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dontfeeltoohot · 2 years ago

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Have a little 2k thing I wrote for my YTAU. Steve and Eddie are both sick, set in March 2023, 7 months into their relationship.

XXX

Eddie presses his face to his shoulder, rubbing his nose into his black Helloween tee. He’s over halfway done with his second client; some girl in her twenties who wanted flowers on her collarbones- how original. Sniffling, he wipes down the tattoo with his green soap solution and then goes back to shading the side of a leaf. His throat’s worse than earlier back at home, when he’d been curled up with Steve, both of the men sick and tired.

Sometimes the tattoo artists wishes work didn’t exist, as he scrunches his nose up when a tickle winds its way through his sinuses. Picking up the gun and turning as far away as he possibly can, craning his neck, Eddie brings his arm up to his face.

“iiHGkSH’ew! hihKTchuhEW! hh’GKtSCH’uhew!” Sniffling soupily, the long haired man grabs a paper towel from his station and blows his nose, wincing at the noise. “Let’s take a five minute break sweetheart, I need to wash up, and it’ll give you a rest from the pain,” he smiles.

“Yeah, sounds good. Bless you, by the way.”

The way she looks him up and down has him giving her an awkward nod, knowing now that she’s flirting with him. Clearing his throat and wincing as it scrapes, he stands and throws the paper towel and his black nitrile gloves away in the wastebasket, then heads to the back where the bathrooms are. Yanking his phone out, Eddie clicks quickly to his and Steve’s text thread, then hits the voice message button, nostrils twitching.

“hiKTsch’ew! snf! huhIhGKschEW! eh’IGkTCHew! SNDF!” He sneezes into his shirt so the sound isn’t as muffled, then clicks the stop button on his phone.

Hope you enjoy, princess. Couldn’t catch a couple a few minutes ago, but hope these make up for them.

Pressing send, it’s then he notices there’s an audio from Steve, too. Biting his lip, he makes sure his sound is down almost all the way, then puts the speaker up to his ear.

“huhRESHHH’uh! EISHHuh!” There’s barely a pause between the loud, harsh sneezes, and Eddie squirms, imagining his boyfriend snapping at the waist, completely at the mercy of his worsening cold.

“Fuck, Steve,” he grumbles, sniffling and scrubbing his nose with his wrist before looking back at the screen and typing.

Also, bless you. Those sounded like you needed them. Can’t wait till we’re home and I can coax more out of you 😏😏

Peeing and washing his hands, Eddie sighs at the throbbing in his sinuses and the sluggish mess that’s making its way closer to the edge of his nostrils. This cold is by far the worst he’s endured in the string of Steve-born illnesses in the past seven months.

The walk back to his station includes Peter stopping him and asking him if he’s free tomorrow; his day off, to be an extra set of hands for walk ins.

“Oh, uh…” Eddie scrubs at his face. “Lemme get back to you? Think I’m comin’ down with something man, don’t wanna spread it around.”

“Steve really is a germ magnet isn’t he?” Bryson pipes up from his station a few feet down, working on a man’s back.

“Yeah, it’d be endearing if I could side step getting it too,” the artist jokes, even though realistically he doesn’t mind.

“Oh well, maybe it’ll end up building up your immunity in the long run.”

“My immune system was perfect before him,” Eddie chuckles. “But it’s ok. Just means spending time with my boyfriend curled up on the couch. He’s not a terrible patient like Alyssa is,” he gives Bryson a look, referring to the man’s girlfriend.

“God she’s the worst. Like just rest for twenty damn minutes!”

Eddie heads back to his area, pulling more gloves on. “You ready to finish up? We should be done soon.”

“Yeah! But it’s really not that bad. I don’t know why people claim it hurts so much, it feels good to me.” She shimmies her shirt off again, revealing just a bandeau top, easy access to her clavicle.

“Mm, probably just have a higher pain tolerance,” he explains, not wanting to play into her games. He starts his tattoo gun back up, dips the needles into the ink again, and goes to work.

An hour and a half later, the musician is saying goodbye to Anna, smiling at the $80 tip she’s just handed him. At least that’s a plus. Shoving it into his pocket, he switches the money for his insulin pump, checking it quickly. When his numbers seem good, Eddie blows his nose again and coughs, shivering. A noise from his phone grabs his attention and he unlocks the screen.

Audio message- 4 seconds

Audio message- 11 seconds

Audio message - 7 seconds

Audio message- 22 seconds

Jesus Christ.

You trying to kill me at work? I can’t even listen right now.

Just thought you’d wanna hear how my cold is 😇

Harrington, you little shit, you’re going to be the death of me. 🍆👅🤤

Nose running, Eddie sighs and rips yet another paper towel from the roll, pressing it right to his pink, oversensitive nostrils, blowing thickly. He can feel the paper get wet and grimaces- he finds mess from other people hot, but himself? Not so much. He drops down into his chair and lets his forehead thunk against his table, curls falling everywhere around his face.

“Maybe you should head home early,” Liz, their only female in the shop, observes.

“Nah, s’just a cold, don’t need to leave for it,” Eddie picks his head up slowly, feeling congestion shift as he does. “F-Fuck hold ohhhn-“ the tattooist turns away and pulls the neck of his shirt up over his face, aiming downward towards his chest.

“hihGhKschew! sndf! Ugh, s-sorry that wahhs hehIHGKshhuhew! iiEIshuhew! Fuck! snfSNDF! That was gross.”

“Yep,” Liz grimaces. “But like, also who cares? You’re sick, what’re you meant to do? Those tiny little kitten sneezes? Gotta at least get that shit out,” she shrugs.

Eddie’s acutely aware of how weird this conversation is. Either the woman is just that vanilla, or she’s fucking with him and into it. Because no regular person is going to just…say those words. Right? He rubs at his nose with the inside of his sleeve cuff, nose too sore to want to bother with another paper towel.

“Stop germing your shirt up,” the bright pink haired girl rolls her eyes fondly.

“Quit being a mom, I get that enough from St-sndf! Steve.”

“Then quit being a bad sick person.”

“Fuck you, I’m an Angel. I’m the best sick person.”

“Says the guy who just rubbed snot all over his shirt.”

Point 1- Liz.

XXX

Steve’s been holed up in the back office of Not Just Coffee all morning with his tissues and cough drops, trying to reorganize some of their recipe files they’ve been keeping. As he squints at the computer screen, his nose scrunches up involuntarily and he scrubs at it with his knuckles. This fucking cold is going to make him lose his mind. It’s constantly teasing him, buzzing in his sinuses and head in a way that’s keeping him on edge. Slowly he inhales through his stuffy nose, triggering yet another itch to ignite. He taps the record button on his phone that’s been open to his messages all morning.

“eHISHHooh! hhrIHDSTCHuh!” He rubs his nose harshly with the back of his hand, jiggling the tip and his septum, desperate for even slight relief. Steve’s sure Eddie will hear him rubbing at it. He stops it after a sickly sounding sniffle that makes him cough.

Robin comes in looking worried a minute later, carrying a large mug full of something steaming.

“I know you hate tea, but you should drink some. Will even made it special for you,” she says pointedly. “Stop being an idiot and try to not wallow in icky germs.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, laughing a little. “Icky germs?” His voice is raspy and congested and Robin screws her face up, setting the mug down and backing up dramatically.

“Just…drink the tea, and try not to infect every inch of the office,” Robin walks out quickly.

“Great best friend you are!” He calls after her, but starts coughing by the last word.

Glancing at the tea when his throat throbs, the barista sighs and brings it close, sipping on it. His face still screws up at the bitter taste, but even he can admit it feels good on his swollen throat, the warmth of the cup even feels good on his hands. Throughout the day, he manages to catch several more sneezes, even a few that turn into full blown fits, and the texts he gets back from his boyfriend make him blush.

The brunette is half asleep in the desk chair when Robin comes in again, holding the till in her hands hours later.

“Dingus, wake up enough to count the till. I’m not touching the keyboard,” she says resolutely, prodding Steve’s shoulder with her finger.

“Nngh, fi’de…” Steve sits up and starts going through the task of counting the till, making change, sealing the money bag and putting everything in the safe.

“You know you’re not coming in tomorrow right?”

“Honestly? Wasn’t even gonna ask,” he admits, snuffling into a couple of tissues in his hand, blowing his nose and wincing as his ears pop. “Ugh, let’s get out of here.”

By the time Steve’s walking into Eddie’s apartment; Robin’s up with Chrissy, he’s ready to collapse. Shutting the door behind him, Steve coughs and throws his bag by the couch, debating if he wants to shower or lay down. His boyfriend's big couch and cozy blankets win out, and soon the barista is burrowing under them, sweatpants and sweatshirt now replacing his work clothes. Not ten minutes into Hunger Games, he’s asleep.

XXX

They need more medicine, Eddie realizes as he backs out of his parking spot behind the tattoo shop. Medicine, tissues, tea, soup. This morning they were sick but sure as hell not this sick. He makes the three mile drive to Target, slipping his sweatshirt on before he heads inside, knowing he probably looks awful. Oh fucking well, he can cough on anyone who might look at him wrong.

He grabs both DayQuil and NyQuil, Tylenol, sugar free cherry cough drops, tissues, some earl grey tea, and then the musician stands in front of the ridiculous number of soups, staring blankly at it. Steve likes tomato soup and grilled cheese, so they can do that tomorrow. Eddie doesn’t really want anything tonight, let alone soup, but he grabs two cans of chicken noodle and a can of vegetable, head aching too much to try and focus more.

By the time the artist is heading to the register, a few people around him have given him looks as he’s sniffled and coughed. His nose is running and he can feel the same coldish tickle that’s been bothering him all day start to grow. There’s a couple people in front of him for the self checkout line, so he pulls the neck of his dark grey sweatshirt up and his eyes flutter shut.

“ihIKtSCHuhew! hh’Igkshuhew! ih’IHgKSHuh!!” The last one is louder than he means it to be, and the sniffle he gives after makes him cringe at how wet it is.

Twenty minutes and six sneezes later, he’s walking inside his apartment, happy that Steve’s there. All he wants is to cuddle, which, yeah alright, maybe that’s a little sappy but he’s so damn tired and he feels gross and cuddling Steve always helps. When he sees a lump on the couch, he sets the bags down on the table and moves straight for the other man.

“Stevie…baby I’m home,” he murmurs to the business owner, sitting on the very edge of the couch. “Steve, sweetheart. Come on…there we go, I’m sorry I woke you,” he smiles at Steve’s pouty huff, head barely peeking out of the blanket nest.

“Y’home?”

“Yeah baby, m’hone,” Eddie nods, bending closer so he can rub his face into Steve’s shoulder.

“Mm, come join me. Think this cold is kicking my ass.”

“Doin’ the same to me. I’ll change and be right with you okay? Don’t fall back asleep till I’m with you.”

By the time Eddie’s back in the living room, Steve’s asleep, drooling on his pillow. Eddie chuckles and snaps a photo, setting it at his Lock Screen before crawling in next to him.

#my fic #ytau #em #sh #rb

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years ago

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Everything For You: Part 4

A/N: Some smut in the second half

The oval engagement ring on your finger had shone delicately in the light, the stones set into the platinum ring had sparkled brilliantly with every cusp and mark of brilliance you could have ever imagined. It had been chosen the day before Jake left for the military, the chosen stone and setting perfected for you although there had been no time to ask you, to give it to you, before he had left.

Instead of giving you the ring after you had given your virginity to him the night before he left, Jake held onto it with the intent of asking you later. However, the ties that bound you had also alluded to breaking your connection down to singular threads in your absence of each other, with Jake and yourself taking partners that weren’t suited for either one of you.

Jake having slept with omegas when he was in the army, wherever he was, and you taking toxic and necrotic alpha after alpha only to be mistreated. It was not the treatment you would inflict on anyone and yet you allowed yourself to be related as terribly as you had because you didn’t think you were worthy of Jake himself or the future he would have been able to give you.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Her scent was familiar, it was almost like a constant draw that comforted you in a sisterly way.

Throughout the years of you and Jake being separate, she had kept an eye on you. You’d known it was a favour to Jake, to keep a kind of watch over you while he was gone so he could be informed of everything you had done.

Just as Steph had watched over you, she had also promised Jake that unless your life was at risk she wouldn’t intervene with your personal choices. She wouldn’t step in to stop you from doing something because it was your life and your mistakes to make. She knew that whatever happened between you two while you were apart had to be part of the process that would lead to you coming back to each other.

“The ring is..a lot.” You turned it on your finger, feeling the shape of the stone on the underside and the smooth edge digging into your palm as you clenched your hand. “It’s beautiful but I would’ve-“

“I know,” Steph had shrugged and stepped closer to the powder room mirror, nudging you gently as you rest upon the puffed lounge chair in the room, “but you know Jake. Nothing is good enough for you.”

“I’ve been hiding out here for a while, the party’s winding down and I know he’s not going to let me go home.” Your heart fluttered, your stomach flipping end over end the longer you thought about Jake and his ability to get his way out of pure stubbornness.

He was your best friend, he had been your best friend for years. You knew him inside and out, you knew that while so many people looked him over and disregarded him as someone who could take over from his parents, Jake’s tenacity and his stubborn nature would make it almost impossible to fight him on this. Jake was regarded as a dork, a geeky little alpha who liked messing with computers, playing video games and reading more comic books than you could count.

He was regarded as someone who didn’t have the balls or the gumption to take over, and though others had doubted him you hadn’t. You always knew he was a powerful force to be reckoned with, an alpha who would become a stronghold.

Even if that had meant that you were on the receiving end of his stubborn nature.

“Do you want to go home?” Steph raised an eyebrow, eying the doorknob to the powder room that was rattling. “Because if you do-“

“Steph, I’m not-“

“Princess…” Jake’s voice radiated through the wooden barrier, the sing-songy baritone husk making you shiver with anticipation of what was, or could, happen tonight. “Don’t make me break down the door, you know I can.”

“Jake!” Steph had called back with a roll of her eyes and an annoyed scowl. “You break down the door and I guarantee you the ass-kicking of your life!”

There was a moment of silence and then the subtle knocks had come through the door, a radiating clutch of his scent inflicting your inhibitions. You rose to your feet, swaying slightly as your hindbrain had not only accepted his desire but revelled in it, with the knowledge that your alpha was coming calling for you and you alone. You busied yourself with the minute task of turning your ring back to its proper placement, and then you had taken a deep breath to calm yourself down.

It was just Steph and you in the expansive powder room, standing beneath the crystalline chandelier and gold-dusted fixture but the idea of your alpha and future husband on the other side of the door pumping out pheromones like a mating call was almost too much to handle. You were irrevocably overwhelmed and turned on by every beat and pulse of his desire-laced scent, every interlocking note of his scent was addictive to you, just as yours was to Jake.

“If you don’t want to do this, stay here tonight I mean…” Steph had grabbed your arm before you could reach for the door, her eyes so reminiscent of Jake’s had settled on yours. “You know you can stay with me and my husband. You know Hannah missed you.”

“I missed her too.” You barely manage to get the words out between inhaling air and gulping down Jake’s scent that’s as heady as steadily as it’s being pumped out. “But do you want the constant knocking on your door?”

You spoke of Jake as he stood on the other side of the door knocking repeatedly and speaking your name like a broken record to get you out of the powder room. He was relentless, he was all too happy to stand there and annoy you into coming out from your hiding place which was a move you were all too familiar with.

He was a natural when it came to annoying the people around him with his happy-go-lucky attitude and the underlying permanent goofiness that would never truly be eradicated from him. Even as he took his place as the big bad leader of this whole empire, he would always have that natural sunshiny portion to himself.

“You promise you’ll come to visit when he finally lets you leave the bed?” Steph had questioned you, her hands resting on your shoulders. “We can go for coffee or go shopping, we can even just lay around watching cheap reality shows-“

“Princess, I’m losing my patience. Either you come out here willingly, or I’m coming in there and when I do, your ass is mine.” Jake’s playfulness was overshadowed with hunger, a growl ripping from his lips as he stated his intent to have you one way or another.

“If he ever lets me go-“ you flicked the lock and started to open the door, squealing when it was ripped open for you, and Jake appeared on the other side with a solicitous smirk on his face and eyes darkened by lust.

“You couldn’t have waited two more minutes?” Steph shoved the heel of her hand into his shoulder with a powerful strike although he hadn’t wavered nor did it seem like he had felt it at all.

“Goodbye, Steph.” Jake’s steady and unwavering lust-stricken eyes were fixated solely on you, not a single glance toward his sister as she brushed past him while muttering under her breath. “Hello, Princess.”

“I should go-“ you took a step to the left, knowing it was futile but regardless you tried anyway.

The sound that had fallen from Jake’s lips was intensely and purely dominating and possessive. The growl had come from a man who was deep into his alpha hindbrain, the sound of the growl as it built in his chest had reduced you to a simpering mess. You whined and turned your head exposing your neck to him instinctively while your hindbrain was firing off warnings not to disobey this powerful alpha in front of you.

“You’re not going home.” Jake’s voice was husky and possessive with every beat and half-beat as he spoke his intent for you. “You’re not leaving me. You and I are going upstairs and you’re going to be my good little princess-“

“Jake-“

“You’re mine, and I’m going to have you. You’re going to spend the night and half the morning confined to my bed, omega.” He bared his teeth and spoke your designation with passionate consistency, managing to hold you upright as your legs had nearly given out from the alpha command that was accepted far too easily by yourself.

“Princess,” the flash of his eyes had brought momentary clarity to his eyes, the gentle giant you had loved and known was engrained and so tightly woven with this version of Jake who was possessive. There was no clear beginning or end, it was Jake and it was Jake as a powerful and hungry alpha.

