the next run.

“And whose fault is that?” he’d replied, folding his arms across his chest and looking away from her as she’d burst into tears. He’d pulled her into a hug – not before checking that none of his men were watching, mind you. “It’s okay,” he’d told her, patting her on the back. “You did good.”

See, there was a much softer side to Jacob underneath that tough exterior. He was calloused; hardened by the life he’d lived and although Rook had no real idea of the horrors that Jacob had experienced in his 47 years, she knew that with enough care and treatment, those calluses could be softened.

Reaching the top of the staircase, Rook turns to make sure Jacob is still following.

“I’m still here,” Jacob assures her. “Through there,” he adds, pointing her towards the open door of a bathroom.

She enters the bathroom and stands in the centre of the room, tugging at the bandage on her arm.

“Don’t play with it,” Jacob tells her. “I ain’t changin’ it for you if it falls off.” He walks over to a cabinet and pulls out a raggedy, old towel.

“It’s not helping anyway,” Rook sighs, watching him. “I need painkillers.”

Jacob throws the towel at her and Rook instinctively raises her arms to catch it, crying out in pain as she does so.

“I already told you: painkillers dull your senses. If you’re strong, you’ll pull through without them.”

“It still feels broken,” she states.

“Well the doc said it ain’t, so it ain’t.”

Rook huffs and looks away, folding her arms. Jacob steps forward and holds her chin between his thumb and his forefinger, turning her head to face him.  “You trust me, right?” he asks. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Rook sighs. “No, Jacob,” she says, reluctantly.

“Exactly. It’ll be healed in a few days and you’ll be trainin’ again before you know it.”

Rook holds back the urge to roll her eyes. You’ll be trainin’ again before you know it, she repeats in her head. As if she wanted to be trained in the first place. She’s been at the Veterans Centre for so long, she often forgets that she’s here as a prisoner. She’s almost certain she’s developing Stockholm Syndrome, but that’s a problem for another day.

“Now, get those off and get in the damn shower,” Jacob finishes, nodding at her clothes.

Rook looks down briefly before offering Jacob a weak smile. “I, uh… I can’t take them off by myself,” she says, gesturing towards her arm.

Jacob rolls his eyes and grabs her sweatpants, yanking them down – along with her underwear – rather roughly.

“Oh, wow, okay then,” Rook mutters. “Y’know, you could be a little gentler.”

Jacob looks up at her as he crouches at her feet and Rook steps out of her sweatpants and kicks them across the floor.

“What’ve I told you about keepin’ things neat?” Jacob scolds her, moving to pick up the sweatpants and folding them neatly.

“Yeah… Sorry.” Rook awkwardly pulls her shirt over her head with one arm, keeping the injured one close to her chest. As she wriggles and squirms inside the fabric, Jacob’s eyes fall upon the bruised skin that spans from Rook’s hip to the top of her ribs. She’d suffered 2 broken ribs, a sprained arm, and various other cuts and bruises as a result of the beating, and Jacob can’t help but take pity on her as she struggles in front of him, feeling responsible for her suffering.

“Here,” Jacob sighs, helping her pull her other arm out of the shirt and pulling it off over her head, revealing a very flustered deputy with strands of hair going in all the wrong directions.

She now stands completely naked in front of Jacob and although he’s seen her naked once or twice before, she can’t help but feel tiny and weak. She hugs herself as Jacob turns the shower on and heads for the door.

“Wait, where you going?” she asks.

“I’m goin’ for a coffee, why?”

Rook looks at the shower and then back at Jacob. “I can’t… I mean, how am I gonna do everything?”

It takes Jacob a few beats to realise what she’s asking of him. “You want me to help you shower?” he asks, as if it’s the craziest thing someone has ever proposed to him.

“Well… yeah,” Rook replies.

“You know you’re gonna have to do things for yourself at some point, right?”

“Yeah, of course… just not today,” she chirps, sweetly.

Rook can tell Jacob is stifling a smile as he closes the door again and locks it before making his way towards her. She steps into the shower and eases herself into the stream of hot water that pours from the rusty, old showerhead. “Ow, Jesus, that’s hot,” she mutters, turning to Jacob. He’s already pulled his shirt off and is now unzipping his jeans. That’s pretty hot, too, she thinks. “You’re getting naked, too?”

“What, you thought I was gonna get in the shower with all my clothes on?”

“Good point,” Rook shrugs, trying to peel her eyes away from Jacob’s chest. He’s littered with scars – old ones and fresh ones, alike – and he has a wide array of bruises to compliment them. She watches as he drops his jeans, revealing his legs to be covered in a similar variety of old injuries. Jacob looks up, his eyes meeting hers, and she looks away; staring at the tiled wall in front of her as Jacob steps into the shower.

“Okay, whaddya want me to do first?” Jacob asks, standing so close behind Rook that she can feel the body heat radiating from him.

“I usually wash – I usually wash my hair first,” she says, awkwardly clearing her throat halfway through saying it.

“Alright. Hair it is, then.”

Jacob cups his hands, gathering water in them and gently pouring it over Rook’s hair. He slicks her hair back and smoothes it down, carefully brushing it out of her face and pulling it all toward him. He reaches down and grabs a bottle of shampoo, squirting some into his hand and rubbing it into her hair. Rook leans into his touch, tilting her head back and enjoying the sensation of someone running their fingers across her scalp. “That feels so damn good,” she says. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud and she blushes immediately.

“I’m not too rough?” he asks, his voice reflecting his surprise.

“No, no, it’s perfect,” she tells him.

Jacob washes the bubbles from her hair so carefully, you’d think he was washing a newborn baby. As he bends down to close the cap of the shampoo bottle, it slips and falls to the floor with a clatter. Rook reaches for it with her injured arm, wincing at the pain.

“Don’t. I’ll get it,” Jacob insists, bending down for the bottle. Rook turns around to face him, and as he stands straight again, the two of them find themselves incredibly close to one another. Rook stands there, look up at Jacob; the water pouring over her face and dripping from her eyelashes.

“I’m sorry I let you down today, Jake,” she sighs.

In an act of compassion that seemingly came from nowhere, Jacob pulls her forward and plants a kiss on her forehead. “You didn’t,” he tells her, swiping his thumb across her bottom lip. “I put that prisoner in there to throw you off. I pushed you to do too much. I backed you into a corner and I shouldn’t have.”

Rook looks up at him. Her vision is blurred from the water dripping from her lashes, and in the spur of the moment, she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him.

She pulls away from the kiss. “Oh, God… I… Wow, I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” Jacob assures her.

“No, it’s not. I mean, you’re… you… and I’m – oh, God, I’m such a –”

Jacob moves in for another kiss and for a few painful moments, Rook thinks he may be doing it out of pity, but as he places his hands on her hips and pulls her closer, the fog of doubt is cleared from her mind.

She raises her hands and settles them on the back of his neck. The kiss quickly escalates from gentle to passionate; slow to fast-paced. As they kiss, Rook feels Jacob hardening against her lower stomach and she smiles into the kiss.

Jacob takes the lead – as he tends to do in all areas of his life – and spins Rook around to face the wall. She rests her hands against the tiles, letting the wall support her as she bends over.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Jacob asks, leaning forward and purring the question into her ear. His voice is like butter and it sends tingles across Rook’s skin.

“Yeah,” she nods. “Now hurry up before the water runs cold.”

He slides into her, earning a soft moan from Rook. Despite her order to hurry, Jacob takes it nice and slow, savouring the moment and the feeling of her wrapped tightly around the most sensitive part of him. He wasn’t used to being sensual and he found it rather intimidating, but this was a special occasion. The Deputy, with all her capability and independence and strength, was now bent over in front of him, moaning and whimpering as he fucks her agonisingly slowly. This moment had been a long time coming and he gave himself the credit for it. If not for his conditioning, she’d likely still be out there, causing trouble for him and ruining his younger brothers plans.

But now look at her; she belongs to him, now.

Rook reaches back with one hand, grabbing hold of Jacob’s hip and trying to make him go faster. As much as she begs for him to speed up, she has to admit that she enjoys the desperation and the neediness that Jacob has instilled in her. Maybe this was his plan all along: to get her to abandon all of her morals and allegiance to the resistance. To need him as though he were her means to survival. And oh boy, does she need him.

“Please, Jake,” she pleads. “Please go faster.”

Jacob leans forward again. “You want me to go faster?” he asks. “You want me to fuck you like an animal?”

She nods quickly. “Y-yes. Please…”

“And why should I? What’ve you done to earn it?”

“I – I don’t…” Rook stutters, her head swimming. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I – fuck.”  Rook presses her forehead against the cold tiles. “I’ve been good, Jake. I’ve been a good girl.”

Jacob smiles widely. “That’s right, you have,” he says, smoothing Rook’s hair. “Okay then, I guess you earned it.”

Jacob speeds up, pounding into Rook hard and unapologetically. This was more his forte. Jacob was always much better at rough than he was at sensual.

“Fuck, Jake,” Rook gasps.

“You asked for it, sweetheart,” he tells her. “I coulda carried on takin’ it easy, but no. That ain’t good enough for my little princess, is it?” he grunts.

My little princess. The words drive Rook wild. She stands up straight and Jacob wraps his arms around her middle. She’s tiny compared to him and his arms could wrap around her twice if they were bendy enough.

He buries his face in her neck, kissing and biting at the softest skin he’s ever known. Then, a thought hits him and he’s already verbalised it before he’s had a chance to register it himself.

“I love you so fuckin’ much,” he pants, the words muffled by Rook’s neck.

Rook grabs hold of Jacob’s hands – which still lay across her tummy – and rests her head against his. “I love you, too, “ she confesses, quietly whispering the words as if the resistance could hear them if she spoke too loudly. She can feel Jacob smiling against the crook of her neck, which makes her smile in turn.

As Jacob hugs tighter, something in Rook’s gut begins to flutter. Her legs begin to wobble and she finds it difficult to remain standing. “I think… I think I –“

Jacob holds onto Rook, keeping her from falling. She climaxes, clutching at Jacob’s hands and squeezing them as she goes dizzy. Jacob chuckles in her ear, enjoying the sight of Rook convulsing beneath his embrace.

“Atta girl, atta girl,” he praises, slowing his movements and trailing more kisses down her neck. He slowly reaches his own orgasm soon after, rocking his hips slowly and smoothly until he spills into a worn out Rook, who now leans forward against the wall with her eyes closed.

“Fuck me,” Jacob pants, pulling out and watching his cum drip from her folds and into the drain.

Rook stands up straight and turns around to face him. “I should injure myself more often if this is your idea of first aid,” she says, smiling up at him with tired eyes and rosy red cheeks.

“How’s the pain?” he asks, pushing her soaking wet hair out of her face.

“What pain?” she smiles.

“See; painkillers are overrated.”

As Jacob plants a kiss on Rook’s forehead, the shower begins to spit and judder.

“That’s not a good sign…” Rook states, watching the shower head as it shakes and rumbles.

“Yeah, we should – ah fuck!”

The shower rains freezing cold water down on them, sending them both leaping out of the cubical.

“F – fuckin’ A, I – I told you that’d happen,” Rook breathes, standing in the middle of the room in shock.

Jacob laughs, shaking his hair dry and spraying the room with water in the process. “Here,” he says, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around Rook’s shoulders as she shivers. He grabs another towel, wrapping it around himself. “Maybe next time we should stick to a bedroom; y’know, somewhere we won’t catch hypothermia.”

“It’s cute that you think there’s gonna be a next time,” Rook says.

“It’s cute that you think there won’t be,” Jacob smirks.

Rook laughs – a loud and genuine laugh – and Jacob’s heart flutters in his chest. He watches her with a grin that resembles the Cheshire Cat. “I meant what I said, y’know,” he says, looking down at his feet, still smiling.

“Yeah,” Rook says, stepping closer to him and tugging on his towel to pull him down to her height. “So did I,” she smiles, planting a peck on his lips.

[lumistories]

Stockholm Syndrome (Part 2)

TW: YANDERE AND ALL THAT IT IMPLIES (ex. violence, adbuction, possessiveness, etc.)

The next part! Quite a bit longer than the last and a bit more oof at some parts, but I hope you guys like it.

With each passing day you felt yourself trust Hawks more and more. He would always bring you good food, food he knew you liked. He always treated you right, softly tending to the wounds he carved onto you and lovingly taking care of you. You felt yourself fall for this man, even if he may be twisted. You wondered if your family noticed your disappearance. Surely, they wouldn’t guess Japan’s number 2 hero would be behind it.

A couple of weeks had passed and Hawks finally felt comfortable with you, knowing you wouldn’t escape and that you reciprocated his twisted and warped feelings. He came through the door, a smile spread across his face. He didn’t even bother sitting in front of you this time and instead walked past you. You didn’t realize what he was doing until you felt the pressure on your wrists lighten. You were finally free.

“Well darling,” he said as he walked back in front of you. “You’re now officially free to explore the basement. I don’t want to keep you cooped up for too long, how am I gonna see those rope burns if they never see the light of day?” He was looking down upon you, a dark smile on his face.

“Thank you Hawks,” you said getting up shakily. He readily reached out to help you up and you took his hand.

“My legs are weak…” You muttered, mainly to yourself.

“That’s what happens when you don’t use them for… what? A week? Two weeks?”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He guided you over to a couch and you were able to see the rest of the basement now. It was a basement with a lot of open space. By the door was his knife collection, completely locked up. Behind the pole you were attached to was a couch, a TV, and some magazines littered on the table between the two pieces of furniture. Beyond that was a door to the bathroom, which Hawks explained had a working toilet and shower. There were two windows up near the ceiling where the basement met the earth, but they were covered by small slabs of wood, presumably to keep you from escaping.

“Welcome to your new home!” Hawks said, gesturing towards the space before him. Even if it was shabby, you appreciated that he trusted you enough to let you do your own thing. If you had the energy, you’d hug him right then and there. But instead, you stood there, taking in the feeling of his arm around your waist, which kept you from falling over. If you could, you’d stay next to him forever, and you’re grateful he gave you the chance to do so by taking you in.

“Do you wanna watch some TV?” You asked, looking up. “I don’t really wanna stand for much longer.”

“Oh!” His eyebrows raised. “Of course, what do you want to watch?” He had already begun walking towards the couch.

“Anything, really. You’ve killed my social media addiction and now i’m having a withdrawal,” you joked. Hawks chuckled. “Yeah, I can understand that,” he said dismissively.

The two of you sat down on the old, musty couch. Hawks grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the TV, not caring to switch the station.

“News it is, I guess.” He said, resting his back on the couch after he set the remote down. He yawned and stretched, sliding his arm around your shoulders afterwards.

“Smooth move,” you commented while your eyes were trained on the TV. Today’s news was the latest and biggest hero accomplishment, and it just so happened it was Hawks who had done the job. You watched as the video recording him flying through the sky while fending off enemies and you couldn’t help but notice so many things about him. You never really focused on him so much before, but with every new clip shown you were grateful to see him in his normal state again, or at least what the world thought was his normal state.

You wanted to say something about him, something like “Oh you’re so cool.” or “I wish I could be there to support you.”, but the words got caught in your throat. You didn’t want him to think you’re trying to get on his good side, or that you’re desperate or something. You weren’t sure if he even cared, but you didn’t want him to be mad at you, you just wanted the love he gave you, and nothing else.