“Let’s go upstairs and I’ll help take that dress off.” He nosed along your neck, breathing you in while obsessively scenting you to mark you as his despite everyone already knowing. No one would dare look at you while Jake was in this mindset let alone try and touch you, you knew that in this moment of Jake’s state of mind, he would likely rip whoever dared to pieces.

“Will I ever go back to my apartment?” You asked after Jake pulled you from the powder room.

“You don’t belong there,” he looked back at you, his eyes sweeping across your face and his hand was possessively clutching yours, “you belong with me. You belong in my bed, with every gorgeous fucking inch of you trapped under me.”

He gave your hand a sharp tug, leading you away from the dwindling party to the staircase and even further into his room.

His arm had pinned you down, his strength was nothing you could have fought off, and you were as good as tied down and helpless. He was as relentless as his tongue, the flex of that muscle as he drove you into the depths of madness with every stroke against your dripping pussy walls. Jake was solicitous in his intent to tongue fuck you into complacency while you were left reeling from the endless tweak of his fingers against your clit.

You don’t know how many times you’d cum already and he wasn’t satisfied. You don’t know how many times you had screamed his name as he devoured you with his mouth or drove you to a near-blackout state with his fingers.

You knew he wouldn’t have waited, you expected as much but to have you pinned to the floor the moment you stepped into his room was not what you were anticipating. Jake hadn’t even gotten your dress off before he got you on the floor with your dress shoved up your thighs.

He had bit the inside of your thigh with a warning to stay when you had squirmed too much, and instead of pain, it was intense pleasure that struck you.

It was the act of him claiming you, even if it wasn’t a mark on your neck, that was pleasurable. It was the feel of his teeth on you that had your brain going completely haywire as you rode the first orgasm of the night.

“Good girl,” you hadn’t been aware of him removing his lips and tongue from your pussy until you felt the weight of his lips against your own and the taste of your orgasms and cum on your flesh, “that was fun wasn’t it, Princess?”

“Jake…” you whined, your vision blurry from the orgasmic and blissful tears that rolled down your cheeks. “I can’t-“

“You haven’t even gotten undressed, Princess.” Jake had hovered above you, his lust-blown eyes raking up and down your body with vivacious hunger, and you narily had a moment to brace yourself before he had lifted you and carried you toward the bed.

“You just made me cum over and over and over.” You whimpered, your legs shaking and your cunt feeling overstimulated and sore from the way he feasted on your cunt. “I don’t think I could do more.”

Jake had pressed his hands upon the bed and leaned over you, his chest almost directly flush with your nose, he kept you close and then reached one hand behind your back to unzip the back of your dress.

The soft sound of the zipper being pulled down had come before Jake had trailed his fingers up and down your exposed spine, the pads of his fingers tracing and trailing every part of your back that he could reach. He had hummed, the pleasant sound in your chest sounding more like a purr than anything, the rich sound stirring a string of whimpers and whines from your mouth that had brought Jake’s hands to a ceasing stop.

“Princess,” he inched back and cupped your chin, lifting your chin to make you look up at him as he towered above you, “I’m getting you undressed so we can go to bed. I want you to be fully recovered before I fuck you as I want, tonight was enough.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, the subtle dusting of flesh against flesh was enough to make your heart thrash and twist in tune with his. Your eyes fluttered closed, your breath hitching in your throat as Jake used his hands to push the dress down your chest and back to let it pool at your waist.

He had kissed you with every measurable emotion possible poured through the tentative kiss that stole your soul. Jake had hovered above you, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip as he tasted you and let you taste yourself, and as he pulled away you had stood with him.

It was Jake who had bent now, and it was his hands that grabbed the material to yank it down your thighs and legs, gently nudging you to stand before he tossed the dress behind him. As you had become all but bared before him, you were rooted to the spot when he looked at you from his place on the floor, his eyes brimming and blustering with intense want.

You were unable to cognitively deal with the intensity of his gaze and the alpha who had owned every part of you. You were unable to think or speak as he rose back to his feet and set his hands on your hips, running his hands up and down your sides before he gently pushed you back to the mattress.

“Lay down, Princess. Get comfortable.” Jake had cupped your cheeks before he kissed your forehead, his lips lingering against you. “I’m going to get you some water and something of mine to wear. I’ll be back.”

Jake had let you go, waiting for you to follow his command as you lift the blankets and crawled under the covers, your eyes lingering on Jake. Your best friend and alpha had smiled, goofily and brightly as before, waiting to get the last look at you before he slipped out of the room.

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martianbugsbunny · 2 years ago

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OUAT Thoughts Pt.67--Episodes 5-6

I have watched through S7E6; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—I don’t think they handled Tiana well at all. First of all, her personal code doesn’t hit the mark. Tiana is a dreamer, sure, but she’s also excruciatingly practical. She saved and scrimped her money in jars to get her restaurant, she didn’t bet her rent on it. And making her a sheltered princess-by-birth? Lousy move. Her essence is that she is an ordinary woman who works hard for what she’s got, almost too hard, because she wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Community is what’s important to her; dedication and effort, because those are the things she grew up with, not wealth and blindness and entitlement.

—Drisella’s dress at the auction was so pretty. I love cropped, long-sleeved jackets with long solid-colored dresses.

—That ain’t no food truck, that is a hauling-stuff truck. Can’t pull the wool over my eyes.

—I love Regina’s new warrior-Queen aesthetic in the Cinderella world. Which, by the by, needs to get itself a proper name. Calling it the Cinderella world all the time feels pathetic.

—Facilier turning a frog into a person is messed-up. But they were such cute frogs together! All hippity-hopping into the swamp, cute lil froggie voices. (Not the legs. Frogs’ legs are icky.)

—Speaking of Facilier, I love him. I hope he’s not a one-time character.

—He’s quite handsome. And those clothes—which, if you’re going to keep one single outfit from a movie, that’s the one—suit him to a T. And I just adore his voice; any guy who’s playing Facilier has got to have a good voice, and this fellow delivers.

—Those divining bones were an interesting alternative to cards. I mean, I miss the classic, because the cards in the original movie were one of the best visual stuffs, but it’s a cool idea.

—Henry beating up thieves with a plastic Tron lunchbox may be one of the coolest things I’ve seen in a while.

—Regina being gullible about Drisella just proves how good she is now. Only the hero ever falls for such an obvious manipulation.

—Also, Regina’s innate mother-ness is my favorite. Maybe she should consider adopting another kid.

—But that stuff Henry was saying about how ‘he never had a mom, but in his book he gave himself two’? That was terrible. Has Regina not suffered enough?

—When Regina got back her memories, her first idea should’ve been going to Rumple. If anyone else would be awake, she knows it’s him. And she’s gotta be salty about owing him a favor, too.

—Which is also not a good thing. He only collects on his favors when his badness level is high. But, I choose to believe that he’s still a good dude.

—Hook should not have gone into that creepy dark house by himself. That was just stupid. For all he knew, it was a trap. There could’ve been ten people waiting to stab him or something. Where are his brains at?

—That lady in the tower needs some explaining. There is a different between mystery and confusion, and she’s starting to fall into confusion enough that it legitimately agitates my braincells. It’s been six episodes, and I forget how many of them she’s been in, but the fact that I know nothing about her except she for some (unexplained) reason has magic—in a land without magic—is not good. I don’t know why she and Drisella seem to have some history. I don’t know what story she’s supposed to be from. I don’t know what it is Tremaine wants with her. She seems to have some precognition abilities? Or maybe just really good deductive reasoning skills? Leave a couple of elements as unknowns. I don’t have to know her histories with these respective ladies, why she has magic, if she has foresight, who she’s supposed to be, all at once—just give me A FRICKING ONE! —Seriously, this season has a lot of exposition that yields shockingly little knowledge. Now, I’m willing to admit that only having one season of this storyline makes me impatient to know more, because I don’t want it to be left with a lot of loose threads that will never be resolved, but for all their talking they’ve told me very little.

—So, Rumple’s gonna stick with these clothes? I guess it would be kinda weird for everyone else if he started wearing suits, and they’re not practical for a detective. And hey, he’s been alive for centuries, maybe he wants a chance of style. Not that I’m complaining, those clothes are choice.

—He needs to say dearie more. Although that would be the biggest possible red flag for anyone awake….

—Having one of the stepsisters be the badguy is a v good decision. It’s not the expected plot, and they’ve worked it out in a way that I actually didn’t know whether or not to believe Drisella (yk, until now) and I didn’t quite see it coming that she’s the one to cast the Dark Curse.

—SO I had a mega brain-melty moment when somebody, I think it was Lucy but don’t quote me on that, was talking about how cool it was that Henry wrote a fairytale book that had real stories in it. And I was like, “yeah, there are books with real stories. Biographies.” And then I was like, “wouldn’t it be cool if biographies were written the way Henry’s book is?” And then I realized why I like *good* historical fiction so much. It’s based on real people’s lives, and it has most of their real stories. But it’s written in a way that engages and entrances my imagination; it’s written like a fictional story and that somehow makes those people more real to me. And you know what? If I was now or ever planned to be famous, people seeing poetic story elements in my simple existence, years after I died, and spinning those elements into a mythos of their own, would be the highest honor I could ever imagine.

#once upon a time #ouat #tiana #facilier #regina mills #drisella #cinderella #rumplestiltskin #Captain Hook #Henry mills-swan #martianbugsbunny reviews

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ashdoesfandomarchieved · 4 years ago

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of all i am made of (perhaps you are too)

ao3

Hugo does not believe in soulmates.

To be fair, he doesn’t much believe in anything but the feeling of coin in his pocket and the clever bite of his dagger. What use has he for god and destiny when he carves his own path of lies through time, with a sharp tongue and a cocky smile.

Why should Hugo believe the universe would gift him a soulmate when it already has made it perfectly clear that nothing is free?

Besides soulmates are rarities of the past--legends and folktales on the lips of elders and religious fanatics; the former clinging to superstition from the od era, the latter feeding false promises and hope to the instupid masses.

Soulmates are for hopeless romantics and tiny children. Not for Hugo.

“That does not surprise me,” Nuru says, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face.

She’s lying down in the golden field where they’ve set camp for the night. The contrast of the bright yellow against her dark skin is stunning-particularly in the moonlight, with her dark hair fanning out about her head.

Hugo, who is sitting upright a few paces away and playing with his daggers, frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, unsure if he should be feeling defensive or not.

Nuru folds her arms beneath her head, propping herself up enough to make eye contact with him. “Even if you had a soulmate, you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” she scoffs.

He snorts. “ You believe in soulmates?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes, actually. I thought you were the rational one in this party.”

Nuru gives him an expression that indicates how stupid she thinks he is. “I might be the only person who can keep their head in a crisis, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in a higher power, Hugo.”

She rolls over, so that she’s laying on her stomach, facing him. “Burning stars fall in my homeland every year. There are stories of a sun princess who’s tears heal the dead. Varian somehow hasn’t strangled you yet. I think you’d better start believing in a god.”

“Or soulmates apparently,” Hugo mutters.

“Or soulmates,” Nuru says. “Would it really be that far-fetched?”

“Do I believe there’s someone out there who shares my dreams? Or has my name written above their heart? Hard pass, Princess.”

“Alright then, how about sharing the same soul?” Nuru asks, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound at least a little romantic?”

“I don’t have a soul.”

“Now that,” she says, a grin stretching across her face, “that I can believe.”

___

“I think Anya’s my soulmate,” Yong says dreamily, staring at Varian’s redheaded cousin like she hung the fucking moon.

Hugo, despite secretly adoring the round child, rolls his eyes. Hard. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means we share the same time threads,” Yong replies distractedly.

Varian and Anya are nerding out over something-something Hugo would find interesting or fun to mock them over, but right now, for some reason, he’s more interested in Yong’s adorable-if not misguided-crush on Varian’s little cousin.

“Time threads,” Hugo laughs, cracking his knuckles. Yong winces at the noise, momentarily taking his eyes off the two babbling alchemists. “Alright, color me curious. What are time threads?”

Yong frowns. “You’ve never heard of time threads? Every child in Koto learns about them.”

Ah, must be some religious poppycock only spread in the fire kingdom.

“Well, I’m not a child living in Koto, am I?” Hugo replies lightly. “Spill, little pyro.” He pokes the kid in the shoulder repeatedly until he gets swatted.

“Her lady, Odiyesi, spins a thread for each person,” Yong recites in a sing-song voice. “This thread contains the beginning, the middle, and the end of our lives. If she so chooses, two threads will be intertwined-maybe even beyond the Snip, if she wills it.”

“The Snip?”

“Oh yeah, that’s when you die,” Yong says, side eyeing Hugo.

Hugo ruffles Yong’s hair. “And you think Anya is your thread partner. That’s so cute .”

Yong ducks out from under his hand, scowling. “Why did you ask if you don’t even believe it?” he mumbles, face pink.

“You know what I think?” Hugo asks, pretending like he doesn’t hear Yong. “I think you should go right up to here and tell her all that. Give her a heads up about your eternally bound souls.”

“Your soul is eternally bound to the underworld,” Yong shoots back, with a surprising amount of fire.

Hugo bursts into laughter. “That,” he says, “is the first thing you’ve said all day that makes sense.”

___

“What do you think about soulmates?” Hugo asks mildly. He has a glass of wine in one hand, but he’s barely tasted it. Instead, he stands, staring out the stained glass window and into the courtyard.

Donella, sitting behind her desk, looks up from Varian’s Ulla’s journal-recently procured by Hugo.

The amount of deception and sneaking around he’d gone through to actually get it out of Varian’s line of sight had been painstakingly difficult. And it had been even harder coming up with an excuse to Nuru why he needed to spend the night somewhere other than their current lodgings.

He doesn’t really remember the lie. Just the trust in the Princess’s face when she’d briefly patted him on the shoulder, telling him to be back by sunrise.

Donella closes the journal with a snap, leaning back in her chair. “What a curious question. And from you, no less.”

When Hugo turns around, she’s smiling that sharp smile-the one that makes his stomach plummet with discomfort. Something in him churns at that dangerous expression now, unsure of what he’s suddenly gotten himself into.

He gives a casual shrug, raising his glass to his lips. “Just making idle conversation, I suppose.” The wine tastes terrible. Still, he takes another sip before setting it down on an end table.

“Hmm.” His mentor eyes him skeptically. “What do I think about soulmates?” she muses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the proper answer would be that I hate them.”

He frowns. “So you don’t believe in them?”

“You can’t hate something you don’t believe in, Hugo. Of course I believe in soulmates.” Donella must see the surprise in his expression because she laughs after a brief pause. “I would be hard pressed not to believe in them after seeing it with my own two eyes.”

Hugo blinks, startled. “You met someone with a soulmate?” he asks, disbelieving.

“You could say that.”

“How do-how did you know they were-”

She opens the stolen journal again, long scared fingers deftly flipping back to her reading place. “Because I could feel when she was in pain. Now shut up, Waif, I still have three quarters of this tedious reading to get through and only five more hours to do it.”

___

Even though Eugene has decided to make the conscious effort not to kill Hugo, the guy still shows mild animosity. And by mild, Hugo-of course-means that he drags him around, making him do tedious tasks and scowls whenever he gets close to Varian.

Whatever. It’s not as if Hugo’s going to complain, considering that it’s mostly his fault there was a demon monster briefly unleashed onto Corona that destroyed most of her capital city. As long as Varian isn’t blaming himself, Hugo calls it a win.

So he lets the Prince Consort drag him around the city and put his alchemy to work.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hugo says, at one point, when it becomes apparent that even though Eugene has no idea how alchemy works , he was still going to hover. “I’m not going to cut and run.”

The man had snorted. “Yeah, I already figured that one out for myself,” he’d muttered and then proceeded to not explain what that meant.

So here Hugo is, with an ever present shadow, hovering like he’s a fucking five year old. Hugo honestly doesn’t see what Varian sees in the guy-or Queen Rapunzel for that matter. She looks at the ex-thief like he hung the moon and all the damn stars in the sky.

“It’s because they’re soulmates,” Eugene’s buddy-Lance, Hugo thinks-had said when he caught him staring.

Hugo had scoffed.

Now, bored and overheated after a long day’s work, Hugo watches Eugene frown over some blueprints in the Queen’s study. Hugo’s not exactly sure why he has to be present for this particular part of the renovation project, but he’s too tired to protest.

“Are you and the queen soulmates?” he hears himself asking.

Eugene lifts his head, eyes alight with surprise. He glances back down at the blueprints once, before leaving the table to join Hugo by the open doors leading to the balcony.

“Weird question, coming from you,” he snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But yes. We are.”

Hugo doesn’t know what to make of that. “How do you know?”

The older man hesitates, something like understanding dawning on the man’s face. A small smile crosses lips. “Have you ever met someone that no matter how many times you tried to walk away, you couldn’t?”

Hugo swallows.

“That’s how I know. Now,” he claps Hugo on the shoulder. “If you’ll stop messing around, I need your opinion on whether Yong’s demolition idea or Varian’s solvent solution is going to work best for the lower district’s avalanche problem.”

___

At the end of all things-or perhaps the beginning-Hugo finds Varian on a rooftop.

It’s not hard to find him, as when Varian is brooding, he likes to perch. It’s a habit that the alchemist has either picked up from spending most of his time in a castle with high roofs or perhaps it’s born of chasing his dumb racoon into precarious positions.

Either way, Hugo learns early into his friendship with the darkhaired boy, that when he’s being introspective, he likes to pick a high roof and perch like a fucking woodland creature.

So when Varian goes missing in the middle of Corona’s lantern festival, it takes precious few minutes to find him.

“You are so predictable,” Hugo says, dropping down next to him. Heights don’t usually bother him, but the castle is impressively tall.

The other alchemist doesn’t really seem to mind, however. He lets his legs dangle over the edge, occasionally swinging in the air.