As the next news story began, your eyes moved to the bottom of the screen, examining the scrolling text that relayed less important stories. Your stomach dropped as you read with each passing word.

“GIRL GONE MISSING. POLICE ARE ON THE SEARCH FOR THE GIRL WHO VANISHED WITHOUT A TRACE.”

“Hawks,” you looked up at him, “can we change the channel?” “Huh?” He said, looking down confused. Obviously he didn’t see the headline. “Yeah, sure.” He bent over once more to grab the remote and entered in the numbers for a different channel.

“Comedy Heroes is my favorite,” Hawks said, returning back to his previous position, “I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but it’s basically comedians pulling pranks on heroes on their off days.”

“Oh yeah I know this show!” Your face lit up as you recognized the four familiar men. “You were on there once, right? I remember someone tried teepeeing your house.”

“Yup!” He gave you a grin. “And this is the exact house you’re at. Let’s hope they don’t come here again.”

You gave a silent nod in agreement and watched the rest of the show, melting into the sensation of Hawks being so close to you. You could be like this forever, stay like this forever. But you knew it had to end. It always did.

The show ended and Hawks got up, saying he had to do some stuff. He left the basement, leaving you entirely alone. For a couple minutes, you tried watching more TV but nothing interested you.

“Hmm… There’s some magazines…” You said to yourself, leaning over to inspect the magazines on the table. The room was so dim and the lights that were installed only reached near the pole, beyond that it was darkness. It didn’t help that Hawks had turned off the lights, either on mistake or on purpose.

You got up, your legs still weak, stumbling around to try to find a light switch. Your search came up empty. Holding a single, random magazine in your hands you tried to think what you could do, looking around the dark room. The TV might work, but you wouldn’t want to be that close to it, plus the light was unreliable and might just hurt your eyes. There was the windows as well, and the light peeking out of them seemed comforting. You wanted to see the light of day again, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try to read the magazine by the natural sunlight?

You walked over, standing on your tiptoes just to let the light beam shine on the glossy pages of the magazine. You even tried moving the slabs of wood to maybe get more light, but it hardly worked. However, you still managed to read the pages, realizing just how old the magazine was.

Eventually, you heard the door unlock. Oh, it’s Hawks! You thought happily, turning your head towards the door. As it opened and he stepped in, his cheerful demeanor became suddenly dark as he saw you. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he dropped his grocery bags and charged towards you, using his wings to propel himself. You let out a shriek as the magazine flew out of your hands and you were pressed against the wall, feathers pinning your clothes and a hand around your neck.

“What’s the meaning of this…?” He said in a low voice that made you want to cry. It felt so venomous and hateful. Did I do something wrong? Is he mad at me? Questions formed in your head, becoming more and more frantic as you felt the grip on your neck tighten. His eyes looked down upon you with anger and rage. For the first time, you actually feared for your life.

“You know you shouldn’t try to escape, little bird,” his face got closer and closer. “I love you so much, surely you wouldn’t betray me like this, right?” How could someone so sweet just minutes before be so dark and hateful now? You didn’t want to hurt him, you knew that for sure, but you couldn’t stay like this forever. You could only be suffocated for so long till you pass out.

He slammed his other hand against the wall, right next to your head. “You know you’re not supposed to leave, right? Right!?” His voice got louder, right next to your ear. You could only close your eyes and hope the pain and anger would sstop.

“It’s… Not what you think…” You manage to say. “Magazine… Dark.... Read…” His grip seemed to be tightening with every word you said.

His hand left the space by your head and he looked at you like he didn’t believe you. “Magazine…?

“Magazine… Read… Too dark…” You kept trying to say, pleading with what little words you could manage between the grasp on his hand. Your hand pointed down to where you at least assumed was the magazine. He followed your gesture to see the magazine you were trying to read splayed across the floor, pages bent.

His grip lessened and he retracted his feathers from the wall. By now, tears were starting to fall down your face. You couldn’t even look up at the man before you, if he almost hurt you now, he’d be able to hurt you anytime he wanted to. That was enough to make you thoroughly scared. The fact it hadn’t even crossed your mind made you scold yourself for being so naive.

His face was unreadable. He walked away, going to his knife cabinet. Instead of unlocking it though, he reached behind it to grab a rope. He came back towards you and yanked your arm, leading you to the pole you were just imprisoned to this morning.

“I’m sorry.” He said as he tied the rope around your wrists once more. I’m dumb, you though, so so dumb.

Without another word, Hawks left the basement, shutting off all the lights and all electronics. You were left alone with nothing but your thoughts, the only thing to answer back was the endless void of darkness before you.

What if he hurt you like that again, or hurt you worse? What if he didn’t care about you and just wanted someone to treat like a prisoner? What if he only wanted you for the purpose of some plaything that he could throw away at any time? The thoughts you conjured up chilled you to the bone, and soon enough fearful tears had begun to roll down your face. You sat there crying for what seemed like hours, calling yourself a failure for failing the one who loved you most, calling yourself dumb for allowing such a man to get close to you, contradicting yourself every which way you could until you drove yourself into a teary-eyed sleep.

You woke up the next day to someone tapping your leg. You opened your eyes and raised your head slowly, your neck straining from the position you were in. In front of you was Hawks. Of course, I’m stuck here, you reminded yourself. You said nothing as Hawks presented a luxurious looking breakfast.

“I wanted to say sorry,” he began, “for doing that yesterday. I was scared, I automatically assumed the worst. I’ve never done this kind of thing before, and I really enjoy it and I don’t want it to end. I was just… So scared and I didn’t want you to leave. Trust me, I just want the best for you, and I know that you’ll be happy and safe here.”

Even with his constant reassurance, you felt uneasy. If he did it once, he’ll do it again, you thought, watching him cut up the pancakes. He drove his fork into one of the pieces and moved it towards your mouth for you to eat.

“I’m not hung-” You tried to deny his food but he took the chance while your mouth was open to shove it in there. The delicious taste filled your mouth and you had no choice but to chew and swallow it all. The lingering feeling of dread hung over you and as he fed you, you felt yourself fill up quickly.

“I swear, I’m full.” You said. “I don’t really have the stomach for it right now. Maybe later.”

His eyes flashed with the same emotionless look they had yesterday, but only for a second before returning to his previous worried expression. “I’m sorry if I caused you to feel this way.”

“It’s okay…” You said, trying to comfort him. Why were you still trying to comfort him? “It’s the way you are, you can’t help it.”

He gave you a small smile. “Maybe you’re right. But it doesn’t give me the right to hurt you like that. Pain’s gotta be fun, ya know! Ideally, we’d have some fun today, but I can see you’re not doing to good.” He scanned your vulnerable body, eyes resting on your neck which you assumed had been bruised from the previous night.

“Hold on, I need to do something. I’ll be back in… Half an hour?” Hawks said, getting up suddenly. You didn’t object, you let him leave. He didn’t turn the lights out this time.

It took him longer than an hour, but you had no idea. He came back with a bag in his hand and beaming smile just for you.

“I got you a present!” He said, rummaging through the bag. He pulled out a box, an all-too familiar box you had daydreaming about seeing before.

“No way…” You muttered, eyes wide.

“Yup! I found out one day that you really wanted it so I took note. Haven’t forgotten for a month.”

He came behind you and untied you so that way you could open the box with your own hands. Once you were free, you stayed resting your back against the pole and Hawks sat down next to you, waiting eagerly for you to open the box.

Maybe he didn’t really want to hurt me… You began to think. He was just scared… Right? I’d be scared too, if I were him. He doesn’t want to hurt me like that, I’m sure of it.

You opened the box and admired the gift. It was a bracelet you had wanted for quite some time now. You weren’t really a jewelry person, but ever since you saw it, it absolutely enchanted you. On your way to work, you’d view it through the window as you passed by. The shining gems and the charms decorating it made it so beautiful in your eyes. You put in on your wrist and turned it around, looking at it from all different angles.

“It’s so beautiful... “ You looked up at your captor who was smiling at you with a pleasant smile. “Thank you, Hawks.”

“Anytime dear. Do you forgive me now?” He eyebrows raised as he awaited your answer.

Should I really forgive him? Will he hurt me like that again? Am I really safe? You quieted your thoughts and looked back down at your bracelet. “Bribing me won’t do you any good, but I do forgive you anyways,” you said teasingly.

“Great! Let’s get you up again. Gotta get those legs used to walking around. It’s my fault for tying you up again, haha.” Hawks said, wrapping an arm around your waste and bringing you up to a standing position.

Maybe you could stay like this. Maybe you could stay like this forever.

[ellanainthetardis]

A much needed - and calmer - talk today! Let me know your thoughts!

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 55 :  No Good Choices

The door to the Training Center’s roof was already open and Haymitch groaned a little, not keen on sharing the place. He fumbled with the lighter, the cigarette already wedged between his lips… What he wanted was some peace and quiet, to escape Effie’s shrill voice as she babbled into the phone to arrange whatever it was he was supposed to be doing next.

According to the colored-code schedule she had passed around that morning on the train, the afternoon was supposed to be free. There would be a party in the evening, obviously, but for now his time was blissfully his and he wanted some fucking space.

Leaving the Districts behind was a relief. Two and One hadn’t been as bad as he had feared but he would never understand the people who lived there, the glorification of victors, the academies to train possible tributes… He had been very welcomed there. The victor who had won twice…

He pushed the door open and emerged in the soft cold. Winter was mild in the Capitol and he hadn’t bothered bringing up his coat. The sweatpants and the long-sleeve shirt were a bit too thin but he ignored it. He could deal.

It was sickening how happy he was to be back in the city. He wondered if it was a Stockholm syndrome thing, if he had been conditioned without his knowing… Or maybe it was simply that nothing in there made him feel like he had been tossed into a larger version of his arena. He would have to face the Presidential Mansion again but…

Problem for another day.

He walked close to the edge and studied the city spread at his feet, letting his eyes roam on the colorful beads of lights spread everywhere around them… ‘What is your favorite thing in the city?” Caesar had asked him earlier, after he had been done greeting his fans at the station, smiling, waving, signing and taking pictures… Haymitch had shrugged and smirked ‘My girl’. He and Effie had kissed, he had deepened it, she had pretended to be embarrassed and had rebuked him, they had bickered, everyone had been happy with the footage. The Welcome To The Capitol interview hadn’t been the most difficult thing he had faced during that Tour anyway.

The cigarette still unlit, he turned around to survey his surroundings and found what he was looking for on the other side of the roof. There were small movements in the garden and he eventually spotted the boy sitting between two potted trees. Haymitch hardly ever went into the garden. He knew it had been the kids’ corner but he preferred the bare part of the roof, with its concrete low wall. It was there that he and Effie usually discussed difficult things, safe from bugs but not bothering to pretend this was anything but what it was. The garden would have made it feel too much like a stroll.

He hesitated for a long moment before finally walking over.

Peeta must have seen him as soon as he had arrived but he hadn’t made any sign that he was there so Haymitch was probably not welcomed. But… The passive aggressive dance they had going on couldn’t go on. Not only was it painful to have the boy glaring at him behind his back, it would only get more difficult as the years went by. Twelve only had two victors now and two victors meant they would have to work together at some point, there was no point making it harder than it ought to be. He knew the kid didn’t understand his behavior. He knew he was hurting him. He knew he had made a poor job of explaining himself.

He also knew nothing could be like it used to be with Peeta.

He knew himself and he knew his limits.

He had meant what he had told the kid. He looked at Peeta and all he saw was Katniss.

He lowered himself on the ground facing the boy, right in front of a patch of jasmine. The smell was strong and maybe it was another reason he didn’t like the garden. It reminded him too much of his arena. His first one.

Peeta’s eyes tracked his every move but the kid didn’t say anything.

Haymitch plucked the cigarette from his lips and turned it over between his fingers, not quite sure how to start.

“Give it a few years and maybe you’re gonna get it.” he said slowly, keeping his gaze firmly on his hands. “I’ve been at this for twenty-five years. It’s… a lot of dead kids. It gets you… numb after a while. It ain’t that you stop caring but you just…” He licked his lips. “You learn to recognize who’s got a chance and who doesn’t, so that helps… That helps prepare you, yeah? You know they’re already dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

He chanced a glance up at Peeta. The boy was staring at him, listening. It was already something he supposed.

“Thing is… Before you… Twenty-three years… I only got maybe… two who had a real shot.” he continued with a shrug. “Kids from Twelve… Don’t need to tell you they’re at a disadvantage, yeah?” Peeta gave him a brief nod so Haymitch went on, torturing the cigarette between his fingers so badly it would be too battered to be smocked. Waste. Then again, it was the thing in the city. Waste was expected, they could always buy more. “Last year… Can’t describe how I felt when I realized I got not only one but two kids who had what it took to get to the finish line.”

“You chose Katniss.” the boy said, breaking his silence for the first time. It wasn’t entirely an accusation. It was the kid who had spilled his feelings for her and had asked him to do whatever he could to bring her back after all. Sure, Haymitch had already made up his mind at that point because as charismatic and charming as Peeta could be, Katniss had the guts and, ultimately, it was having the guts that kept you alive.

“’Cause she had what it took.” he muttered. “And you’re… You’re soft, boy.” He raised a dismissive hand before the kid could protest. “Ain’t an insult. You’re a good person. It’s a rare thing nowadays.”

Peeta sighed. “You’re not a bad man, Haymitch.”

That was debatable and not the object of the conversation.

“Thing is… The star-crossed lovers thing… I convinced Seneca it would be a great twist but I knew they would never go for two victors.” he admitted. “Not after what Katniss had done with Rue anyway. That was…”

“I saw the footage.” Peeta cut in.

“You saw part of it.” he corrected. They hadn’t showed the whole thing at the Recap during the Crowning and they had been careful to never air it again. Katniss might have told him but he hadn’t seen. “It was powerful, boy. And dangerous. Chaff only made it worse when he sent her a loaf of bread…” He shook his head. “Changed all the rules.”

“It was brave.” the boy snapped.

“Yeah, it was.” he chuckled bitterly, rubbing his forehead. “Brave and stupid and fucking inspiring. That was the point, yeah? Can’t tell you how much me and Effie were already sweating by that point… Then, the berries…” He closed his eyes and then shook his head. “The berries were the nails in our fucking coffins. But you were both alive and all the Districts were grumbling and… When Cinna told me about the rebellion, when he brought me in…” He swallowed hard at that memory. “I really thought we had a shot. With Thirteen not being as dead as I had thought… There’s always been rumors floating around but I didn’t believe it. Not until Cinna showed me and I thought…” He sighed. “They were gonna use the girl either way. She was supposed to be their Mockingjay but I only trusted them as far as I could throw them. Didn’t want her to become their martyr. And Snow… Snow was breathing down our fucking necks.”

“No good choices.” Peeta said slowly.

“No good choices.” he confirmed. “I threw our lot where I thought I could keep you both alive. Freeing Panem from the Capitol… Well, ain’t gonna lie, it would have been a nice bonus. Everything I’ve always wanted. Revenge and everything. But… I chose the rebellion ‘cause I really thought it was the only way to protect the two of you.”

“You could have told us.” the boy insisted. “You’re always keeping things from me.”