“Or maybe I wanted you to find me,” Varian replies easily. His head--tilted up, toward the stars that are mirrored in the constellations of freckles on his face-is wearing a peaceful expression.

Something in Hugo’s chest clenches tightly at the sight of it. There was a time, not too long ago, where he was convinced he’d never see Varian happy again.

But now, Varian turns his face toward Hugo and offers him a smile. “Or maybe I’m just predictable to you.”

The tightness in Hugo’s chest dissipates. What is left aches for something he can’t have.

“Or that,” Hugo says, instead of doing something stupid like trying to hold Varian’s hand or kiss the stupid expression off his face.

Varian turns back to the stars.

“You know, they say shooting stars fall in the direction of your soulmate.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “Not you too,” he groans, eliciting laughter from his friend. “I thought out of everyone, you would be on my side here.”

“Aw, don’t believe in soulmates?” Varian teases, grinning boyishly. “Sun and moon, I should have expected that.”

“Yeah?” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

“You’re so cynical. And not in the way Cass is-she’s like realistically -cynical. You’re just oh poor me I could never have a soulmate because my soul is made of garbage -”

Hugo clamps a hand over Varian’s mouth, shrieking when he tries to lick him. “I- stop -I don’t have to listen to this slander -”

“-and if you ever did find your soulmate you would be insufferable about it,” Varian goes on, catching Hugo’s wrist when he tries to silence him again. “You would spend the entire time trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there was no possible way they could be your soulmate and when you couldn’t you would-”

He stops. Blinks at Hugo with realization dawning across his face.

Hugo’s wonders if Varian can feel his pulse racing where the smaller boy’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yeah? What would I do?”

Varian’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you would do. I’d hope you would be smart about it.”

He lets go of Hugo.

Hugo immediately misses his warmth.

“And what would be the smart thing.”

“Well,” Varian draws out the word thoughtfully. He scoots close enough to Hugo that if the taller boy wanted he could wrap and arm around his shoulder. “Well, an excellent start would be telling them.”

“And how would you tell them? If it were you,” Hugo adds quickly, when Varian shoots him a questioning look.

Varian leans back on his hands, head tipped back, exposing his throat to the sky. “I would tell them my heart started beating at the same time as theirs when we touched. That there’s a silver dagger inked on my shoulder that burns when they’re angry and sings when they’re sad-”

“Varian.” Hugo’s heart clenches so hard he briefly wonders if he’s having a heart attack.

“-I would tell them that I dreamed in color the first night we lay side by side in the forest,” Varian goes on, ignoring him. “I would tell them that when we touch I see every color-even the ones that don’t belong here.”

“Varian.”

Hugo’s hand finds his soulmate's.

Varian turns his head to the side slightly, finally meeting Hugo’s eye. With his free hand, he cups the side of Hugo’s neck, tentatively.

“I would tell him that our souls are made of the same thing.” He smiles gently. “It’s just science, Hugo.”

Hugo laughs, pressing his forehead into Varian’s. “How is that the most romantic thing you’ve said yet?”

“Because you’re a closet nerd,” Varian says, right before he leans in.

Underneath a starlit sky, Hugo kisses the boy made of the same stuff as him.

___

#varigo #hugo vat7k #varian #nuru vat7k #yong vat7k #eugene fitzherbert #my fanfic #vat7k fanfic #tts #tts fafic

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hnychn · 4 years ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 [𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈]

summary : levi wanted to believe the Fates were kind, but he should have known better

warnings : character death, heavy loss, a single mention of suicide, more greek myth allusions, fem! reader

word count : 3000+

a/n : omgomgomg tysm @yeehawslap for giving me permission to write this, i swear when i read their post i was immediately inspired to write this and i'm so sorry to your feelings :') also i swear i changed the title of this like, ten times

attack on titan masterlist || navigation

The Fates had dealt Levi a rough life.

When the goddess Clotho had spun the thread of his life, she must have incorporated thorns into every string; even now Levi could feel the pricks of guilt that chipped away at his soul each time he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and faced the bloodied scout patches of the lives lost..

Lachesis had enforced his life; she had been the one to use his thread to create. Although, Levi must admit, the fates must have favored him a tiny bit if they had sent you to him. You, his lovely wife whom he met one late evening under the stars, a gash on his head and gauze in your hand ready for you to patch up.

You had been there to take out every thorn in his thread Clotho had stuck in his life; every ounce of guilt, every second of regret had been a burden on his shoulders you relieved by simply being there.

Perhaps the Fates weren't all that bad.

They must have been even just an ounce of virtuous if they had allowed him to call you his forever. The fates had strung together a love story into his thread of life and allowed him to invite someone into the most intimate parts of him, allow him to find peace within someone; to create a life together.

Levi could remember the day when you burst into his office, a smile so bright he was sure even the sun was envious of the warmth you radiated. No words were spoken as you pulled him into your arms and cried.

It was only through hiccups and sobs did he hear your soft voice tell him he had created a life. And while your stomach was still as flat as it had been the night before and many nights before that, he pressed his hand against it nonetheless and promised to protect the life within you until his very last breath.

Perhaps the Fates weren't all that bad.

Isabel, as the two of you named your daughter, had become a nearly carbon copy of her father. not only did she share many features in common with him, she also inherited his strength.

She was able to hold her head up on her own only a mere months after birth, and she often gave you a terrible fright when she climbed out of her crib at night with a strength a toddler shouldn't have. Though, it was of no real surprise to either of you; you were sure your womb must have taken a terrible beating with the strength of her kicks while she was still growing inside of you.

And, with her strength and many similarities with her father, came her desire to join the scouts.

It was the first time in her life Levi had denied her something.

Admittedly, little Isabel had her cold, ruthless captain of a father wrapped around her stubby little finger since the moment you pushed her out of your womb. You could hear the way he promised to give her anything her little heart desired and often you found yourself being more strict with her.

Though, this had been Levi's one fear.

Levi has seen countless people fall beyond the walls. He's witnessed Farlan and Isabel (his daughter's namesake) tragically torn to pieces by those wandering monsters. He’s seen countless bodies piled up in wagons to return to the walls for burning.

You’ve seen your fair share of horrors, too. You’ve seen the injuries people walk into your clinic with, the blood gushing through gaping wounds, their bones snapped in angles they shouldn't, the limbs you've had to amputate; and the sheer image of your daughter being one of them was enough for you to turn green with sickness.

There were countless arguments between Levi and Isabel (you often found yourself the mediator of these fights and cursing the fates for making both father and daughter stubborn as mules). But ultimately, Levi had caved as he always did, and promised to train her harder than anyone else in the training corps.

True to his word, Isabel often returned home with bruises and collapsed next to you on the couch, her head falling into your lap with fatigue. You smiled as you ran your fingers through her hair as she tiredly recounted her training with her father and other members of the Training Corps.

She had recounted many stories of the friends she’s made there; an arrogant boy named Jean who she loved to tease and roughhouse with, a boy with a buzzcut named Connie she liked to mess around with and prank occasionally, and a girl named Sasha.

The dusty pink on her cheeks when she told you stories about her sprouted an inkling inside of you that made you think she was more than just a friend to your daughter. You only smiled as she went on.

Though, late at night, when your husband had long ago fallen asleep and your daughter was tucked safely away in her room, did you find yourself praying to the Fates. You prayed no arm would come to your daughter and she would lead the happy life she deserved. You prayed the Fates were kind.

Perhaps . . . the Fates weren't kind . . .

Levi should have known the fates hadn't meant to give him a life as peaceful as his (or as peaceful as it could be with you and Isabel by his side). He should have known better than to think the Fates were righteous.

Afterall, the goddess Atropos always came to collect what was due. Atropos was the third and final Fate, the goddess who cut the threads her sisters weaved and toyed with. She was the one who claimed souls. Atropos watched time and time again as Levi avoided her attempts to collect his thread and grew frustrated the more he slipped through her fingers like sand. So, Atropos did the next best thing.

She stole a life close to him.

Levi could feel his blood run cold when Jean walked in, his hands fisting the shirts of two children and his eyes wild with shock. His words were shaky and his eyes were covered in a daze of denial, as if his mind was trying to protect him from the inevitable heartbreak he would experience.

Levi waited with a bated breath for Jean to crack a smile and admit this was all some sick joke he could punish him later for. That his whole thing was nothing but a nightmare and he was bak at home, cuddled in bed with you and your daughter was sleeping soundly in her room just down the hall.

But he knew it wasn't a dream, not when you gasped as you did, when he could practically see your heart shattering in your eyes and the way you nearly pushed him to the floor as you ran to the back of the airship. Levi followed close.

"ISABEL!"

You had practically thrown Connie to the side to get to your daughter. Her eyes were hazy with the same veil of death you had seen time and time again with your patients and friends. Sasha stood still to the side, her eyes wide and her hands shaking, “should have been me, it should have been me.” She chanted the words like a spell that would somehow transfer the wound to her, a spell that would miraculously heal your daughter who lay on the cold hard floor of the airship, blood slowly seeping out of her.

The logical medic in your brain delivered you the harsh truth as you assessed your daughter and her wounds. The unforgiving voice hissed in your ear about her inevitable death, the wound is too fatal, there’s no way she’ll make it back to the island. You hushed the voice as quick as it spoke, your heart denying the severity of the situation.

"oh," Levi could only watch as you clutched onto Isabel, your hands working like clockwork as they put pressure on her wound despite the violent shake in them, "oh, my baby..."

Levi took a hesitant step closer. It was haunting, watching his daughter who held so many of his qualities lay on the floor, bleeding to death. He had remembered the many times she pulled his hair as a child, giggling loudly as she pointed out the obvious, ‘I’m just like you, daddy!’

Oh, how he wished he could go back to those moments. When his daughter was nothing but a small child he cradled in his arms, tucking her safely under his chin as he gently rocked her side to side to lully her back into a deep sleep. He wished to go back to the nights he held your hair back as your stomach churned with nausea and your daughter was but a growing fetus, protected within the walls of your womb.

"M . . . mommy . . .” Isabel breathed.

You sobbed harder, "it's okay baby, i'm here, mommy's here."

You ran your fingers through her hair, hushed her and soothing her as you once did many years ago when she was nothing but a small baby clutching onto the material of your dress.

She had been so tiny then, so fragile and sweet and innocent. But she had long since grown out of her baby face and matured into a strong woman you were proud to have nurtured. But in this moment, it was as if she returned to the same fragile baby as she was years ago as she clutched onto the straps of your gear like a lifeline, her eyes dull but full of fear and hesitance.

"Mommy please, i'm- s' scared . . ." her voice was breathy and you could see the energy drain from her eyes the harder she tried to keep them open.

You wanted to be selfish, to tell her to keep her eyes open, to keep breathing and push through the pain. But you could see the pain flash in her eyes each time she took a breath, you could hear her breathy wince with every movement she made, and you knew you couldn’t be selfish.

Levi could see your resolve slowly crumble, the way the shake in your hands grew more and more violent and he could practically see the screams bubble in your throat as you tried to swallow them down to comfort your daughter. Levi knew if he didn't step in now, there would be no salvaging the broken pieces of you after this.

"It’s okay, princess." Levi crouched down on the other side of his daughter, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to keep his composure.

Her head slowly turned to him, "d-daddy . . . ?"

Levi hummed, "Yeah, it's me princess. It’s okay, you did so well, you were so brave."

"I was?" her words were breathy and rushed as she tried to cling on to the last threads of her life. You could feel her grip in your gear lose its strength and you nearly let the screams clawing at your throat escape.

pleasepleasepleaseplease, you begged, not her please not my baby.

"So brave."

Levi had never felt so helpless watching his daughter's eyes lose their life, he could only sit there and reassure her that everything would be fine and she had done good as she took her last breaths. Images of the other Isabel laying dead on the floor flashed through his mind and Levi nearly vomited.

"I love you"

Levi nodded, "I know. I love you too, princess. Now rest."

The winds howled loudly outside, but there was nothing loud enough to drown out the screams that had finally escaped from you as you gripped your daughter’s hand so tight your knuckles turned white. Levi held you close as tears of his own dripped down his face and an indescribable weight placed itself in his heart.

The Fates were not kind.

Life after that seemed to lose its shine.

Your home was hauntinly quiet. Every inch of the home had memories of your daughter carved into the wooden frame. Her first words, her first steps, her first breath. You had given birth to your daughter in the living room, and where the walls once gave you comfort and warmed your heart with reminders of the first life you had brought into the world, it now made you sick with grief and added to the weight in your heart. She had taken her first steps in the hallways, clutching your fingers tight as you guided her down the hall to Levi who waited for her with a proud smile. Her first words had been in the kitchen, where you and Levi cooked dinner for your quaint little family and she called out to the two of you, begging for attention. And who was Levi to deny his princess?

You and Levi struggled to find your places in the world after that. Late at night, the two of you often clung to each other for comfort. Though, you knew Isabel’s death was hitting Levi harder than you. You could see it in the way he tucked her Scout badge into the left breast pocket of his shirts, hoping to keep the memory of her close to his heart; the way he avoided every mirror like it was the plague. You could see it in the way he flinched whenever he caught sight of his reflection, his own steel grey eyes and matted black hair staring hauntingly back at him.

Isabel had taken after her father the most, afterall.

You also found Levi’s features a bit hard to look at after that. It was hard to look into his eyes and see your daughter staring right back at you with a pleading look to not leave. There had been late night conversations where Levi assured you he knew of his similarities to Isabel and promised to not be mad if you wanted to leave him, 'I find it hard to look at myself sometimes.'

But you only held him tighter and stuck closer to his side, washing away any thoughts he had of you leaving him. You married him because you loved him, and nothing could change that. Even if he looked so similar to your lost daughter.

The Fates also decided to make your lives a bit harder, as if taking away your first born hadn’t been enough suffering to put you both through. Levi had been sent away with Zeke into hiding. Initially, you wanted to go with him, to stick by his side and cling to your life support, but the others hadn’t allowed it.

Hango could only grip your wrist tight as you watched Levi climb into the carriage and ride away.

You begged Hange not to leave you alone after that; because you knew if you were left alone for long enough, there would be nothing stopping you from joining your daughter in the afterlife.

Hange stayed by your side.

You wanted to vomit.

You could feel the sickening churn in your stomach as you stared down at the very girl who had stolen the life from your daughter. The images of your daughter clutching on to you tightly and her scared voice begging you to comfort her rang loud in your ears. Your mouth had dried instantly, any one of the thousand of words rattling in your head stopped by the numbness in your mouth. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many words you wanted to exchange with the girl who had taken your child from you.

You could see Nicolo’s mouth move and his adam's apple bob with every sound he made, but it was all muffled whitenoise as your eyes trained onto the little girl who stared up at you with a look of horror and fear.

“ . . . kill her,” Nicolo’s voice buzzed in your ears.

You hadn’t even realised you took the knife from his hands until you heard Hange speak up from behind you. She begged you to put the knife down, to think rationally.

But how could you? How could your mind think of anything other than harming the girl who was the cause of all your pain? When the girl who murdered your daughter was right in front of you, sitting on her knees, vulnerable. Your heart screamed and thrashed against the veins that held it in place for you to stab her, to make her feel the same pain your baby had to go through.

But then she looked up at you. Her eyes were wide with the same fear and pleading look your daughter had in her final moments. You dropped the knife, your shoulders shaking as your eyes lined with unshed tears.

“Kill a child. . . you- you want me to kill a child. . .” Armin stared at you from the side as your shoulders sagged and a few tears escaped your eyes, and he couldn’t help but realize how tired you looked. As if the weight the world had placed on your shoulders was finally catching up to you and your body struggled to carry it any longer.

“I can’t do that. She’s a child. Someone’s daughter.” You collapsed to the floor, your hands digging to the carpet underneath you, “I can’t kill a child, not while I know what it feels like to lose your own. I can’t put another mother through the same pain I’m in. I just- can’t.”

Hange kneeled next to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her lips pressed into a thin line and sympathy swimming in her eyes for her friend who had lost her world. You looked back up to Gabi and she nearly flinched with how broken and tired your eyes looked, “I can only hope she’s found peace in the afterlife. . .

“I can only hope the Goddesses of Fate are kind to her soul.”

#attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #shingenki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi #attack on titan levi #attack on titan levi x reader #angst #mom! reader #parent! reader #husband! levi

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ardent-musings · 4 years ago

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“With Sprinkles on Top”

Neville Longbottom Smut

based off this request right here

Alright, another Neville smut for the plant daddy supremacy i feel like i’m a part of. But that’s fun for me. Nev deserves it.

EVERYONE IN THIS STORY IS OF LEGAL AGE AND CONSENTING

Warnings: NSFW 18+, dom!neville, swearing, fingering, degrading, oral sex fem receiving, spitting, use of food.

Vanilla. Was the flavor of ice cream you and Neville were eating after hours in the school kitchens. It was your one-year anniversary and it was your boyfriend’s idea to sneak in to enjoy a “date” together since your Hogsmeade weekend was too far away for the both of you. So instead, the ice cream cones and banana split between you were going to have to do.

It was a wonderful night filled with sprinkles and brain freezes, lots of laughs were shared between you and your terribly sweet boyfriend.

“Are you going to finish that?” He asked, pointing to the already melted sundae on the table. The banana was demolished by you two and all that was left in the bowl was liquid ice cream and remnants of chocolate syrup.

“It’s all yours babe,” you giggled as you licked at your cone.

Neville grabbed the sundae boat, holding it up to his face to drip the ice cream into his mouth. Unfortunately, your dear boy underestimated the amount he could handle and he sputtered as a bit of the ice cream overflowed and dribbled down his chin.

“Shit!” He giggled as he tried his best to keep the dessert off his sweater. Neville’s face flushed red as he turned to reach for some napkins.