“If I had told the girl…” He made a face. It would have been a disaster. “She was already figuring some out anyway. The less she knew, the safer she was. Same for you. Same for Effie.” He shrugged. “I tried, kid.”

“And then?” Peeta asked.

“And then everything fell on our heads ‘cause Thirteen bailed out and I was glad I had kept you out of the loop.” he confessed. “Thought you would be safe. Both of you. Really did. Should have known better.” He accidentally dropped the cigarette but made no move to pick it up. It left him with empty hands though. “I wanted to save both of you, Peeta. I’m… I’m sorry I failed. I still think… Me going in was the best solution. At least I got you out. It probably ain’t much of a comfort to you but at least I got one of you out.”

Peeta studied him for a long time and then averted his eyes. “But you can’t look at me anymore.”

“Give me time.” he requested quietly. “I know it ain’t fair. I know you’re angry. But… I loved that girl.”

Saying that out loud was like tearing his chest open and clawing his heart out. He took a deep steadying breath but it smelt too much like jasmine, it smelt too much like being trapped.

He fumbled in his pocket with shaking hands, came up with an empty packet of cigarettes and crumpled it angrily.

“I know.” Peeta said at last. “I loved her too.” There was so much pain in his voice that Haymitch started compulsively tearing the packet apart in small little pieces. If the boy noticed his littering, it didn’t seem to bother him. “I’m sorry about what I said the other time. And I’m sorry I was a jerk.”

“I was a jerk too.” Haymitch admitted. “Just… It gets too much.”

“I understand.” the boy offered. “Going back for a second time… What you had to do in there… I understand. You’re probably doing well considering.”

“Yeah.” he snorted bitterly. “Considering.”

If you didn’t count regularly trying to boil himself to death in the shower.

“I’m impressed you didn’t start drinking again.” Peeta commented.

“Nothing to be impressed about.” he grumbled. “Want to. Every day I think I’m gonna cave.” He averted his gaze and stared at the oddly shaped potted tree on the left. “Can’t afford it. Can’t slip. Effie… You… Can’t risk my family again.”

Peeta seemed to perk up a little at being called family and that was good because that had been the aim. Unfortunately, it also made the boy frown. “Why again?”

His mind flashed to the Everdeen’s living-room, to the fresh burning gashes on his back, to brushing the subject with Katniss when he had tried to convince her that…

“Remember my Games?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound even and failing miserably.

Understanding dawned on Peeta’s face. “The force field.”

“The force field, holding Maysilee’s hand while she died, that I went looking for a way out of the arena in the first place…” he shrugged. “I was stupid and naïve. Lost everyone I cared about.”

“I’m sorry.” Peeta said and Haymitch shrugged. It wasn’t the boy’s fault. The kid hesitated and then it was his turn to look away. “When I got back to Twelve… Everything was different. Thread had expulsed Katniss’ family from the Village, they were staying with the Hawthornes. Mrs Everdeen…” He shook his head. “If Prim didn’t force her to feed, I’m not sure she would remember. She’s… She’s not here anymore. Her eyes are always empty.”

“She’s been through a lot.” he remarked.

“Yes, maybe, but…” the boy sighed. “Prim is a good kid but she’s thirteen and she shouldn’t have to take care of her mom like that. If I hadn’t taken them in… I don’t know how they would have fed themselves. Prim was planning on trying to sneak to the woods, to do what Katniss used to and that would only have ended in disaster. Twelve’s really not a nice place to be right now. Thread… Well, to be honest, he’s fair. He applies the law to the letter but the law’s harsh and people are starving.” Peeta shrugged. “I didn’t want to deal with all that. I kept thinking if you’d been there…”

“If I had been there, I’d have been drunk and useless. Would have gotten myself flayed on the whipping post for illegal moonshine.” he pointed out. “Ain’t good at taking care of people, kid. You’re better at mending things than I am.”

Peeta shrugged again, clearly not convinced. “Can you try calling now and then? I’m not saying I need you to call every two days like Effie does but… Maybe just once a month or something… Just check in. Prim would like that. She misses you.”

“Yeah.” he promised slowly. “Can do that.”

He would tell Effie and made sure she would force him to follow suit.

He could repair things.

“Good.” the boy nodded.

“Can’t ever be your mentor again.” he muttered awkwardly. “You get that, yeah?” It could never be like before, not with his guilt his treacherous memories, but it could be… better than this hostile relationship full of things unsaid – well, he supposed most of those things had been said now. “It’s just… That’s too much.”

“But we can be friends.” Peeta stated firmly, with the calm of a man who had been forced to grow up too quickly.

“Friends.” he repeated. “Yeah. I can do friends.”

They didn’t have to be best friends, they could be friends who sometimes exchanged phone calls and who saw each other once a year – twice maybe – to watch kids get murdered. Nothing he hadn’t done before with younger victors.

That was manageable.

[lordendsavior]

Ruth Capps’ reputation as one of the most hardcore One Direction fans precedes her. In the days before I see her in her pajamas under west London's Hammersmith flyover, I’m told by at least three people that she’s an “angel.” At just 19, she has as many tickets to see Harry Styles through 2018 as years she’s been alive. On Twitter, she posts earnest messages of support for her idol to her 110,000 followers. Offline, she projects a calm rationality that belies the reason she’s become so well-known within the fandom to begin with. Five days before the first UK date of Styles’ solo tour, Ruth is one of nearly 50 girls camped outside the Hammersmith Apollo in sleeping bags and foil blankets. When the Daily Mail stops by to interview them, Ruth diplomatically volunteers to be a representative.

“I’ll make us not look crazy,” Ruth assures the crowd of skeptical girls surrounding her. The reporter kneels down upon the sidewalk and pulls a notebook from her bag as Ruth holds court atop the pallet of £6 Primark duvets, and does her best to explain the situation as plainly as possible. “What’s going on here?” the reporter asks, assuming a “fun mum” tone with the girls in an attempt to get them to open up.

“We’re camping out here to see Harry Styles,” Ruth says, unperturbed by the fact that there are five days until he’ll take the stage. Her honesty with the reporter is a rarity among the camp. The truth is that the girls are waiting for the 23-year-old pop star, but if you ask them why, you’ll get a different answer. One fan tells a passerby they’re waiting for Mary Berry. Jacob Sartorius. A hot dog eating competition. All of which provide a simpler explanation than the reality, which is: it is Wednesday, and they already have tickets to the show on Sunday, but they’re sleeping on the street to perhaps – if they’re lucky – be noticed by Harry himself.

This is “camping culture,” an act of stan devotion in (often uncomfortable) pursuit of the rarest and most valuable fandom currency: proximity and access. For many fans on the street, this will be a one-time thing, an anomalous event only made possible by the grace of its novelty. But for some, camping is merely part of “following” an artist on tour. When the house lights rise in the Apollo on Monday, some will pack up their sleeping bags and head to Manchester. Then Glasgow. Then Stockholm. They will spend several hundreds, even thousands of pounds to see the same show over and over again. But what happens when these fans attempt to take the show into their own hands? What happens after – if, when, finally – Harry notices them?

London, Night One

Grace has spent five days camped outside of the Apollo, but four hours before the show, you wouldn’t be able to tell. In groups of two, Grace and her friends pose for photos in front of the bright red marquee. Last night, they cuddled on the pavement in sweatpants; now they’re made up in florals, high-waisted flares, berets. The temperature is 13°C, and Grace wears a crop top. Now 19, Grace became a fan in 2011, when she found solace in One Direction after moving from the US to Italy. “I wasn’t happy in high school, so I kind of invested in myself fully,” she tells me. What is it about Harry in particular that makes him stand out? “He’s just very accepting. He believes you should be whoever you want to be, and everybody’s going to love you.”

It’s this message of acceptance that makes Harry’s shows both empowering and entertaining. For £35, you can buy merchandise that reads, “Treat People With Kindness.” In the crowd throughout his set, hundreds of mini Pride flags – passed out by fans in the queue for free before the show – wave up at Harry as he sings. And when a larger flag makes its way onto the stage, he holds it up and dances, urging the crowd “to be whoever you want to be”.

“It’s not that I don’t have people in real life telling me that, but it’s different when someone you aspire to be like says it,” Grace explains. As anything might, these messages of support feel more significant when delivered from a stage, and echoed back by a crowd who agrees. From Harry's mouth in a room filled with admirers, such messages feel not only powerful, but genuine.

London, Night Two

Harry Styles, notoriously, doesn’t say much. While parasocial celebrity-fan relationships thrive on Twitter, his tweets read as if randomly generated by an extremely grateful bot. His live show is similar: each night, his between-song banter is near-verbatim to the previous, a carousel on which phrases like “I’m Harry, and I’m from England,” and “My job for the next hour is to entertain you,” spin round evening after evening. To see one show is to see them all. But for those in the front row, following Harry on tour feels like the only way to access the person beneath the persona.

“Because he’s so inaccessible online, it means more in person,” Grace says, “We’ve learned to work around that. If you’re first or second row, he’ll interact with you in some way. That’s your accessibility.”

Yesterday, fans attempted to use this access to bring Harry’s attention to the Black Lives Matter movement. Hoping for an acknowledgement similar to his support for the LGBTQ+ community they brought Black Lives Matter signs which – whether intentionally or not – he didn't pull up on stage to wave as well. By the second night Harry’s lack of attention toward these placards has become a big point of contention among fans; the fact he didn’t respond to the signs the previous night felt, to some fans, off brand from his accepting persona. And yet, once again, his eyes passed over the raised signs as if they read a message in a different language and, for Harry, they might as well have. Aside from a small hat-tip to “all the different kinds of messages in the crowd”, the evening passes without note.

After the show, one fan roasts him online with a photoshopped image of a hand that reads like a cheat sheet of his onstage script: “You all look ____ this evening,” it says, alluding to the slight variation in adjective each night. After a parenthetical reminder for Harry to smile, it urges, as if he were in danger of stating the directive instead of acting, “Don’t say out loud!” But Harry doesn’t need the reminder. He doesn’t, after all, say much of anything anyway. He dances his dance, recites his script, then the lights go off.

Manchester, Night Three

Four hours before doors open, Ruth applies makeup in a hotel room she’s rented to store her things, which is littered with tour merchandise, hair straighteners, and phone chargers. When I ask about the second show in London, she confesses that she left the show early in order to join the Manchester queue. “We had to miss Harry in order to see Harry,” she explains. “I was in the back, having a great time, but I would sacrifice three songs to be able to see him closer for the whole set.”

For fans who follow their fave, going to multiple shows permits this type of comparative economics. But tonight, Ruth is worried more about Harry himself. After 16 nights of the same set, she’s concerned that he’s bored. Each night, Harry performs his new single “Kiwi” twice. Initially repeated at the request of fans on the American leg of the tour, the song’s encore has now become somewhat of a gimmick, as Styles and the band stop and restart the song depending upon the crowd’s level of energy. Tonight, however, Ruth is hoping for a change. “Instead of chanting ‘Kiwi’ again like normal, we’re gonna chant ‘Girl Crush,’ and see if he wants to mix it up a bit. As much as I love seeing it, he must be bored doing the same thing.” Ruth admits that that probably won’t happen. “But I think it’d be nice for him to know that people are interested in change,” she shrugs.

That evening, Harry sings “Kiwi” twice, as usual, and gives the same speech that he gave in London, that he’ll give in Amsterdam and Milan. His job, tonight and in perpetuity, is to entertain us; ours is to be whoever we want to be in this room, and the next, and the next. Injecting variety into this process feels a bit like a Sisyphean task, but the struggle is enough to keep fans coming back each night anyway. One must imagine Harry Styles fans happy. And they are. It helps, in the end, that the show is an entertaining one.

Amsterdam, Night Four

Dani, 21, is showing off her new trousers. After sleeping on the sidewalk, she realised she had nothing fun to wear, and stopped by H&M. Their floral print, she says, reminded her of Harry’s own predilection for flowers and patterns. Though One Direction “weren’t big back then” in her home country of Bulgaria, she’s been a fan since 2010 . Tonight is her fourth and final show, and she compares her three previous ones casually. Night one in London was great, but Harry seemed better the second night – happier, and “less stressed.” Manchester was her favorite because “he was more himself.”

Like many fans, Dani knows Harry’s performance by heart. But she finds the show’s sameness exciting: “He’s so predictable, I love it. I end up talking over him. But you never know what’s going to happen. All you know is, ‘I’m seeing Harry tonight.’ What if he ends up doing something nobody expects?”

Before the show, I’m given a “Black Lives Matter” sign which I hold from my spot in the second row. When Harry sees it, he nearly flinches, either in shock or out of discomfort. Though I expect this, the reaction stings as much as it empowers. Because for a moment, I understand why Ruth, Dani, and Grace sleep on the street – to look at Harry and have him look back is intoxicating. All continues as usual, but Harry Styles and I now share a secret. Few people notice that the show, for a second, teeters on his silence, his adherence to a script that most don’t even realise exists.

Milan, Night Five

Grace has decided against queuing.

“It’s not about the show count. It’s about seeing and being with him. Obviously I’m there for the music, but it’s the same every time. I’m supporting him.”

For Grace, this means holding Harry accountable for what he does and does not say. And though they try to intervene, fans do understand the repetition. When I catch up with Ruth, it’s with the same kind of diplomacy that made them look less crazy back in London that she says, “Concerts are for people to go once, they aren’t meant to go to 500 times.”

In a few hours, the curtain will fall on the European tour without an unscripted word uttered about black lives, the controversy his silence has stirred up amongst fans, or anything else of significant consequence. Instead Harry will wave a Pride flag, silently. Grace will cry when he speaks Italian. For now though she’s visibly frustrated, longing for something that, seemingly, all his travelling fans are waiting for: the moment Harry goes rogue and deviates from the script.

“It’d be nice if he said something you didn’t think he was going to say,” she says, and it sounds a bit like his refrain in “From the Dining Table.” Why don’t you ever say what you wanna say? Styles is the one asking, but fans want an answer.

From Pride flags, to treating people with kindness, a good portion of Harry Styles’ popularity with fans lies in his populism. On stage, he is the embodiment of the will of the fans, the vessel who waves the flag they throw, and in him they find all things from acceptance, to fashion inspiration. But for many fans, his comfortable silence is, to quote the man himself, “so overrated.” For those who see themselves in Harry, urging him to use his platform to speak about issues that matter is as integral to the fan experience as camping and queueing and loving the product itself. The European tour may end tonight, but they will be back in the spring, and in the summer.

“Use your voice, Harry,” Grace sighs. She pauses, then adds, whether in defense of herself or of him: “I’m still here though.”

[justinjohn]

A New York State of Mind. 2.18.18

I’ve been out of NYC for about 3-4 months now. 

It’s been an insane two years. I feel like I’ve just woken from a coma, but in which I was awake and functioning but operating like one of those cockroaches that’s been taken over by a zombie wasp, maneuvering through the world but without free will. You know that feeling? “Automaton mode”? That was me for like the last several years– just sort of going through the motions, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to be over, wondering where the remote is, if the Handmaid’s Tail is on yet. 

It’s taken me months of questioning myself, my identity, my dreams, my life, and doing the ‘Okay, so I’m 33 now - I have, like, how many good years before I am too decrepit to fly?” questioning, which I guess is premature, unless like me, you’re convinced there’s a terminal illness brewing inside you at all times just waiting to emerge. (Thank you @WebMD.)