You caught how cute he looked all flustered and decided to take advantage of the mess in front of you. His tiny stubble at the base of his jaw scraped against your fingertips as your gripped him gently before directing his gaze to you. Before he had time to question your move, you leaned in close and teasingly licked the sweetness from the base of his neck, leaving tiny nibbles.

Neville gasped in surprise as your lips continued to lick a path up his throat and over his chin, the mixture of rich chocolate and sweet cream made you giggle and playfully moan. If you lingered on his neck you bet you could’ve felt his pulse beneath your tongue. And by the time your tongue made it past his chin, Neville was panting lightly and holding on to your hips. With his grip on you, parting from him was not an option so you placed a soft kiss against his lips.

Surprisingly, Neville threaded his fingers into the hair at the base of your scalp, making sure you couldn’t escape the intensity of his kiss. You whimpered into his mouth, finding yourself getting lost in the sickeningly sweet taste of him.

“You”

Kiss

“Taste”

Kiss

“So fucking good,” you moaned between his desperate kisses, the whole situation left you breathless.

“You do, too, love,” he hummed. His fingers gripped your hair harder, making you mewl and slump against his body which was firm beneath his soft sweater. “But that was fucking naughty of you to do. Don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help but smile knowingly at the darkness his hazel brown eyes took; he looked like a man starved. Neville was always insatiable when he got like this: so overcome with his own need.

The pressure at your hips disappeared; although, so did the ice cream cone you were still nursing. Neville took the treat, dipped his finger into it and dragged the cold digit down your neck. The cold sensation made you cry out in surprise, but Neville’s warm tongue dragged across your skin, mimicking the move you just enacted on him.

“That was a bad idea, flower,” he groaned against you, his clean hand began unbuttoning the top of your shirt, leaving your bit of cleavage to become the latest victim of the cold dessert. “On the table, now.”

Your skin crawled at the commanding tone, finding it hard to combat, so you did as he instructed without complaint. As soon as your bum hit the wood, he grabbed your ankles so you were right at the edge. His hands were needy, hastily removing your shirt, only to take your ice cream and drip a stream of the vanilla down from your neck, in between your boobs, and down your stomach.

“Such a fucking tease,” his lips sucked hard at the base of your neck, leaving the pocket of skin flushed and sore, “But you love it. You love making me absolutely wild for you. Pretty little slut.”

His words made you whimper, but his tongue trailed between the valley of your tits as he suckled and licked the ice cream all the way to the band of your skirt. He wasted no time and flipped the short skirt up so your soaked panties were on full display.

“Think you deserve my tongue on your clit, darling?” His fingers dug into your jaw, making you face his stern yet pretty face. Neville was always so pretty, no matter what mood he was in.

“Yes, please,” you whined as he started grinding his palm against your already aching clit through your panties. “Please Neville.”

“Keep begging for me, needy thing you are. You really want me to finger fuck your pussy in the kitchens?”

You started blubbering your pleas, just hoping he would do more than suck at the skin that pooled above your bra, or the dip near your hips. He would giggle every time you shook from his lips, but you couldn’t help it. You just needed more of whatever he was willing to give.

“Please,” you whispered on last time with a pout while lacing your hands through his wavy dark hair.

He looked up from between your legs to smile softly, then took a wide lick at your soaked panties with his gaze still on you. Neville wasted no time fully diving into you, but the thin bit of fabric was dulling the feeling, making you grind into his mouth. He chuckled against you, leaving you to arch your back and pull his neck so he was impossibly close to your dripping pussy.

“Want more of my tongue? Want my fingers, sweet little slut?”

You nodded and cried, surprised to find a tear fall down from the corner of your eye. That was Neville’s downfall. He ripped your panties off of you unceremoniously and flicked your clit with perfect pressure with his skilled tongue. His licks alone could get you off, but Neville was determined to make you cry again, so he used two fingers to massage the most sensitive parts of you. Every part of your body screamed and leaned into his touch; your shoulder blades ached from arching off the hard wooden table.

But you couldn’t deny how good Neville fucked you with nothing but his mouth and fingers. It was torturous, fast paced thrusts and rhythmic circles around your bundle of nerves. Your eyes clenched as did your cunt around his talented fingers. The burning knot in your stomach was building, and you knew you wouldn’t be lasting much longer.

“M’close, baby,” you mewled while gripping and pulling on his hair.

To your dismay, he took his mouth of your clit, but it wasn’t left alone as he brought his other hand to circle the sweet spot while pressing down on your lower stomach. The pressure made the pounding of his fingers even more perfect, making you moan loudly as another tear fell.

“God, darling, I can feel my fingers in your tummy. You like getting fucked like a little plaything, don’t you?”

You nodded as a reflex, you would agree to anything Neville had to say at the moment; he had full control.

“Play with those tits, baby. Touch yourself for me,” he commanded before kissing the side of your knee while his fingers still fucked you into oblivion.

Of course, you followed his orders; you groped and massaged your breasts over your lacy pink bra and imagined they were his hands instead of your own. With your eyes closed, you could pretend that Neville had his hold on every part of your body. That alone brought you to the edge.

“C’mon, baby. Fuck your pussy is squeezing my fingers so hard. Wished it was my cock getting sucked in like that,” his fingers struggled to move as you clenched hard around him. “On the count of three, you’re going to cum for me. If you don’t you’re not cumming at all. Understand?”

His tone and words contrasted with the toothy grin that spread across his flushed face. Neville’s chin was dripping with your arousal, making him lick at his lips. You nodded yet again.

“One.”

Your legs were shaking with how good Neville was making you feel.

“Two.”

He growled at your sweaty figure, laughing at your flushed chest.

“Three. Cum now.”

And you did. Neville continued to pump into you as you screamed and thrashed on the table, hardly able to breathe. Your head was absolutely spinning as Neville pulled his fingers out of you and sucking them into his mouth.

He leaned over you and grabbed your throat with a gentle grip, “Open up, darling.”

You opened your mouth and he ducked down to spit into your mouth, it was surprising. But you were even more surprised to find the cocktail of your cum, his saliva, and the vanilla ice cream tasted positively dirty yet sweet.

He smiled and kissed the side of your lips, peppering them all over your face.

“Neville, that was amazing,” you sighed tired.

“Well, don’t get too excited, princess. You’re still getting fucked.”

#neville longbottom #neville longbottom smut #anon request #anon requests #plant daddy supremacy

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andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

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war paint | 3 | captain

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 27,765 words / 10 chapters

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

The first few weeks of your enlistment were inarguably the worst you’d ever lived.

If not on patrol, soldiers were awakened before dawn every morning and marched to the training pitch behind the castle where you drilled in different formations with various weapons. You were run through exercises that seemed designed to drop anyone with less than iron willpower, then set to menial tasks like cleaning the barracks or repairing any damaged weapons or equipment. The midday meal was the first break in your day, followed immediately by training in basic first aid and survival skills, then by more weaponry drills that took you until the dinner bell.

Between your extra training with Nishimura and the time you had to invest in sneaking off to use the lavatory or a spot to bathe in private, you were hardly resting. Even the time you did spend bathing, you spent in a constant state of anxiety, wondering if a random bunk check would reveal you missing. You hadn't chanced more than a wild, lightning fast scrub down in weeks.

At the end of the first week, you’d collected your enlistment fee with hands blistered from sword work, and it took you longer than you’d ever admit to count it out, stopping every few seconds when your eyes drifted involuntarily shut. You’d been happy to send it off to your family, though, with a short note that told them you were doing well.

Which was, of course, a lie.

You weren’t exactly the most popular among the kingsguard thanks to the show you’d put on when you arrived, and you had the misfortune of dorming in the same room as Nishimura. Despite Captain Bakugou’s warnings, he’d gone out of his way to make life uncomfortable for you, slipping bugs into your sheets and loudly discussing you in less than flattering terms well within earshot.

More than that, you were terrible at nearly everything and it was obvious. Kaminari helped you to the best of his ability, and so did Sero, the guard who’d poked fun at your age at the castle gates. Neither of them, however, could make up for the fact that as a woman, you were somewhat smaller and slighter, and hadn’t had the same opportunities building up muscle mass as men your age. Every sword felt like an anvil in your hands; lifting a mace like hauling a boulder.

The only thing you seemed to excel at was the first aid trainings. You found yourself listening with rapt attention as the court physician walked your battalion through wrapping injuries and cleaning wounds, noting which easily obtained herbs and flowers could slow blood loss or ease pain. Kaminari was always eager to pair with you during the practical exercises, as you were among the least likely to accidentally poison him with the wrong herbs. It was gratifying to be good at at least one thing.

Your favorite part of castle service, though, was the patrols.

After your first month of training, you’d been assigned thrice-weekly patrol routes and found that it was like wading into a cool river on a hot day. Patrols got you out of whichever drills were happening at the time and took you out from under Captain Bakugou’s purview and behind the relative safety of the castle walls.

Though monotonous, you only had to walk a specific route throughout the castle with a partner, and you were rarely supervised. On your first patrol with Kaminari, you also found that patrols were - for him - more of an opportunity to make social calls.

“L/N,” he said, nearly the minute you stepped inside the castle walls. “We’ve got an excellent route today.”

You raised an eyebrow in question.

He chuckled, gesturing you along. “Come on, our first stop is right over here.”

“Our first stop?” you echoed.

Kaminari grinned and grabbed your sleeve, pulling you into a side door. On the other side sat a cramped office stuffed with bright fabrics and colorful spools of thread. A woman with shocking pink hair hunched over a spill of pretty silk, working tiny, perfect stitches into the fabric.

“Mina!” Kaminari boomed and the woman sat up with a smile.

“Denki!” she said, reaching over to hug him. “It’s been a while since patrol took you over here! I have so much to tell you!”

Kaminari laughed and pulled you forward. “Me too. Mina, this is L/N! He lied about his age and wormed his way into the kingsguard.”

You whirled on him. “I’m old enough to be in the guard!”

The absolute wrong gender, but definitely the right age.

He gave you an innocent look. “I’m just passing on the popular opinion.”

Mina chuckled. “Oh, ignore him, L/N. We all do. It’s quite nice to meet you.”

Kaminari whined but Mina just laughed again, redirecting his attention to the dress she was making, saying it was for the princess-to-be. Apparently, Prince Shouto’s bride had been a kitchen girl that Mina and Denki had both been acquainted with, and they talked eagerly of the wedding they’d both been invited to and the food that would be there.

“Think old Bakugou will show up?” Kaminari asked at one point, making himself comfortable at Mina’s workstation. Mina met this with a shrug.

You gave them both a questioning look. “Why would the captain be invited?”

Kaminari turned to you conspiratorially. “Captain Bakugou and the prince grew up together - they’re something like old friends. Plus, Bakugou’s a marquis, he’s probably got an invitation just for political reasons.”

“He’s a marquis?” you asked. That explained the Lord appellation on your contract, then. “Why join the palace guard if he’s titled?”

Kaminari shrugged. “Probably not enough opportunity to torture innocent civilians in Musutafu. If he wants to hold the land, he’s got to be nice to them, hasn’t he?”

You grimaced, thinking of all the drills he’d run you through since you’d gotten here. That definitely wouldn’t endear him to anyone.

“Speaking of our favorite captain,” Mina said conversationally, “I heard he’s been meeting with the prince more often than usual.”

“Wedding stuff?” Kaminari asked, but Mina shook her head.

“As if he’d touch that mushy shit with a ten foot pole. He wouldn’t know romance if it pranced in front of him wearing a soldier’s uniform. No, I heard it’s because a bunch of papers and other valuables went missing from the prince’s study last Thursday night.”

Your mind wandered back to last Thursday, wondering if you’d been on patrol when it had happened. You only dredged up a memory of snuggling down into your bunk, relieved that Nishimura and his goon friend Hasumi were out on their own patrol and your bed was thankfully bug free.

Kaminari’s eyebrows went up. “Important papers?”

Mina raised a thin shoulder. “From what I heard, it seemed to be a weird selection. A couple letters, some wedding arrangements. But a land treaty disappeared as well. They think it’s a spy.”

Kaminari whistled. “Bet old Baku is pissed this happened on his watch. No wonder he’s been in such a foul mood lately.” He turned to you. “Don’t you think he’s been a little too happy when one of us gets clipped by the wrong edge of the sword?”

You thought back to his threats in the mess hall. “He seems normal enough to me.”

Kaminari mulled that over. “I suppose he’s usually that awful.”

Mina smiled. “Talking of which, shouldn’t you be getting on with your patrol? I’d hate to find out what he’d do if he found out you were in here gossiping.”

A spike of panic stabbed through your heart and you grabbed Kaminari’s sleeve. “Excellent observation, Mina. We really should be going. It was wonderful to meet you!”

You tugged Kaminari roughly back through the doorway. You thought it was a testament to his own fear of the captain that he went willingly enough.

The rest of your patrol proved uneventful, however, Bakugou thankfully never being alerted to your social stop. Your patrol ended just after the dinner bell and you ate quickly in the mess hall, then rushed off to the training pitch.

Today was also the last day of your punishment for fighting in the mess hall on your first day, and you thought dreamily of all the rested muscles and extra time you’d have on your hands once extra training ended. You might be able to sneak off to bathe at a normal time of the evening instead of in the dead of night, starting tomorrow.

Your good cheer faded quickly, however, as you arrived at the pitch to find Captain Bakugou there.

Nishimura was just behind you and he stopped short at your side. “Where’s our usual drill officer?” he demanded.

A horrible grin cut into Bakugou’s features, bearing his sharp canines. He looked like a wolf ready to tear into a nest of rabbits, and your stomach flipped. “Ojiro’s off duty tonight. Thought I’d see if you’d learned your lesson myself.”

You inhaled sharply, and Bakugou caught it, laughing. “Thought I’d forgotten about you two fucks, didn’t you?”

You lowered your gaze and took a deep, steadying breath. Just tonight. You just had to get through tonight and you would be free.

Nishimura seemed to steel himself as well, sweeping a hand through his dark hair. “What are our drills tonight, Captain?”

Bakugou’s crimson gaze flickered over you both. “Fight me.”

You looked up, startled. “Fight you?”

He looked you over disdainfully. “You’re a goddamn soldier, you telling me you can’t fight? Didn’t seem to stop you in the mess hall.”

You bit your lip, but Nishimura stepped forward, that violent gleam in his eye. “Yes, sir.”

Bakugou grinned. “I’m gonna fucking wipe this field with you.”

Nishimura didn’t dare correct his superior, but his hand went quickly to his sword and he leaned forward eagerly. Before you even had time to blink, the clash of metal rang out across the field and Bakugou had Nishimura on the defensive, pushing him back into step with you. You hadn’t even seen him go for his sword.

Swearing, you fumbled for your own blade, whipping it out just in time to catch the swipe Bakugou aimed at your side. You stumbled under the force of the strike, tripping backwards.

Nishimura growled and lunged again, but Bakugou was faster, parrying his attack and following up with his own. A low chuckle escaped him as he caught Nishimura with the back edge of his blade, winding him and sending him staggering back.

Bakugou whipped back to you, targeting you with another fast swipe that you barely caught in time. The strength of his blow almost knocked your sword from your grasp, shuddering up your arm and leaving you gasping.

“What the fuck are you in the kingsguard for if you won’t fight?” he snarled. Another swipe came your way and again you barely caught it. Your heart beat frantically in your chest and you tried to duck out of range of his arm.

“Come back here, pretty boy,” Bakugou taunted, advancing on you, but Nishimura cut in with another attack. Bakugou whipped the edge of his blade up again, faster than your eye could follow, catching the strike. You caught the curl of that savage grin on the corner of his mouth again before he moved, ducking under Nishimura’s arm and twisting his blade. It slid along the edge of Nishimura’s sword with an awful screech, then caught the hilt at an angle, ripping it straight out of Nishimura’s grip.

A kick from Bakugou had Nishimura on the ground and just as quickly he twisted back around, stalking back towards you. Your heartbeat quickened in fear as he approached, crimson gaze burning into you.

“You don’t belong here if you can’t face me,” he ground out. “Fight me or I’m discharging you. That’s a fucking order.”

You trembled, but lifted your blade. You needed the money to send back to your parents. It was too early to be discharged - if you left now, they’d have no way of clearing the debt.

You thrust your sword forward but Bakugou dodged easily. You quickly flicked through all the maneuvers you’d been drilling the past month, and followed up with a lunge. Bakugou grinned, flicking it aside with a quick twist of his wrist.

“Put your back into it, shrimp,” he demanded.

You gripped your sword with both hands, bringing it down on him with all the force you had in you. Bakugou deflected, and before you knew what was happening, your sword was rent from your grasp, skidding along the dirt of the pitch behind you.

The flat of Bakugou’s sword came up to tip your chin up to him.

“Pathetic,” he spat, “you fight like a damn woman.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. Bakugou’s sharp eyes caught it and he smirked. “You gonna punch me, pretty boy?”

You struggled to tamp down the hot anger bubbling up inside you like a spring from the earth. “No, sir.”

He eyed you distrustfully, pressing the flat of his blade into your chin a little harder. “I’d think seriously about what the fuck you think you’re doing here. This is the kingsguard and I don’t need weak little shits like you endangering the royal family or your fellow soldiers.”

You stared back at him, not daring to speak. Your blood rushed in your ears and your heart hammered wildly in your chest.

After a long moment he lowered his blade, sheathing it back at his hip. He looked over at Nishimura, who was delicately picking himself up off the ground.

“Disappointing,” Bakugou said roughly. “I’ve seen enough here. You’re both dismissed - back to your dormitories.”

You nodded, backing away from him. Nishimura stalked off, and you turned and picked your way gingerly back across the field, stopping only to pick up your sword and tuck it back into the belt at your waist. You set off slowly for the barracks, something like hot tears stinging at the back of your eyes.

You didn’t look back, but you swore you could feel a pair of crimson eyes on you as you slipped quietly through the dark.

#bakugou x reader #fanfic #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years ago

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Everything For You update sneak peek

It had been chosen the day before Jake left for the military, the chosen stone and setting perfected for you although there had been no time to ask you, to give it to you, before he had left.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Her scent was familiar, it was almost like a constant draw that comforted you in a sisterly way.

Jake was regarded as a dork, a geeky little alpha who liked messing with computers, playing video games and reading more comic books than you could count. He was regarded as someone who didn’t have the balls or the gumption to take over, and though others had doubted him you hadn’t. You always knew he was a powerful force to be reckoned with, an alpha who would become a stronghold.

Even if that had meant that you were on the receiving end of his stubborn nature.

“Do you want to go home?” Steph raised an eyebrow, eying the doorknob to the powder room that was rattling. “Because if you do-“

“Steph, I’m not-“

“Jake!” Steph had called back with a roll of her eyes and an annoyed scowl. “You break down the door and I guarantee you the ass-kicking of your life!”

There was a moment of silence and the subtle knocks had come through, the radiating clutch of his scent inflicting your inhibitions. You rose to your feet, swaying slightly as your hindbrain had not only accepted his desire but revelled in it. You busied yourself with the minute task of turning your ring back and breathing as deeply as you could to calm yourself down.

It was just Steph and you in the expansive powder room, but the idea of your alpha and future husband on the other side of the door pumping out pheromones like a mating call was almost too much to handle. You were irrevocably overwhelmed and turned on by every beat and pulse of his desire-laced scent.

#everything for you update sneak peek #mob!jake jensen #mob!jake jensen x reader #some smut/spiciness?#spiciness: yes or no?

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seijohsfairy · 4 years ago

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𝙳𝙰𝚆𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶

there’s loss and victory to be found in people’s arms. in your arms too, but definitely in his. for all that you gain, is it right to lose so much by his hands? this was a commission by an amazing, wonderful anon ♡ thank you so so much for this and i hope you like it my love!!

tw stepcest, forced breeding, noncon/dubcon, manipulation, semi-public sex, choking, spanking, daddy kink, hairpulling, toxic relationship, seijoh big four is almost forty in this and makki is a treasure ♡ another win for the dilf fuckers .wordc. 7k+

You think that most will only get the chance to look at fragments of Oikawa Tooru. Gaze at them gently, carefully, cherish them in their palms and kiss at the soft smiles and gentle motions, eat up the smooth words. But they won’t see, not everything of him. And if they did, it wouldn’t be gazing. There would be grimaces and furrowed brows and whispers all around, because once you get past the looking to the knowing part, the entirety of him is not pretty. Not to you, not to anyone.

You used to think he thought of himself as pretty, sure acted like it too, but not anymore. Tooru knows how awful he can be. When his friends tell him how terrible he is, mumbling it under their breaths with rolled eyes and a hint of a smile, he never disagrees. Because he doesn’t care, and you didn’t know better.

Your eyes open suddenly, filtering out the darkness, and you swallow. You feel the harsh burning in your throat, a hoarse huff blowing past your lips. Heartbeat pounding between your ears, cold sweat making your skin an awful kind of sticky. You recognize this room, you recognize the sound of rain tapping on the roof and the sound of cars passing by on the street below, yet still you don’t feel right.

You notice your breathing then, sharp and strained, too heavy for being just awoken from a peaceful rest. Small drops of sweat line your brow. There’s a few moments of dragged out silence, where you steady yourself in bed, fingers digging into the comforter so harshly that your bones peek through your knuckles, before another recognizable sound comes.

His groan, and then a heavy arm wrapping around your waist to pull you back to him. “It’s okay, princess.” It sounds smooth but sleepy, the same voice that always greets you when you wake from a nightmare. The bed creaks a little when you shift back into him, letting him nose at your throat without hesitation. You don’t care much that you’re only in a thin camisole or that you probably cried and screamed him awake, those kinds of boundaries have long seeped out of your interactions.

You turn onto your other side to face him when your heart calms a little. His soft, brown hair a mess and big, round eyes that scan over you while he looks you over in the dark. The gentle coaching of his hands finally allows you to untangle your fingers from the fabric, instead reaching out to him, in need of comfort.

He looks down with familiar eyes of worry. You can’t help but feel overwhelmed, both gratitude and a second wave of stress at the tainted sight of the figure. But he keeps a tight hold on you, and as soon as he opens his mouth to speak again, your arms are wrapped around him and your face is pushed into his shoulder, a small sob breaking out. Tooru’s much warmer than you, something you ache for right now as the chill of the room touches your exposed skin.

“Shhh, shhh,” Tooru mumbles softly, lacing his long, strong arms around the small of your back to swallow you up in his hug, pressing his lips to your temple. It’s overly tender for someone just having been rudely awoken, and you’re ever grateful. “I’ve got you, daddy’s got you.” For a few moments you can only sob into his shirt, letting your tears soak into it, gentle patting of your head slowing to a stop after a few minutes. “How are you feeling?”

There’s a strange care woven in his words these days. Not unexpected, just more— intense. You notice it again when you look up and his eyes flick over your expression, lingering on your lips. Like he’s got more to say, or something left to do. You swallow, and pull away from him to widen the gap between your faces. “I’m okay.” You rub your hands over your face, palms a little sticky against your cheeks, but blow out a breath. His hand rubs over your thigh through the comforter, before he hums.

“Look at me, baby?” Phrased so softly it could be ignored, but you listen anyway. And it should terrify you. It should be grossing you out to be this close to someone meant to parent you, but your tongue swipes out to wet your bottom lip anyway.

His mouth drops open ever so slightly as his eyes follow the motion of your little tongue, and then he lets out a sigh. But those hazel irises meet yours again with purpose, not letting you look away as his hand slides down your side and smooths over your exposed thigh.

“We should probably go back to sleep” Oikawa says softly, finally letting you out of the locked eyes to urge you back onto your back in the bed. “Or I’ll do something you’ll hate me for.”

Maybe it’s because you’re lonely, or lost, or a tad sleep-deprived, but you don’t remember the next few moments. Only that one second you’re trying to convince yourself that sleep is a good idea, and the next his lips are on yours. Daddy’s mouth on yours, kissing and moaning and climbing over you and you lose every sense of right and wrong for the few minutes his tongue dips in your mouth and tastes yours. When he pulls back your breathing is heavy, and he says your name.

And you breathe back a faint ‘daddy’, clinging to his neck like you’ll vanish if you let go. So he lets his hands roam down your arms, then stomach and chest and though all of this is wrong, it feels so good. It feels like a dream, he feels like a dream. “Please,” you beg, sucking a mark under his jaw as he takes your leggings off and strips you of your underwear. It’s as sweet as any new experience can be, you suppose. But you were breaking apart back then, and Tooru was a solid handhold.

He should’ve known much better than to indulge you. Should’ve told you off. Instead he fucked you until you saw stars, and that had been that, months ago now.

There’s the soft tap each time a droplet falls from the tap or shower on the tiled floor below, you can almost envision each of them again as they were running down your body earlier. As you brush your teeth and inspect the last details of yourself, you keep your eyes solely on your own reflection, but it becomes all but impossible to ignore the prying eyes as he once again scoots closer, slapping his hands on his knees. You sigh, and turn your eyes over to him in the mirror. “You do know that it’s pretty strange of you to just stare at me every time I’m in here, right?”

A small smile slips on his lips, and he hums, before following you with his eyes again as you move to grab a towel for your hands. “I’m trying to get ready,” you mumble at his lack of real answer, glancing back at the floor. “You should too.”

“You’re cute when you get shy,” he grins then, swinging his legs from the cabinet he’d been seated on to stand up. He looks massive in the small hotel bathroom, almost too tall to fit through the door and towering over you, always big enough to swallow you up in his shadow. It isn’t a surprise, not really, because even without his big stature he’d always had a personality far too big to leave any person unaware of his presence. But when he walks over to you, languid steps that stop right before your feet, it’s hard not to notice it.

The way you stop at his chest, the perfect height to be held and cherished. Almost like you were made to fit there, though that’s probably a thought too wrong for you to touch with confidence. You’d sooner be caught dead than admit it to him too, because Oikawa doesn’t take these things like you wish he would. He takes the words you offer and twists them into a fine thread to wind around your neck, tightening with each breath. Despite the danger it’s loud and clear when you have to angle your head to look into his eyes. You feel loved. Sucking the breath out of your lungs and obnoxious, but it’s love nevertheless.

He leans down a little, and your hands come up to hold onto the edge of your towel instinctively as he crowds your space. You take a breath, Tooru glances down. Then, like he’s putting on his own little show, his eyes go wide and innocent. “What awful things are you thinking of me in that pretty, little head of yours, love? What do you think I’m going to do to you?” Your heart beats rapidly along with your breathing, but you can’t tear your eyes away. His sharp features, soft curve of his lips, the arch of his nose and cheekbones and the dip between his collarbones.

So familiar, so— untouchable. You’ve had years to learn and relearn them again and again, but when you’re standing so close, all of that fades away. You crack open your lips, struggling for an answer, tongue cemented to the bottom of your mouth. “I— Da—”

“Oikawa,” two loud knocks are at the door, and both your heads turn at the wall as if you can see the door from here. “Hurry up, we’re all taking taxis together.” It’s a wake-up call unlike any other, because you recognize the voice of the man behind that door, a man about Tooru’s age who definitely wouldn’t look kindly on any of this. Iwaizumi is reliable like that. Pulling you back from the edge when it seems tempting to jump over it.

You clear your throat, then avert your eyes to force yourself a few steps back. Your hands cling tighter to the fluffy towel, before Iwa knocks again when he doesn’t get an answer. He calls his name a second time, and you hum. “Please ask uncle Iwa to wait five more minutes. I just have to put on my clothes and some perfume.” And when he doesn’t respond again, you swallow, hoping the tightness in your throat will leave with it. “Daddy?”

The word seems to play in his pupils like molten gold, catching even the lowest of light to make them shine with joy. So unfair, but he’s never been one for concealing the love he has anyway. You’ve always been— like that, whatever that is. Close, you suppose. But lately it seems like everything you do has been different, like some line has suddenly shifted. You could handle the physical, convinced yourself it wasn’t as big a deal as you were making it. Still, it’s wrong. You know it is, because if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be so careful to hide it from uncle Iwa and uncle Mattsun.

He takes a second to dip down to press a kiss to your forehead, before he nods. “Of course, my doll.” He breathes in deep, gives you another glance, then pivots on his heel. You don’t look up from the beige tiles until his steps retreat from the bathroom and you’re left alone in the warm air. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the feelings swirling in your belly any time he gets close now are wrong.

But the lipgloss you’re putting on is his favorite anyway.

The taxi ride is quiet on your end, but it’s a far cry from uneventful. As soon as you sit down, your hand is tugged into his lap, fingers lacing with yours too comfortably. No one bristles though, they’ve long grown used to the lingering touches, the spared glances your way. Your daddy is caring like that, and Oikawa has always been pretty touchy from the start. You two rely on each other. It’s almost soothing to have his touch so openly when his hands are so warm, thumb stroking gently along the skin and lulling your touch into him, pulling your interlaced limbs up to kiss. Always the fourth finger, as a reminder of his claim.

Squished between Tooru and Mattsun on the back seats, the ride seems longer than it is. Makki is sprawled out over the passenger seat a bit too easily, as he sends you glances through the rearview mirror. Whenever you catch his eyes, he pulls a face towards Oikawa, something that never fails to make you smile even deep in thought. Hiro’s always been the one to treat you most like you were just a friend, instead of the teen daughter Oikawa suddenly gained when he married your divorced, rich mother.

If he found out, maybe he wouldn’t even be disgusted, but you’re not sure if that’s a risk you’re willing to take. Because as much as you trust him as your friend, he too is nearing forty and has experiences you don’t. You met them all a few days before the wedding, tripping over your words as you pretended this wasn’t the least bit weird. Mattsun and Iwa had smiled politely, but you could see it in their eyes. The knowledge that Tooru was working on his retirement fund didn’t sit right with them. Makki wasn’t as forward thinking, and so it was easier to fall into a rhythm with him.

They’ve warmed up to you now you’re older, the news has settled in. Maybe they just don’t care as much anymore. Or maybe they’re more forgiving now that— it’s just you and him. Your black dress rides up a little when you sink deeper into the couch, leaning into Tooru bit by bit. He glances down, letting his lips shoot up a little too quickly. “Careful,” he mumbles against your cheek, using his free hand to tug at the edge of your clothing, “wouldn’t wanna give the old taxi driver a show.” His hand lingers between your legs, dragging his fingertips over the stretch of skin ever so quickly.

Quick enough not to raise suspicion, but enough to have your hairs standing on end, because you know exactly what those hands are capable of, and it was the exact reason you didn’t want to come tonight. Bless Makki and his tender soul for sounding so defeated when you called him, saying you didn’t really belong at a highschool reunion anyway. But he’d been adamant, and you had already used the ‘babysitting Iwa’s toddler’ one too many times that month. When you give him a warning look, he only smiles wider, letting it sit on his face with pride.

But the look churns in your stomach when Mattsun catches your eyes through the mirror, and raises an eyebrow. Glancing at you, then him, then you. And you bite your tongue for the both of you, because you genuinely can’t figure out if Tooru would care if you were found out on the spot.

Somewhere towards the end of the night, or early into the morning, you feel your head getting heavy. A pounding of the expensive drinks mixed with the music and the dancing you’d been doing now leaving you at the bar, protected only by the glass of watered down bubbles still in your palm. Finally escaping the demanding grip on your wrist, clinging tight to your hip and kissing you every time you’d merged into the mass of swaying strangers enough to become anonymous for a few minutes. As scary as it was, is, you can’t deny the rush of adrenaline pounding in your veins.

Every ‘daddy’ being swallowed up by his plush lips, by the hands roaming into your panties and making you dizzy. You snap out of your scrutiny of the sugar on the edge of your glass when a familiar voice comes. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” Iwaizumi sighs, a grin appearing when you turn. He’s a bit softer in his expression than before, easier to talk to. You suppose he’s trying, since it’s clear you’re not leaving Tooru’s life any time soon. “Oikawa said he wasn’t going to come if you didn’t, but it wouldn’t be much of a reunion without our old Captain.”

“I would’ve made him come even if he didn’t want to,” you respond, swinging your legs around the barstool to face him. He casts a reminiscent glance into the crowd, and you follow his eyes to watch your step dad take a shot with Mattsun, his genuine joy lighting up the room. You always love seeing him like this, bright and enthusiastic. “He makes me cling to him like I’m still a little kid though.”

Hajime only waits for a few seconds, nodding. “I used to fault him for being so protective of you, honestly. I thought it was a bit creepy, and Oikawa has always had a tendency to overdo things, even when we were kids.” Though the comment isn’t an accusation, Iwa would make it known if it was, your skin goes cold at the faint knowledge. When the brunet across the room turns over his shoulder, gaze flicking through the people for you, there’s part of you that knows this isn’t healthy. You’re lying to everybody, right to their face, and Iwa isn’t a bad guy. But how the hell do you even begin to explain any of it, and hope that everything doesn’t end up in flames?

Your mouth stays shut. “But I can’t say I wouldn’t react the same now. After your mom—” he hesitates then, placing the bottle to his lips with a frown. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, bad things happen to everybody,” you swallow, looking away from Tooru when his expression shifts from you back to Iwa, then to Makki gripping his shoulder. Unreadable from so far away. “I’m glad to have him, he cares about me. That’s all I can ask for.” Iwa stays quiet again, and this time you can’t blame him. The spiky haired brunet isn’t the best with words. His hand comes to your exposed shoulder and squeezes it softly.

“We’re glad he has you too,” he settles on saying, giving you another smile. Then he helps you up from the stool and places the drink out of your reach. “C’mon, I can feel him getting antsy all the way from over here. I don’t want to have him nagging me for the rest of the night.” His hand is placed a respectful way down your back, leading you through the people with easy steps. But you still have to narrow your eyes at the side of his face.

“Were you just sent to escort me back to him?” you ask, voice still playful. But when you don’t get a response, the teasing tone slowly disappears out of your voice. And Hajime grins, because he absolutely was, but he doesn’t know that he’s voluntarily leading you into the lion’s den again. A lion you’ve long grown tired of fighting off.

Before you make it halfway to the hotel, Tooru drags you into a seedy bar at 3 in the morning and straight to the bathrooms, haphazardly locking it behind him as his lips greedily kiss down your jaw, neck and down the expanse of your cleavage. He doesn’t care about the fabric that rips when he yanks the dress down your tits and quickly unclasps your bra to drop his face to your breasts, squeezing them together and moaning as he licks up the swell of them. “Getting daddy so hard while the team is right there, filthy girl. You’ve got some guts.”

You don’t try to talk back when he harshly backs you into the wall and hauls up your leg, rutting his clothed hard-on against your panties. His hand finding your hair, pulling your head back for him. His eyes are dark and blown out, irises almost entirely black as he ravages your mouth, tongue leading yours and messily humping your pussy. Your breathing is so quick you can barely make out anything other than his touch, his wet mouth and the way he tastes like something sweet, but distinctly alcoholic.

“Take off my pants, now, hurry,” he mumbles into your mouth, wrapping your leg around his thigh and dropping his hand between your bodies to rub sloppy circles over your clit, shoving aside the damp fabric. Your hands are a bit shaky as you unbuckle him and are pushed to your knees, looking up at him. “They all look at you like you’re a poor, little thing,” his face goes blank for a few seconds as he takes in the sight of you on your knees below him, before taking out his cock and pressing it to your lips. “If only they knew what a slutty, little minx you were, hm? So ready to take daddy’s cock between your lips.”