So as I sit here with a blanket on my lap on this reflective Sunday, staring at the broken tortilla chips littering the carpet that missed my mouth last night and empty glass of wine on the coffee table, I thinking about “what’s different now?” And I realized that the longer you live in New York, it changes. It morphs. Sometimes for the better, and in my case, sometimes not. 

When you’re in New York in your twenties, the passage of time doesn’t exist as a concept: you’re too focused on work, Tinder, trying to not throw up in the cab on the way home, doing ‘brunch’ as a novelty thing with sunglasses on the whole time and bitching about how slow people walk on sidewalks. It’s this hubris ‘freedom of youth’, a 6-year alcohol-slide of fun after college that spits you out at 30 when you wake up with your first 3-day hangover you didn’t know was possible and the realization that three of your friends moved away for jobs, pregnancy, and ‘other pursuits’.

Except at 30 in New York, you’re like, “What other pursuits?” Other pursuits don’t exist in the lexicon of a die-hard New Yorker, so you just think everyone else is a cop-out for leaving, like those people who go home at 11:30 PM at a really good party, and you keep going because on the island of Manhattan, everyone is dancing and there’s no bar time. 

Except then, like me, you wake up a few years later and you realize that you’re still at the party but in a stupor in the corner, and the girl you used to hook up with 10 years ago is now a lesbian and 40% of the party has departed. Once you climb in mid- to late- thirties in New York and look around, 90% of your friends are still single, some are starting to go insane, and you find $160,000 in New York gets you a 650-sq foot one bedroom, you’re sort of like, “Wait, where’s my brownstone and executive husband who is going to surprise me with a ticket to the opera?” And in my case, I sort of realized, I was the one deluding myself. As you get older in New York, the experience centers more around a good bagel on a Saturday morning, runs along the river, more adult-like meetings that don’t end in someone doing coke in a bathroom stall. Seeing your friends’ baby and then calling your friends to talk shit about her.  For me, it included a constant state of exhaustion due to always feeling like I had to be productive at every waking second of my life, low-buzzing anger against tourists and crowds in any context whatsoever, and an undying fear of cockroaches. I lived a self-righteously independent lifestyle that required the existence of no one else, and I saw that going nowhere good. It was a moment when I realized, “Does this just continue until I die?” 

Retail changed. Fashion changed. I started to like dogs again. My sister had a baby. I was tired of flying all over the country and sleeping on hotel pillows that smelled like someone else’s hair. I stopped going out after work 5x a week. And restaurants seemed all overpriced with mediocre food. And the rest of the country was getting all the same places. I was realizing more and more that what made NYC special in my twenties just didn’t have the same sparkle.

My friends were mostly gone. My life had become a smaller vortex in a way I didn’t expect: marked by dinners the same people, the same restaurants, and I started to go to places I used to frequent that became younger versions of themselves for the ‘new class’ of young Manhattanites. And yet I still had only a partial set of dishes, no oven in my apartment, and when it would rain, the water would drip through my bathroom ceiling onto my toilet. I started to run out of bars if I saw I was out past 2 PM, and living in 300 square feet was just starting to feel more like a cage but with pre-war accents. And those nights of just going to Broadway shows on my own that I imagined? I did it once and I felt like that 85-year old gay man who loves musicals so much he goes to ‘show tunes’ night at the bar on Mondays to sing Bernadette Peters and people are like, “Clem has been coming here since 2006.”  So, no. That ended.

The construct of New York itself, as an intimidating, incomprehensible frontier, had withered; it wasn’t a playground for fun like it used to be, but rather now a place of subsisting where I now had to transition from “NYC” to “adulthood”, to real life, in a way I never thought possible, which grew in volume by the day until I couldn’t drown it out anymore. The days of taking subway rides to challenging jobs with fun dinner plans and a possible reckless night ahead had been laid to rest. Now, I was in the game of back waxing, face masks, and 11 AM body attack classes on Sundays, wondering if I should finally try to make my relationship work.. A word not in my lexicon in my 20s.

I had come to a moment in my life where I had to question: do I cling to this ideal of what I imagine New York is forever, or is there something behind the curtain of life I am missing in the process of being addicted to this pursuit?

Sometimes what we want is not what we need, and very often those things diametrically oppose one another. I wanted: fashion, money, status, clout, a big apartment, exotic travel.  I need: someone home with me, possibly a dog, good food, music, writing, adventure, family. 

Weird how simple it is, no?

Manhattan, to me in my twenties, was an eschewing of life and its convention, an escape from the imposition of social standards, freedom. And it was. But then you realize in your thirties: we are all actually just human. And the vulnerability of humanity rises above any place we choose to live. The need for love and socialization, to desire to co-habitate and be with friends and family (and for some to pro-create) will rise about the context of any city and its wonderful, sophisticated distractions. 

New York is a state of mind.

It hasn’t been easy. In four months I’ve almost moved back twice, like some Stockholm syndrome, this magnet of promise of a life that once was, of relevance and excitement, which is now a proverbial urn filled with the ashes of fabulous memories we will retell over drinks, which periodically pop up on my facebook feed as embarrassing face-palm reminders of my behavior.

I’ve been forced to look at life in a bigger way, beyond ‘Manhattan’,  and in hopes that I haven’t broken our relationship for good. 

And so it is after 10 years of fashion, two moves, that I am trying to now rediscover life in all of its new meaning. It’s weird and hard and yet kind of fun and I’m doing my best to learn the ropes. I hope I hit my stride soon.

---

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[putthison]

 Easily Suede: The Softer Leather Jacket

The best clothes are often just as much about how the make you feel as how they make you look. And few things will make you feel more badass than a leather jacket. Over the years, they’ve become emblems of rebelliousness and black sheep individualism, thanks in part to style icons such as Marlon Brando and Sid Vicious. Whereas leather jackets started off in the early 20th century as functional garments that protected wearers from danger, by the end of the century, they were symbols that signaled the wearers were dangerous themselves. 

Which is also what makes some guys shy away from them. Purchasing a leather jacket takes a bit of self reflection -- not just in terms of how can work with your wardrobe, but whether they really reflect your personality. “Am I leather jacket kind of guy?” Or “can I pull one off?” 

I wrote a post three years ago breaking down leather jackets into three broad categories -- rugged, contemporary, and conservative. Those are good starting places, I think, for guys trying to figure out which styles work for them.

If you’re still feeling tepid, another solution is to start with something in suede, which is literally and figuratively the softer side of leather outerwear. Take even your most rebellious styles, such as black double riders, and they suddenly become more wearable if they’re built from napped leather. Less Hells Angel biker; more stylish dude in cool clothes. 

Care Considerations

Trading a traditional leather jacket for suede isn’t without its downsides. For one, suede is a lot harder to keep clean (which was the premise for this hilarious Seinfeld episode). Particularly in lighter colors, scuff marks and dirt will show up in high-fiction areas, such as the cuffs and collar. And should you be careful enough to avoid dirt, suede will still naturally lose its nap over time, which will leave a bit of a sheen. 

There isn’t really much you can do about this, although some care techniques will keep your jacket looking its best. When you first get a suede jacket, consider treating it with a non-silicone-based waterproofer, which will help repel bigger stains (e.g. splatters from saucy burritos or coffee). Just be warned that sometimes waterproofers can clog up and “spit” onto your clothes, which will create their own marks (spray carefully and at your own risk). For superficial stains, you can also try spot cleaning with a suede eraser, brush, and specially formulated shampoo. Unscented baby wipes can also help keep things looking fresh. 

Even the best care techniques, however, won’t prevent the inevitable, so the best solution is to get something you’re fine with aging. A rugged, dark brown suede jacket from Levi’s will fare better over the years than a dressier cream suede jacket from Loro Piana. And should something happen, you’ll want to bring your jacket to a high-end cleaner that knows how to work with leather. I’ve had great results through Rave FabriCARE, who will not only take out tough stains, but can also dip your jacket a special protective formula to prevent future issues. Other specialty cleaners include Modern Leather Goods and Superior Leather, although I have no direct experience with either. Just note: cleaning a suede jacket is expensive, so be prepared for some non-trivial costs. 

Regular leathers will always be easier to maintain, but a suede jacket can be unique and easier to wear. If you’re up for trying something this season, here are seven models that will work across a range of wardrobes. 

Levi’s Suede Trucker (~$350): For affordability, nothing beats Levi’s suede trucker jackets. The denim versions were originally made for laborers, but during the 1960s and ‘70s, they became part of American counterculture. The denim trucker jacket has been worn by hippies, rockers, activists, and bikers alike -- helping cement their status in classic American casualwear, much like five-pocket jeans and military surplus jackets. 

Levi’s usually does their suede version in this goldenrod tan color you see above, along with a matching suede or contrasting dark brown leather collar. Brand new, they can run for a hefty $1,000, but they’re also not hard to find second-hand. The design has been around forever, so places such as Etsy and eBay are littered with vintage models for about $350. So long as the jacket doesn’t smell bad (again, leather can be expensive to clean), I think scuff marks here add character. 

Alternatives: dark blue version from Jigsaw this season for $515 (although they’ll only deliver within Europe), as well as turquoise models from Levi’s Vintage Clothing and Gieves & Hawkes for a pricier ~$950. Sandro also has a handsome tan suede jacket  for $995. More of a ranch style work jacket than trucker, but pretty similar. 

James Grose Double Rider ($868+): If you’ve ever questioned whether you have Marlon Brando’s smoldering good looks to pull off a Schott Perfecto, try this gray suede double rider from James Grose instead. They’re a recently revived British heritage brand, now run by a Japanese motorcycling enthusiast who has everything made in London’s East End. These jackets fit a bit slimmer than the workwear originals, and they comes with a bunch of great details, such as zippered arm pockets and extended belts. And despite them being clearly designed to be worn off a bike, the construction feels incredibly sturdy. The leathers are thick and heavy; the hardware reliable and chunky. Much like Levi’s trucker jackets, these look better with a bit of dirt and scuffing. 

Even with its workwear vibe, you can embrace a slightly more contemporary look here by pairing the gray suede jacket with slim black jeans and a boxy white knit. If the gray double rider isn’t your speed, James Grose has a bunch of other colors and styles. And until tomorrow night, No Man Walks Alone is offering a 20% discount on all full-priced items with the checkout code SPRING20. That brings the price of these down to $868. 

Alternatives: Gieves & Hawkes brown goatskin suede double rider for $1,275 and Stoffa’s asymmetric jackets for $1,300. Both will feel slightly dressier and less workwear-ish than James Grose’s jackets, which will allow you to wear them with finer knitwear and pressed trousers. 

Valstarino ($796+): Although Valstar started off as a raincoat manufacturer, they’re mostly known today for their take on the classic A-1 blouson -- a type of flight jacket defined by its button front and stand-up, knitted collar. The A-1 was originally a military flight jacket worn by American fighter pilots until it was supplanted in WWII by the A-2 (which is what most people envision when they think of flight jackets). 

Valstar’s A-1, known as the Valstarino, is the casual, civilian take, which makes this easier to wear in the city. They’re made from softer materials and come in a slimmer fit, while still maintaining that slightly rounded silhouette that I think makes these special. The style goes just as well with jeans as it does with dressier trousers, which is why Valstarinos have been popular for decades. You can find them these days at No Man Walks Alone, Mr. Porter, and Drake’s. No Man Walks Alone’s SPRING20 discount code brings the price down to $796 (again, code ends tomorrow night). 

Alternatives: Craftsman Clothing can make you a custom, made-to-measure leather A-1 for $830. And while it’s technically not a bomber, this Brooks Brothers suede jacket looks similar and is on sale for $399. 

Stoffa Flight Jacket ($1,500): I love Stoffa’s flight jacket for the same reason why I like the Valstarino. It’s easy to dress down with denim, but can also be used with wool trousers in lieu of a sport coat. The difference is that Stoffa’s design feels a bit bolder. The large, floppy collar looks great when popped up from the back, while the two-way zip gives you the ability to create more interesting silhouettes. 

Stoffa’s flight jackets are also made-to-measure, which allows you to get a more tailored looking fit. The company has two other useful styles, including an asymmetric jacket that’s vaguely based off double riders and a field jacket for a more conservative look. All available in these uber-soft, lightweight suedes that make Stoffa especially comfortable in warmer climates. Only catch: since the jackets are all custom made, you can only order them at their trunk shows, although now they visit five major cities (Stockholm, London, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and NYC). 

Alternatives: Gieves & Hawkes taupe suede bomber for $1,210 and Ralph Lauren Purple Label for a whooping $3,495. 

Golden Bear Varsity ($433): It feels like every label offers their version of a MA-1 bomber these days. Although the originals have bulkier, rounded silhouettes, fashion labels typically cut theirs to be much slimmer and straight fitting. The style is defined by its knitted collar, zippered front, and signature arm pocket. Although, when designers leave off the arm pocket and put in slashed hip pockets, these can feel a bit like varsities. 

Both MA-1 and varsities are basic enough to work for almost anyone, but by the same token, they can also feel a bit generic. That said, for an affordable varsity, you can check out Golden Bear’s version shown above, which is on sale right now for $433 at Club Monaco. Epaulet is also moving their boutique this month from NYC to Los Angeles, and in doing so, they’ve discounted their suede MA-1 bombers down to $325. 

Alternatives: Basically everyone and their mother. Check APC ($1,455), Presidents ($1,723), Brooks Brothers ($698), AMI ($1,385), Officine Generale ($1,320), and Rag & Bone ($1,295).

Gucci Harrington ($3,390): Once part of the uniform of British working-class youths – such as mid-century mods, skins, and soul boys, all the way up to the Britpop scene of the 1990s – Harringtons feel a lot tamer these days. More aligned with their Ivy Style roots than the British streetwear scene that gave them their edge. I like Gucci’s suede Harrington because it’s still somewhat conservative, but has a taller collar and slightly cropped body, which I think helps steer this away from golfing-dad territory. It would look great with slim trousers and a boldly printed silk shirt. 

The other thing that keeps this away from dad territory is the exorbitant price, which nobody would pay if they’ve ever had to manage family expenses. A jacket for financially reckless, single guys only.

Alternatives: This Harrington from an old season of Saint Laurent is similar -- slightly cropped, boxy fit with a taller collar. You’ll have to scour eBay and Grailed for it, however, since it’s no longer for sale in-store (expect to pay somewhere in the neighborhood of $2,000). For a much more conservative and affordable jacket, Brooks Brothers has a traditional Harrington for $698. 

Indigofera Suede Shirt Jacket ($899): Indigofera’s suede shirt jacket is what I’d wear if I were a burly dude with a beard, or someone with rugged good looks, such as the model above. It’s a heavy, rough suede jacket with a very simple, shirt-like cut. The subtle Western-style stitching across the pockets gives this a slight cowboy vibe. Would look great worn open over a white t-shirt, along with raw denim jeans and either engineer boots or service boots. The tan color here will show marks easily, but like Levi’s and James Grose’s jackets, this will look better with heavy wear. 

Alternatives: Billy Reid makes a charcoal jacket in a similar style for $995. For something a little less workwear-ish and more ‘70s casual, check out Our Legacy’s lighter weight zip-front jacket for $554.