You open your mouth at his urging, letting him fuck into it while tears bead at your lashes. He’s not gentle, but it doesn’t matter when he grabs your face in his big hand and groans. Head thrown back and neck exposed, he is the prettiest. And when he mumbles under a soft ‘I love you’ under his breath, you have to take an early breath just to say it back, with drool and precum leaking out of the corners of your mouth.

You don’t get caught then, but only because the bartender put a sign on the door, and sends you two a deathly glare as you stumble back out with hot cheeks and your clothes all messed up. Makki and Kunimi swing by the hotel room for another hour or so, before daddy manages to shoo them out more quickly than usual. And he fucks you again until your legs shake and you almost fall off the bed from the force. But when you’re curled up to his side and ready to fall asleep, he stares at you for a little while.

You can only give him a tired smile, wrapping your arms a bit tighter to his naked torso, before he coos at you and urges you up onto him to hold better, closer, he always wants you skin to skin. Right before you drift off into sleep, you think you figure out what that look on his face is. Something’s not enough, Tooru wants more. You’re not sure what shape this need will come in, but you’re too tired to ask. And with daddy, it’s only a matter of time before you find out anyway.

“Don’t you ever think we’re a perfect little family,” he asks one morning, pulling you a little closer in the bed he had you for the first time, kissed you until you became a mess for him alone. Quivering around his fingers and crying out for him. It’s been a while since then already. The question catches you off guard a little so early in the day, eyes still laced with sleep. Of course Tooru didn’t have that problem, wide and awake after his run and only sneaking back into bed to cuddle. You groan at the sliver of sun peeking out between the blinds, then turn to face him.

“I think we’re about as far from a perfect family as you can get,” you admit, snuggling a bit closer into him despite the words. Because while they are true, and there’s no doubting it, you’ve never shied away from his touch. Large hands running up and down your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin. You let him pull you on top of him, feeling his warm chest against yours.

“But we could be, right?” he urges softly, pressing a few kisses to your ear. And you’re not the suspecting type, but when you look up to catch his eyes there’s something— more there. Something demanding. You stare at the smile for a few seconds, before you’re lifting yourself from his chest to give yourself a little bit of space. Tooru sits up too, watching you as you play with the edge of your thin top. “You get along so well with Iwa’s little ones, and I know how cute you think they are. And I was thinking,” he grabs your hand over the blankets, rubbing your knuckles.

“How perfect it would be if I gave you a baby.”

You pull out of his touch, eyes widening the longer you look at him. But he looks so sure of himself, so solid in his words, that for a moment you falter. “What— I- no,” you squeak out, frowning. “What are you saying, daddy? I’m still getting my bachelors, and besides, I love Iwa’s kids a ton but I don’t know if I want a baby right now. Or in the future.” That’s not even mentioning if people ask who the father is. His hand wraps around your hand as a mimic of comfort, tight enough to have the pressure aching a little.

“Not yet, but that’ll change if you have one of your own,” he says, gently pulling you back to him. You collapse back onto his chest, listening to the calm beat of his heart, but this time it doesn’t settle yours as it would usually. His roaming hands are the only sound for a minute, before he finally speaks again. Voice so small it gives you goosebumps. “Don’t you love me?” Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and to your horror, there’s wetness collecting at his lashes.

“Oh- d-don’t cry!” you instantly shuffle closer and nose at his cheek. “Of course I love you. I love you so much, I just-”

“I just think that if you loved me, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to you,” he whispers back then, looking up at the ceiling. “I’ve given up everything to be with you, stay with you and now you’re telling me ‘no’?” His voice getting sharper with each sentence, he wraps his arms tighter around your body. “I’m not asking you to leave your life behind, just this one thing.” You freeze in his hold, lips cracking open desperately.

There’s been moments before where Tooru gets painfully unreasonable. Stubborn as ever, angry lines of his brows throwing you off. It’s always been easy to back down then, offering your apologies and hoping he’ll hold you in his arms for a little longer. But how can you be lenient on this, when it would change everything you know? “But then I’d be stuck at home, daddy,” you settle on mouthing, sparing his feelings a little from the harshness of your thoughts.

“Instead of going where?!” The harshness in his voice shocks you, but he doesn’t let go of you still. You shuffle to loosen his grasp, but it doesn’t budge. He’s big enough to hold you on top of him, legs tangling with yours. It makes your throat feel so tight, instead of the usual effect of his soothing, now it just feels suffocating. “You belong here, with me. Not somewhere where I can’t keep an eye on you, stupid girl, what if you got yourself in trouble?”

His eyes narrow when you stay completely silent, but eventually he clicks his tongue. “Your mom wanted to send you abroad too, what a horrible fucking idea. I was so mad at her for trying to take you from me, but she always had these stupid ideas.” Coldness spreads down your veins at the mention of your mom.

You don’t want her to be dragged into an argument like this, not about you, not with him. Her late husband, your stepdad. Fuck. Realization of your crimes slaps you in the face again, and Tooru’s still glaring at you, and you just want it to—

“Stop.” You hate how small your voice sounds, how heartbroken. Tears welling up and spilling over so suddenly it surprises you, breathing halting. “Just stop, please. I don’t want to fight with you, and—” Sobs break through when you bury your head into his shoulder, longing for some safety. “Just p- please, I can’t t-think about that.”

Luckily, a heavy hand comes to rest on your head, before he rolls you over so you’re under his body. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. No more fighting,” he coos, dipping down to kiss you. You’re still trying to get rid of your tears as he presses his lips to yours, softly at first, then harder. Tongue pressing at the seam of your lips and pushing in. You whine at it, but he doesn’t care much. Just reaching up to grab your face and thumb the tears away, kissing you even deeper.

He doesn’t give you a moment of reprieve until you’re urging him back for breath, fingers tangling into his hair. “I’m sorry, my pretty baby. I won’t fight with you anymore, hm?” he whispers, and then his lips are back on yours. Opening your lips and licking into your mouth like he’s been starved for years, he grunts and moans softly against you, heaving himself up over you a bit more. Then pulling back to suck at the soft skin under your ear, breath gliding over the sensitive skin.

“Daddy, I don’t-”

“Just let me take care of you.” Leaning onto one forearm as the free hand grips your hips, he drags his lips down your neck, collarbones, and back up to your mouth when you try again. He shuts you up with his tongue until you’re dazed from the lack of breath, before he hovers his mouth over yours again. “You’re such a dream, cutie. And all mine. I’m going to make sure you’ll be all mine, promise.”

He gently urges your legs apart as he mouths along your neck, placing rows of kisses and sucking hard until you make a noise. His body is easily able to cover you, he slowly rolls his hips into yours as you shift under him.

Though you’re more than used to his tendency to fuck you to the brink of insanity by now, again and again until your brain feels so heavy it gets hard to even make a coherent sentence, right now isn’t the time, is it? “Daddy,” you mumble into his mouth, but he grabs your cheeks and pushes his tongue in to roam your mouth and force you to taste him.

It’s not pleasant, but when he rubs his half-hard cock between your legs again and grips your waist so tight the feeling lingers, it’s easier to give in. You slump under him, kissing back and grabbing at the soft hairs at the base of his skull, and that’s when he finally picks up the pace. Really aiming his rutting against your sensitive pussy, thick thighs meeting the bottom of yours. He takes a deep breath when pulling back and looks at you, not hesitating for a moment. “Don’t fucking dare tell me to stop.”

His voice, though soft, is pointed and accusatory. His hand slides from your cheeks to your throat now, grabbing it and squeezing hard. You instinctively reach for his wrist, but his grip is stronger than yours is. “Not when I’ve given up everything for you. You wouldn’t tell daddy to stop, right?”

He leans back down to kiss you as you squeeze your eyes shut, choking a little on his lips and tongue now that he fucks his clothed cock against your slicked-up panties and his hand presses harder. Your mind filters through his words slowly, but they don’t really come in.

Don’t process. The hand gripping your waist moves to toy in between your legs, rubbing over your slit and loose circles over your clit, as he breathes. “You want this, you little whore, admit it.” He kisses along your ear, licking down your jaw and rubbing your pussy through the useless fabric, now hard cock standing to attention under his boxers. You’re distracted only a moment, but it’s too long for him, because he bites down hard at the crook of your neck. “I said ‘admit it.’”

“Wh- aw,” you stare at him for a second when he raises an eyebrow, tears welling up at the spreading sting of his teeth. You don’t mean to, you just— why is he being this way? The grip on your neck makes your head pound and it’s hard to think of what just happened or why he’s mad, but you take a hitched breath and try to focus on his fingertips lewdly spreading open your pussy through your panties. “Want it,” you mumble. His eyes search yours, before his mouth corners drop a sliver.

“Not good enough.” He sits up and pulls you along, taking a grip of your hair and hand vice-like around your arm as he hauls you off the bed and stumbling over to the window, now with a tiny smile on his lips. “Hands up, princess,” he says, and you barely have the time to oblige before he pushes you up to the window and nudges your legs apart with his knee.

“I’ll make you feel so good you won’t want to stop, okay?” The words are pressed to your neck, still a bit sensitive from his earlier squeezing, as your heart pounds loud between your ears.

You’ve been treated rough, but it was never this— mean. But then he softens enough to soothe you, kissing along the indents of his fingers and holding you in place by your hair, humming softly when you sniffle. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whisper, and he presses a soft kiss between your shoulder blades before slipping the straps of your camisole off your shoulders. You freeze. Pressed palms against the window, tits now out to the world and legs being spread further as he grinds against you. “Wait, w-wait, I don’t wanna—”

“You don’t want everyone to see how daddy fucks you?” Tooru finishes for you, and you don’t need to see his face to recognize the smile on it. “But you look so pretty spread on my cock, baby.” He squeezes your ass a few times, kneading it between strong fingers, before the touch leaves.

Then his palm connects with your soft skin and sends you forward, upper body leaning against the window and heart pattering against your ribcage. You cry out for him, only to have it again and again until the sting spreads with warmth and he rubs it again.

“Sorry, that was for earlier,” he mumbles, then letting out a long breath. “Now I’ll be nice, hm? Wanna make my pretty girl beg for it.” His hands curve around your body to grab your tits then, as you reach behind you to grab at his forearm for support.

Even though you’re probably gushing down your thighs, there’s a distinct fear as you look out over the street, knowing that anyone could look up and watch you get fucked by your stepdad. By the man that was married to your mom, the one you’ve now hooked your nails into.

What a horrible fate. You lean your head back to eye the ceiling instead, feeling the tears welling up and your breathing stutter even as his fingers pinch your nipples and he ruts his thick cock against your ass. Rubbing and squeezing your tits together again and again, as your breathing creates fog on the window. “Tooru,” you whine, and he grunts.

“Not my name, doll.” He pulls back for a second to watch you, and you’re too cowardly to say anything but hick and cry as your mind keeps ringing with the thought to stop. So why can’t you say it?

Long, slim fingers slip between your legs and pick the ruined panties from your slick pussy, sliding under them and pulling them down your legs ever so slowly, down, down, down along with the top until you’re completely bare, and he hums in appreciation. “So fucking pretty. You know daddy loves you the most, right?” You slowly nod, and he taps your shoulder. “Turn around, baby.”

You let him push your back against the window again, now getting even closer to your body and stepping between your thighs. The cold of the window and the hot of his body so distracting, so — hypnotizing. “Look at me,” he mumbles against your forehead, so you dare to open your tear-filled eyes and cast them his way. And Tooru looks positively feral. Pupils swallowing up almost all of the color of the warm brown that you’ve gotten so used to, cheeks a little flushed and lips rosy and swollen.

He looks ethereal. Hair wild and fluffy, smile so soft it makes your head spin. “I love you,” he says, and you believe it. Instantly, because everything Oikawa Tooru is makes you feel it. However unfair, and however stupid. ‘I love you too,’ you mouth back instantly, hands dropping to his pecs, to feel the pounding of his heart. It almost makes you forget about where you are when he crowds you, laying more languid, gentle kisses on your lips than before. Hungry no doubt, but sweet. Your tears dry on your cheeks the longer he melts his tongue to yours, swallowing your worry.

He shoves down his boxers before looping your leg around his glutes, and urges your face to his again, now blank faced and his eyes searching. “You trust me, don’t you?” It’s not a question, he continues right after. “I need you to let me do this.” Whatever this is.

You can’t really focus when your wet pussy is needy and untouched, and his fat, drooling cock is right there, brushing against your thigh. You moan, throwing your head back against the cool window as he nuzzles against your jaw, and you let your begging spill over your lips without thinking.

“Please, daddy. Please fill me up, make me feel good,” you moan when he bends down to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking it and rolling it between his tongue and teeth, doing the same with the other. You reach a hand between you two to grab his hot, thick cock and line it up, before allowing yourself to sink down on it an inch. Your walls clench automatically when he gently ruts the thick length in place a few times, then shoves it in inch by inch and stretches you out.

“F-fuck, holy fuck, daddy.”

“Gonna make you so pretty, baby,” he moans, standing back up to his full height and pushing your tits together again. “Make you so nice and round, hm? My beautiful girl, I know what you need.” Your eyes roll back into your skull by the time he bottoms out, playing your nipples so perfectly, the pressure of his hipbone against yours sending hot flares through your belly.

You let him pick you up under your thighs and loop your arms around his neck, mewling each time he fucks into you and slick runs down his cock and balls. Walking you back to the bed and toppling you both over, he grunts.

“Beg,” is all you hear, mouth at your neck and teeth at your sensitive skin, as he shoves you further onto the bed and crawls back over you. Cock sliding back into the mess between your legs, filling you up faster now. He wraps his hand right under your jaw for leverage, as your mouth drops open and you cling to his strong shoulders.

“Please, daddy, please! F-faster, mhm- need your cock, need you, please.” He folds both your legs to your chest to lay on top of you and drown you in heat, his cock impossibly deep every time he bottoms out. You can’t even keep your eyes open if you tried, hiding your face into the pillow and letting him set a rhythm that has your tits bouncing.

“Feels so fucking good,” you moan. Tooru’s hips smack against the soft skin of your thighs each time he bottoms out, throat aching and brain so fuzzy with the lack of air that you barely hear him. You just keep whining for him again and again like a bitch in heat, as he fucks into you with a brutal pace.

“Gonna fuck my cum deep in you, princess. Fill you up and make you take it all. Tell me you want it.”

“Wan’it,” you parrot mindlessly, and he groans before kissing you hard and needy. “Want you, want you, daddy, love your cock.” Heavy balls slapping against your ass each pump he pushes into your gushing cunt, stretching you to the limit. Everything about him is so big, so perfect, it makes your entire core glow with heat. His grip on your throat doesn’t falter as he manages to snake his other hand between your legs, rubbing at your puffy clit with a sudden mission.

“Cum around me and I’ll make you a mommy,” he hisses into your hair, sweat dripping down his chest. “Split open your tight, little pussy and fill you up, hm?” The rapid pounding makes the headboard slam against the wall, matching the pounding of your blood between your ears. And your hands claw uselessly at his back and shoulders, mewling and whining incoherent sounds into his neck. “Gonna fuck a baby into your pretty cunt, pump it full of my cum deep in that belly.”

“Daddy, daddy, mhm- ahh, daddy, god- fuck, I’m close.” The continued rubbing of your sensitive nub and the lack of oxygen in your brain is enough to shut out anything else, your mouth cracked open and lips swollen, glistening with drool. His cock hits the right spot each time, so deep you’d see double if you could open your eyes. “Close, agh-close.”

“That’s it, cutie. Cream all over daddy’s cock like a good, little cumdump.” His voice growing more growled than said, his fat cock twitching inside your clenching walls and balls tight. His voice drops into a whisper as he grabs your face and kisses you stupid, your blood rushing back to your brain almost painfully quick and urging you over the edge. “You’re gonna be mine forever, whether you like it or not.” Your toes curl and legs shake, walls tightening around the thick, swollen cock and tongue being taken into his mouth.

“Mhm-mhddy,” you mewl into him, a few more flicks of your clit before the white and black flashes before your eyes and your back curls off the bed, tits rubbing against his chest and legs locking around his thighs as Tooru doesn’t stop. He muffles your noises into a kiss long and hard, teeth clashing as he fucks you through your orgasm and sends tingles all through your body, before you collapse.

He grabs at your tits again to heave himself up and pushes back your knees as far as they can go, while you hang onto his forearms with tears and sweat and drool ruining your face. “Pull out,” you can barely voice, Tooru’s grunts and moans and the loud slapping of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” he swears under his breath, "gonna fill you up.”

“Pull out, daddy,” you say again, pushing at his hip and cracking an eye open. His bottom lip between his teeth, hair matted to his forehead and eyes on the place where his cock keeps sliding in and out of you, squelching ringing loud though your shared bedroom. When you moan from overstimulation, he shifts his grip to your hips and pulls you back onto him again and again until his pace falters and the hardest thrusts smack into your ass. “Tooru!”

By now you’re shaking your head and trying to push him off but it’s no use, his much larger body keeping you right in place and forcing his cock so deep it aches in your belly, grunting your name through his teeth.

He comes with a choked grunt, spurting hot ropes of cum deep inside you. A soft few moans follow, before it becomes deathly silent and your breathing rises and drops wildly. “I told you to pull out!” you hiss, staring at him with tears in your eyes and the afterglow dropping too quickly for your liking.

“Shhh, stop worrying so much, angel,” he mumbles, leaning in to press a few kisses to your hairline. “It’s definitely going to take.” It’s mumbled more to himself than to you, but you can’t help the incredulous look you give him.

He doesn’t move from your body though, keeping his softening cock inside you and your legs next to your head. You don’t have the strength to fight him on it either. When he meets your eyes again, he smiles, angelic as ever. “Now you don’t have any reason to leave me anymore. Besides, I promised the guys I’d take care of you. Aren’t you happy?”

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come-on-shitty-boys · 5 years ago

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Haikyuu But They Don’t Play Volleyball (Pretty Setter Squad)

Notes: I am once again telling you that I know nothing about sports.

*Read that Captain version here! (oikawa was included in the captain thread)*

Sugawara Koushi: Diving

He’s beauty. He’s grace. How could he not be a diver?

I’m sorry but just imagine him coming up from a dive, his hair clinging to his forehead, just smiling that pretty smile of his as he swims back to the edge of the pool?

Catch me simping.

TEAMMOMTEAMMOMTEAMMOM!

Sugawara is brings a whole ass cooler of snacks and drinks to every meet for all of his teammates.

Probably leads in stretches? His positive energy gets everyone super hyped for the competition. I promise you’ve never heard anyone count to ten with more enthusiasm.

He’s there on the sidelines to watch every single dive during the meet, shouting words of encouragement as they approach the platform, and then cheering loudly after the completed dive.

But, also? C H A O T I C at practices. Like he knows when it’s time to actually practice, but if something has the team down? He’ll do some stupid move, shouting some TikTok reference on his way down.

Sugawara is really good at twisting dives? Like?? Really good at them.

If you come to his meets to watch him? Precious bean smiles so much, likely giving you a thumbs up and a toothy grin before he steps up to the edge of the springboard.

You’ll try to give him a hug once he’s out of the water, but he’ll likely just laugh and object, saying that he’ll get your clothes all wet.

But, he will sit down in his chair and let you dry his hair with his towel. Watch him melt into your touch once you're done and just running your fingers through his silver strands, getting any tangles out.

He always offers you his jacket, because he’s an absolute gentleman. But, he inevitably ends up getting cold, and will cuddle you in his lap to steal your body heat, putting his towel down over his legs so you don’t get your pants all wet.

Kageyama Tobio: Basketball

He plays point guard, because much like the setter in volleyball, the point guard controls the team’s offense. It’s the most specialized position, again, just like the setter.

Three point K I N G!

Drains them left and right with expert precision.

He plays so rough oml and it’s not even on purpose! Someone could guard him too much and he’s pissed even though that’s literally the point of basketball??? Catch him throwing so many elbows.

Kageyama practices dribbling non-stop. If he’s not in during practice, he’s on the side lines doing ball-handling drills.

He could be the best ball-handler on the team and he’s still working to improve himself and learn from some of the point guards from the opposing teams.

He will have no idea that you’re even at his games, because he’s so in the zone, but if you come up to him afterwards as he walks out of the locker room?

Insert soft Tobio smile here ;-;

He’ll ask you if you enjoyed the game, probably talking about how one of the other players had a really clean jump shot, asking you to rebound for him so he can try that.

Please tell him no. He’s on an adrenaline high and needs to go get some rest.

Kageyama will probably con you into it, no matter how much you object. He’d be shooting baskets, asking for your input every now and then as if you have any idea what you’re meant to be looking for.

You definitely walked up to him after a game in a t-shirt that had his name on it and this boy just got so flustered, because he will never be over the fact that you, of all people, wanted to date him.

But, he would tell you that you looked nice, just like he always does. Kageyama would never outright say it, but the fact that you get all dressed up for his games makes his heart do backflips 🥺

Kozume Kenma: Track

Right? Crazy, I know, but hear me out. He does high jump or maybe pole vault. Something that doesn’t require too much physical exertion.

Sitting outside in the sun at track meets for hours on end is by no means his favorite thing to do, but he’s one of the first events, so if the meet is at Nekoma, he can just dip for a little while and go play his games at a cafe that has air conditioning or something. Don’t tell his coach though because they’re technically not meant to leave??

During practices, you will likely find him lying on the mats, playing a game on his phone, not even caring if his coach comes over. The others are doing the same thing, so why does it matter?

He can get really meticulous though, especially right before postseason. He’d get in this trance where he’s constantly working on his approaches, making sure they feel just right before he even thinks about jumping.

Kenma hates when you come watch him. It throws him off, so if you do plan on coming to a meet, please don’t say anything ;-;

Honestly, he probably wouldn’t even tell you when he has meets, just so he doesn’t run the risk of you watching him.

Assuming you do find out his schedule, it’s probably best if you come after his events? It would put him more at ease knowing that there wasn’t even the slightest possibility that you had watched him.

He’ll sit on the bleachers with you though, munching on some snacks that you brought, making quiet conversation while he plays his games.

Kenma will always tell you that he doesn’t care if you come or not, but deep down, he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you while he’s waiting for results he absolutely will make sure that you leave if he makes it to the final round though

Akaashi Keiji: Golf

GOLF BRAT this is a joke don’t kill me pls

I’m talking like he grew up playing golf with his dad, but because he’s played so long, he’s super good.

He shoots in the high-30s on nine holes and probably gets really annoyed with himself if he gets in the mid-40s

You’ll see him on the driving range right after the match, practicing until he’s content if he ever does worse than he expected.

He only uses Callaway golf balls and probably has a really unique ball mark.

His golf clubs? Custom fit. He’s not a snob, I swear. He just takes it really seriously, because Akaashi knows that he’s good and could get some really incredible scholarships. He wants to be able to perform to the best of his ability and if that means spending a lot on a nice set of golf clubs that will last him for a long time, then he’ll do it.

Akaashi carries his clubs. He doesn’t understand the need for those push carts? Sure the clubs are kind of heavy, but it’s not that bad.

Definitely refused to wear a glove for a long time, but eventually the blisters and calluses got so bad that he had to cave.

Putting KING. Can and will sink a 15’ putt without batting an eyelash. He doesn’t have a lot of power in his drives, but his short game is impeccable.

He’s always really flattered when you show up to his matches. They’re boring to watch, and he knows that, especially if you don’t play golf or have any interest in the sport.

But, the fact that you’re willing to walk with him around the course, asking him questions about the rules of the game, or even just helping him find his ball? It brings that gentle Akaashi smile to his face.

Akaashi in a polo akaashi in a polo akaashi in a motherfucking polo

Some weekends he’ll take you out to the course with him, let you borrow a set of his old clubs if you don’t have a set of your own, and you two will play a round of golf together

You give up after hitting the ball in the lake four times in row and just settle for driving the golf cart and providing him with emotional support.

Atsumu Miya: Tennis

Just imagine that wide ass smile of his when he scores a point

Wait i’m already soft i-

Anyway. The intention was to get Osamu to play too and they would be this really incredible duo for doubles

But Osamu physically could not put up with Atsumu’s shit. Like, in volleyball there are other people on the court to interact with, but in doubles tennis? It’s just atsumu

Osamu literally lasted one practice.

But, we’re not here to talk about him.

Atsumu doesn’t have a lot of power, so he has to come up with other ways to score. He mainly relies on well-aimed receives or drop shots

He hates the uniforms and he looks terrible in them. I’m so sorry Atsumu stans, but it’s just a fact. Those really light, almost white, khakis and the maroon polo? Boy looks so dumb and he knows it. Add the dumbass headband his coach makes him wear to keep his hair from his eyes? Fashion crises.

It’s for this reason that he really doesn’t want you at his matches. Because he knows that you’re going to take stupid pictures of him and use them as blackmail. You come anyway and yes. You take a million pictures of your boyfriend looking like a hot mess in his uniform.

If he catches you taking pictures in between sets? He’s going to steal your phone the minute he’s done so he can delete them all

“153 pictures?! What the hell, Princess. . .”

“Sorry, ‘mu. You just look so dumb in your uniform.”

He likes to drag you out to the courts on weekends to play doubles with friends or he’ll ask you to play singles with him. He always says that he’ll go easy on you, but three volleys in and he’s slipped into the zone and he’s playing for real.

Atsumu has absolutely smacked your ass with his racket and feigned innocence when you whirl around to stare at him in shock. He probably starts lecturing the nearest person on how they should treat someone like that, especially his princess.

Smack his arm and shut him up, please.

I promise he looks a lot better when the two of you go play than when he actually has a match. Some nice athletic shorts and a black t-shirt or hoodie, maybe a baseball cap to keep his hair out of his face? Yeah. He looks hella cute.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #threads #pretty setter squad #sugawara #kageyama #kenma #akaashi #atsumu #sugawara x reader #kageyama x reader #kenma x reader #akaashi x reader #atsumu x reader #headcannons #haikyuu imagines #imagines

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years ago

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Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 06: Convergence

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04 05

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 4,065

Tag List: @luxekook, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @stillcopingxx, @taevkimchi, @aroseforyoongi, @vivpurple7, @happilystrongthroughthedark, @sw33tnight, @nikkitane, @mini-coop25, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland

AN: Sorry this took me so long. Life decided it wanted to kick me in the face repeatedly. But I did warn everyone this was going to take a little time with the updates. Please be patient with me. I promise you that it will be worth the wait. If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to drop me a line!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“Things do not happen. Things are made to happen.” - John F. Kennedy

Yoon greeted his parents with the Crown Princess at his side. They both bowed deeply as they heard the King and Queen laugh in delight. The Royal Consorts also received bows from the Crown Prince and Princess. Finally, they turned and were given bows from the princesses and princes of the Royal Court. The officials and guards, as well as the rest of the palace staff, were present for the opening ceremony to celebrate Crown Prince Yoon’s first international liaison.

When they were finally dismissed, Yoon took his seat next to the Crown Princess, waiting for food and wine to be served. Various voices of praise and congratulations were given to Yoon, to which he simply nodded his head politely and smiled while returning his own charming forms of gratitude. He allowed the Crown Princess to serve him a cup of wine and he, in turn, also served her. Merriment and good cheer surrounded the palace.

It made Yoon sick to his stomach.

The conversation he had with his Father-In-Law still didn’t sit well with him. At his own behest, he politely reminded Minister Jang that he should keep his small-minded ambitions to himself. He didn’t need to drag the Crown Princess into his mess. Regardless of his own personal feelings, Yoon held a deep amount of respect for his Princess. Jang Chae-Ok had no ambitions or selfish desires for wanting to be Crown Princess. She was simply a childhood friend to Yoon who always remained faithfully at his side.

The Crown Princess was not blind to his relationship with Kalina. But she also did not question it. It was from this show of her character alone that Yoon promised he would not take a Royal Consort when he became King. He owed her that much for her understanding.

“I wish that I could accompany you, Your Highness.” The Crown Princess’s voice was sad, matching her expression.

He reached out to grasp her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It will be a long journey. It is no place for a Crown Princess.” Yoon smiled. “I will be back before you realize I’m gone.”

She sighed. “I will miss you greatly.” She placed her hand over his. “Do be careful.”

“I will, Crown Princess.”

A loud gong resounded, drawing everyone’s attention. All conversation hushed as the head of the Artisan school approached. He bowed deeply while the others waited with anticipation for his announcement.

“Members of the Royal Court! We are here to celebrate the Crown Prince’s upcoming journey. We wish him great fortune but before he traverses out in the world, we want to be able to ease his worries and give him memories to hold on to as he travels to Ming. Things that he will be able to keep close to his heart and treasure if he should ever become homesick.”

Yoon smiled, despite his own internal dark thoughts. He loved his country. He loved his people. The skills they mastered in order to have these small moments to showcase their talents were clearly battles within their own houses. Some performers and artists had better skills than others, hence why they were allowed to appear at the forefront. Others were still in training to be able to climb up in the ranks along the way.

He secretly admired the drive that pushed these individuals along. Everyone had dreams, goals, and ambitions. People’s reasons for doing anything were threads that bonded everyone together to achieve common goals. No matter how small or big, they were to be appreciated. Even if one could not voice these appreciations aloud.

The Chief Artisan gave a wide gesture, spinning on his heels as the performers made their way into the grand courtyard. “We hope that our performers, both within the palace walls, and those who have managed to make their ways from the streets, will be able to soothe your soul.”

Everyone applauded as Senior Artisan stepped away, allowing for the in house performers to showcase everything they’ve practiced for days. Curiously, Yoon hummed to himself at the mention of street performers entering the palace. If they were skilled enough to gain the court’s attention, there was a good chance they would be given slots to enter the performance schools within the palace halls. It would be a golden opportunity to change their livelihoods for the better.

He was keen to see just what they were made of.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

Jimin clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, silencing Taehyung’s whining. “Hyung-nim is filling in for Namjoon Hyung-nim.” His eyes narrowed. “Surely you don’t expect him to wear the dress, do you?”

Taehyung pouted. “No, but still!”

“Besides,” Hoseok cut in, patting Taehyung’s shoulders roughly, “we all memorized multiple parts in case something happens. We only had time for Hyung-nim to learn one. Stop being difficult.”

Yoongi smirked, shaking his head while readjusting the waistband to his costume. The large rosary that hung from his neck was heavy and the boots were a little bit cumbersome, but bearable. He would be able to switch his shoes out when it came time for the tightrope routine. Jungkook and Seokjin fawned over him, making sure he looked as proper as he could in performance gear.

Namjoon appeared, holding out a red and black demon mask to him. “I gave it some new paint earlier so it should be dry now.”

Taking the mask from him, Yoongi cradled it in his hands. “Thank you, Namjoon-ah.” He scratched at the cloth headband. “What will you be doing during the performance?”

“I’ll be narrating and helping the musicians out. Percussion, mostly.”

“I see.” Yoongi eyed the mask, taking note of the large white fangs protruding from the mouth carved into the wood.

Because of the depth of the role, he wouldn’t be able to take his mask off during the entire performance. Beneficial for him, but he hated that Namjoon wouldn’t be getting any credit. Yoongi knew how hard they all must have been preparing for this particular performance. A small measure of guilt wormed its way into his heart, but Namjoon’s laugh brought him out of his thoughts.

“Now I feel even more terrible, Hyung-nim.” Yoongi saw the concerned look on Namjoon’s face, even though he was smiling. “Seriously, you’re doing me a favor. I feel bad enough. If you keep looking like that, I’ll think I’m completely worthless.”

“I’m sorry, Namjoon-ah.” Clearing his throat, he nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be feeling like this.”

“Thank the heavens you’re wearing a mask.” Taehyung pushed his headband up a little more. “Otherwise the audience is going to think you’re guilty of some crime.”

“It’s just nerves.” Jimin flashed Yoongi a reassuring smile. “Right, Hyung-nim?”

All he could do was give a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Hayan Geutop Troupe?” An unfamiliar voice pulled all of their attention. They saw someone dressed in official robes motioning toward them. “You’re up next.”

No one could hide their excitement. This was the first time any of them would be entering the palace. Each of them were given temporary passes to gain access. Once inside, they all made sure they were looking their best. The sound of joyful laughter and music rumbled through the courtyard, causing Yoongi’s heartbeat to elevate with excitement.

“Hyung-nim!” Jungkook gently nudged Yoongi’s back. “Your mask! Don’t forget to put it on!”

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi slid the large Demon mask over his head, making sure the cloth headwrap covered every part of his neck from view except the front.

The sound of loud drums rang out through the courtyard. It was a little bit difficult to breathe with the mask on, but not impossible. If anything, Yoongi was more concerned with the mask falling off by accident. But Hoseok assured him that the bands were secured and redesigned to fit his head perfectly. It wouldn’t come off unless he pulled it off himself.

Admittedly, his nerves were a little frayed. Being around so many people at once, as well as so much noise, was teetering him toward sensory overload. But he continued to remind himself that he had a job to do. He just needed to get through the performance and then he could continue exploring the Crown City to his heart’s content. They were set to ride back out to the mountains at first light.

He hoped the shops would still be open before the lanterns were lit.

The large drum was hit, signaling for everyone to settle down. Yoongi took another breath, waiting for their group to be announced in front of the Royal Court. His vision was limited through the small holes in his mask - the rest of the world shadowed on either side of him. He could hear his own breath in his ears as he tried to peer out in front of him. But he wasn’t sure what he was even looking for. There was a strange pull at his heart; a feeling he couldn’t quite explain.

Like someone was calling to him.

No. Like multiple people were calling to him.

“Members of the Royal Court! I present to you a troupe of young performers who hail from the outskirts of the Crown City!” The Chief Artisan looked in their direction as some of the students in the palace artisan school helped to set up their stage. “The White Tower Troupe!”

There was a round of polite applause from all the members of the royal court. The other troupe members were helping to set up the first scene for their skit. Yoongi waited patiently, even though he offered to help. Taehyung and Hoseok insisted that he stand back and focus on the performance. It wouldn’t take them long to get the set pieces ready. Once everything was put together, Namjoon walked gently forward and bowed deeply to the Royal family seated at the large banquet table.

“Please forgive our lack of eloquence, Your Majesties, as we attempt to regale you with a story. It is one I am sure you are all familiar with, but allow us to perform it for you just the same.” He flicked out the large fan in his hand, a picture of a blue sky and a green field painted on it. “We humbly present to you...the Tale of Green Pearl and the Demon!”

Yoon felt Chae-Ok grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He cast a sidelong glance in her direction, noting the soft pink flush that tinted her cheeks. He knew it wasn’t from the wine but more from her excitement. He smiled as she met his gaze.

“Oh, I love this story!” She looked back out toward the courtyard. “I’m interested to see how they will tell it.”

“As am I.”

The bass drum resounded through the large space just as the troupe finished setting up for the first scene. The narrator who spoke walked off to the sidelines and took a seat on a plush cushion that was provided for him. Silence draped over everyone present as the actors moved to their positions.

“Many years ago, there was a humble man who lived a humble life. He had a humble trade and a humble wife. The wife bore him two children. A son named White Fang and a daughter named Green Pearl.”

Yoon watched as the narrator spoke about each character. One by one, they all appeared - their faces concealed with wooden masks painted in eloquent designs. Lingering off to the side was an actor clothed in black, red and gold garbs - a demon mask covering his face. Yoon felt his heart beating a little faster as he gazed at the person, unsure of why this strange sensation was lurching in his chest.

The narrator slapped his stick against the small drum cradled in his lap. “As the seasons changed and the children grew older, the father became ill. The wife sent for what physicians they could afford and the old apothecary said that there was nothing he could do. The wife was distraught, unsure of what would become of her or her children should her husband leave this world for his journey to the afterlife.”

“Seobang-nim! You cannot leave us like this!” The wife sobbed beside the husband, cradling his hand between her palms. “What are we to do without you? How are we supposed to live?!”

“Don’t worry, Mother,” said White Fang as he placed his hand over his mother’s, “I will find a way to cure Father. I will travel across foreign lands until I can find the medicine that will save Father’s life!”

Again, the narrator struck the drum. “White Fang left to search for a cure for his ailing father, leaving his mother and sister behind.”

Yoon watched the person portraying Green Pearl moving toward the backdrop meant to pose as a wide open field. A lone tree stood off in the distance where she clasped her hands together and prayed.

“Gods of Heaven, I beseech you! Please help my father. Please find a way to help him get better!” cried Green Pearl as she lowered her head, all but sobbing into her hands.

Heavy drums beat softly, signaling an ominous transition. Yoon watched as the actor portraying the demon slowly moved forward, until he was mere feet from the Royal Banquet table. The Demon whipped his head around to face the Royal family, causing everyone to lean back and gasp.

All except Yoon.

Maybe it was the optical illusion of the mask, but he swore that the demon was looking directly at him. His heartbeat escalated, a soft thunder against his chest, and he waited for the demon to speak. There was a line here. Yoon remembered it. A line where the demon spoke to the audience of his wicked scheme.

But the demon said nothing. All he did was stare. Had the actor forgotten his lines?

“A demon heard Green Pearl’s cries, intrigued by her earnest wailings.”

The narrator cut through the silence. This seemed to wake the demon up, causing him to swiftly shuffle back a few steps as he threw his arm out in a dramatic flourish.

“The sweet sound of sorrow nourishes my heart,” the Demon exclaimed, curling his shoulders forward. He pressed a hand against his face, fingers gliding over the white fangs on the mask. “It is the sound of easy prey. How I have longed to devour such a miserable soul!”

He heard the Crown Princess gasp as the Demon ran forward, leaping into the air and landing on the tightrope with amazing ease. Yoon quirked a brow, internally admiring the actor’s swiftness and balancing abilities. The Demon leaned forward, slinging his legs out until he was hanging upside down from the rope.

Green Pearl took a sharp intake of breath, clutching at the front of her dress. “W-Who goes there?”

“A humble and curious Demon. But nevermind me, Sweet Child.” The Demon spoke in a cooing and sweet voice. “What seems to be ailing you? What causes you to mourn so?”

“My father is ill and there is no way to save him. My brother has left to travel in hopes of finding medicine to cure him.” Green Pearl turned away from the Demon, looking off in the distance. “I mourn for my family and what is to become of them should my father pass.”

The Demon laughed, swinging his body so that he was now sitting upright on the tightrope. He rested a hand on his knee and leaned forward, drawing Green Pearl’s attention once more. “This is a simple problem with a simple solution.”

“It is anything but simple!”

“Oh, but it is!” The Demon hopped onto the rope, bouncing up and down in a playful manner. “Because I know how to save your ailing father!”

Green Pearl stepped toward the tree, her hand reaching up toward the Demon but she was far out of his reach. “What do you know? Please, tell me how to save my father!”

The Demon bounced on the rope a few more times before dismounting, landing just a few feet away from her. He placed his hands behind his back and paced, not really bothering to stray too far from her but not coming too close. “There is a flower that grows in the western mountains. It is said that creating a potion from this flower can cure any illness.” He spun on his heels just as Green Pearl tried to approach him, causing her to halt in her steps. “But it is an arduous journey. Many have died trying to claim this flower.”

“Can you guide me to this mountain?”

The Demon circled her, his steps slow and measured. “What will you give me if I decide to lend you my aid?”

“Whatever you wish to claim from me, Sir!” Green Pearl fell to her knees. “No boon is too great when it comes to saving the life of my father!”

The Demon knelt down before Green Pearl, lifting her face to meet his. “You will become my bride. That is the price you must pay if you wish to obtain my help.”

“If marrying a demon is the trade we are making, then I would marry you a thousand times.”

The Demon pulled Green Pearl up onto her feet, a hearty laugh bursting from his chest. “Then come! Let us be off! The day grows shorter and the journey will be that much harder for you when the night comes.”

A gong and more heavy drums rang out as the Demon and Green Pearl exited the stage. Troupe members hurried to change the set backdrop to suit the next scene transition.

“So Green Pearl and the Demon hurried toward the Western Mountains. The journey was, indeed, arduous. Many perils crossed their paths, but the Demon protected Green Pearl every step of the way. The harshest trek, however, was the path leading up toward the mountains. Wild animals impeded their path. Even the cold mountain winds attempted to blow the two off the krags so they would plummet to their deaths.”

With each scene change, a linen drape with a painted landscape was swapped. The serene music fit the pacing of each scene and the narrator’s strong voice pushed the actors to continue through the skit. Yoon knew this tale very well. Yet watching it unfold in this manner made the story seem brand new. He was particularly drawn to the Demon, unable to shake the tremors in his heart as the masked performer’s moves seemed fluid and natural.

“Finally, Green Pearl and the Demon reached the top of the mountain peaks. There was the mythical flower the Demon mentioned. It was a rich purple in pigment, the stem a soft green and nestled among a cluster of clovers. In the snow and cold temperature, there was no way that any vegetation should have flourished, let alone this single flower.”

Green Pearl reached for the flower, preparing to dig it up from the earth. Suddenly, she was stopped by the Demon’s harsh pull at her wrist. “W-What are you doing?!”

“Do not forget your promise to me, dear Child.” He pulled her flush against him. “You are to be my bride the moment your father is well. And not a minute later.”

“I haven’t forgotten our deal, Demon!” Green Pearl pushed away from him. “We must hurry back quickly!”

A soft bell tinkling sound issued from a row of wind chimes. The Demon laughed, grasping onto Green Pearl and jumping up toward the tightrope. Everyone watching sucked in their breaths as a stream of dark blue fabric followed after them. The Demon dragged Green Pearl behind him as the actors portrayed him using his powers to help them travel quickly. The two actors almost appeared to float across the thick line of rope.

“The Demon used his powers to transport Green Pearl and himself down the mountain. When they reached the foot of the mountain, they instantly moved through the fields. Within minutes, they were back in Green Pearl’s humble village. He safely brought her home and Green Pearl wasted no time preparing the flower into a medicinal tonic for her father.”

Green Pearl appeared next to her mother, holding out a wooden bowl. “This tonic will help Father. Please, we must hurry!”

The Wife started to feed the potion to the ailing Husband. In minutes, he started to rise up from his bed. He held his wife’s hands and she threw herself into his arms.

“Husband! You are well!” she cried as her husband held her close.

He laughed, stroking her back. “Yes, I am well, Pu-in. But tell me, what has helped me come back from the gates of the Underworld?”

“I traveled far to retrieve a flower that is said to cure any illness.” Green Pearl hugged her father’s neck.

“A flower?” He tilted his head to the side. “How did you come to learn of this flower?”

Green Pearl lowered her head. “A Demon told me. He guided me to the Western Mountains and I plucked the flower from the highest peak.”

Both the husband and wife looked at each other, clutching at their chests. The father reached out for his daughter’s hands. “You foolish girl! How could you make an agreement with a demon?!”

“Don’t you know that a deal with a demon only breeds disaster?!” The mother shook Green Pearl’s shoulders. “You have sold your soul to the Underworld!”

Green Pearl pulled herself away from her family. “I’m sorry!” She ran out of the house where the Demon was waiting for her. “We must hurry!”

The Demon grabbed her hand in his. “Let us leave this place!”

“Stop right there, you foul trickster!” The Father appeared, brandishing a wheat sickle. “Release my daughter, this instant!”

The Demon laughed. “The deal has been made, Human! You cannot break the contract!”

The sound of a gong exploded over the courtyard, causing the Demon to gasp. When he looked down, there was a sword plunged through his stomach. As he turned, the assailant stepped forward to push the blade through his gut even further. The Demon reached out with a bloodied hand toward the one who attacked him.

“B-Brother!”

White Fang ripped the sword from the Demon’s body, causing the Demon to fall to his knees. His head hung low and Green Pearl was instantly at the Demon’s side. He finally collapsed to the ground and Green Pearl clung to his shivering form.

“What have you done?!” she screamed as the Demon continued to tremble in her arms. “Why did you strike him?!”

“It was a Demon, Green Pearl!” White Fang dropped the sword from his hand and the satchel from his back. “They only breed misfortune!”

“Y-You fool,” sputtered the Demon, “I would have given her a good life.” A trembling arm lifted as he pointed at White Fang. “Because of your actions, you have now condemned your sister to death.”

“What?!” White Fang dropped to his knees. The husband and wife hurried forward. “What lies do you speak, Demon?”

The Demon turned to look up at Green Pearl. “I will not be able to give you a life you deserve.” He touched the side of her face. “But I will be able to stay with you in the Afterlife. Always.”

“I am sorry for the cruel nature of man! Forgive me!” Green Pearl sobbed, burying her face in the Demon’s shoulder. “I will see you on the other side.”

And then the Demon’s hand fell limply to the ground. Seconds later, Green Pearl collapsed next to him.

Silence filled the courtyard. No one spoke. Hardly anyone took a moment to breathe, Yoon included.

It was broken the minute that the King began to clap. The Queen soon followed until everyone at the Royal Banquet table rose from their seats and applauded. Yoon was still stunned, but he, too, clapped. The actors remained where they were - unmoving. However, the narrator stepped forward and bowed deeply to them. The tragic scene remained, but the story’s message still lingered in the air.

Even a Demon was deserving of love and a person could see beyond the surface to one’s true heart.

But when promises were broken, a terrible fate would await.

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fanficsrusz · 5 years ago

Text

I WANT TO KI__ YOU CHAPTER TEN - DARK! JOHN WICK

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-Con, Non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, Being Restrained, Breeding, everything bad.

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. IF YOU FIND ANY OF THESE WARNINGS TRIGGERING, THEN DO NOT READ. BY CONTINUING TO READ FROM THIS POINT ON, YOU ARE AGREEING THAT YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH ALL OF THE ABOVE WARNINGS. I DO NOT ACCEPT ANY RESPONSIBILITY IF YOU FEEL TRIGGERED BY THE FOLLOWING CONTENT SINCE THERE HAS BEEN PLENTY OF WARNINGS. IF YOU FEEL LIKE ANY OTHER WARNINGS SHOULD BE ADDED THEN PLEASE POLITELY DM ME AND I WILL ADD THEM.

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Summery: After failing to fulfill his contract, John takes a liking to y/n and his liking soon turns into a dark obsession

I want to ki__ you playlist

A/n: It feels like ages since I updated this story but I'm finally back. I wasn't too sure what I wanted to happen in this chapter but hopefully i've done okay.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I look forward to reading all your comments and feedback. If you liked this chapter then please reblog it. That is how writers like myself are able to spread out work to other people, especially because there have been a lot of issues with tags lately. Thank you ❤️

Chapter one

<<< Chapter Nine Chapter Eleven>>>

Love is confusing. It comes and goes instantly. There is no warning, no sign of when it will suddenly strike. It’s unpredictable, untamable and it’s scary. Love never says 'I want'. Love asks 'What do you need?'. Love asks 'How can I help you?'. Love listens with patience and empathy. Love is demonstrated in how someone takes actions to care and make self-sacrifice where necessary. Love says 'Let's thrive together.' Love offers a helping hand, a full heart and an open mind. Love is warmth. Love is safety, the thing that makes you forget about everything else in life. Love is John.

John offered y/n those things. He gave her what she needed, what was best for her. He took away all the bad things in her life, all the things that kept her up at night. She no longer had to think about when her next paycheck would come and worry if she had enough money in order to afford the rent. She didn’t have to worry about every little noise she heard outside or the distant screams that she was sure was a cry for help.

But at what point does love turn into obsession?

John only meant her good. He didn’t mean to scare her, to hurt her and deep down y/n knew that. In some ways, she loved him too.

The longer she stayed with John, the longer her thoughts constantly drifted to him; he was her everything. Insanity stole into her mind like a deranged thief, taking what was important to her, adding new dangerous ideas, seeding a new personality and muddling up the rest.

New sparks of ideas that once she would have dismissed as bizarre started to grow roots, deep roots, they started to make sense in one revolutionary eureka moment after another, cascading out of control, luring her further and further from the self she once knew, until she was so deep that she no longer recognised herself, making new connections in her new distorted reality that she grew to love.

After a while, her mind had formed an inescapable maze, a prison without walls.

Y/n held her hand over her mouth, the other rigidly clutching the white of the shirt she wore, her eyelids shut so tightly that they began to fidget and shudder from the force, as if the very corners of her eyes were being pricked with a needle, crying silent tears that ran past her plump, red cheeks and over her knuckles until finally dripping onto the floor with as much a sound as the woman's hushed agony.

She stood paralyzed in fear, the scent of perturbation invaded the room. Her terrorized feet refused to move and all her hands agreed to do was to stay covering her frightened face. Yet the excited buzz in her stomach continued to grow, the deep burn from inside that John had put there.

She hated that she loved it, that she loved him. He was insane, delusional, a man driven by his own sick desires and she was nothing more than a stepping stone that helped him achieve his goals. But she couldn’t help but fall for him. However, she was scared; there was such joy and so much pain.

Before John, y/n had only ever really loved two men, and they were so very different to each other. John was some holy blend of them both. So, she was happy to have met him, she just wished it was under different circumstances but she had never wanted any form of eternity until now, she never saw the point, until John.

y/n lifted her head and stared into her distorted reflection of the metal cooker topper. It wasn't even shiny, yet she could tell from her reflection that she was a mess. John stood behind her, watching her every move carefully but his eyes still lit up with love and admiration for her. He admired everything about her, from the way the breeze blew her hair to the softness of her voice. To John, she looked like some kind of water sprite even when she thought she looked terrible.

As y/n watched the twisted smile form on John's face, fear curled up inside her and clung to her ribs, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She didn’t doubt the feelings she had for him were there to stay, reminding her of its existence every time she opened her mouth to breathe, but it was getting hard for her to deny.

The panic started like a tightening of the chest, as if her muscles were trying not to let another breath in, but instead to die. Her tiredness made her head hang limp like wet laundry on a cold still day. She felt like every muscle was giving into gravity and she couldn’t control it any more. Then the breathing came, shallow, lungs unable to move much against her suddenly heavy ribs. Her mind became static, thoughts making no sense, repeats of horrors once forgotten.

Beneath her feet the wooden floor felt soft, not as much as even a firm carpet, but not right for oak planks. y/n moved to the turn around, her back sliding against the edge of the counter, her legs brushing against the mildewed cupboard door. It was hard to make out the details of the room through blurred eyes, but after a while she could make out the features of the room. It was the same as it ever was, just abandoned, old, dusty.

Forgetting the floor she tried to move forward forward, "I can’t- I can’t" Her only response was the creaking of a door moving lazily in the breeze. It was all too much for her: John, her emotions, her new life - she couldn’t cope.

y/n staggered backward, her mind swirling, her breaths shallow until she fell in a heap to the floor. On the way down she knocked over a vase but y/n didn’t even notice. All she was aware of was the loud crash that filled her ears and then the warmth around her. John was a blur as he ran towards her, eyes wide and voice muffled through the ringing in her ears.

She felt it break - her sanity, much like the vase that also fell onto the floor beside her. Her last shred of normalcy shattered into a million pieces. The shards laid on the floor glittering in the sun, who knew breaking down could look so beautiful. She knew there was no hope in trying to put them back together, so she wouldn’t even try. she just sat there staring at John as his lips moved but no noise came out.

At first there was only silence, a misty haze upon the horizons of her mind. That's where she normally kept everything, in her mind. That was until now. She could feel the hard painful lump in the back of her throat as the tears continued to fall. Slowly her breathing hallowed itself and a small but intense pain struck the top nerve in her head. Before she knew it there was shouting, they were hers, yet they seemed so distant and she couldn’t even make out what they said.

Her remaining thread of strength frayed before breaking completely, sending her plummeting over the edge and into the darkness. Hysterical sobs shook her small frame, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. She fought to reclaim control over her body, shocked by the sounds escaping from deep within her chest but the calm never came.

“y/n!” John shouted over and over, trapped in a mantra as he tried to get her to answer him but all he got was cries.

John slowly pulled her closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly before he gently squeezed. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. The world around her melted away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. Wrapped in a warm swaddle of his chest and arms, y/n’s tears seemed to die down, as if his hug was a sort of medicine to her pain. She didn't want to leave. It felt as if when she was in his arms all her pain went away - mental and physical, mostly the depressing pain.

John had never seen y/n cry like that, so deflated. Her loose shoulders still shook softly, her hands hanging limp around him, making no attempt to conceal or even wipe away her own tears. Aside from her reddened face she was so grey looking and her hair was dishevelled. John had seen others cry like that, normally when they begged for their lives before he killed them, and in every case it was a transition from a person with hope to one without. It was how they all begged for their lives; It was how John had cried when he lost his child; it was how John cried the day his wife passed. It was a kind of crying that showed the child underneath, that the pain had cut right back through the protective layers acquired in maturity.

“Don’t cry, Princess-” he placed a soft kiss onto her forehead and knelt down onto his knees as he brought her closer to his chest, “-everything will be okay, i’m here”.

Even Though y/n could hardly breath between her sobs, she reached out and hugged John tightly, a hug so warm yet so different from a motherly embrace and y/n felt her mind slowly calm. How could it be that she hadn't seen John’s love for what it was before? Pure. Unselfish. Undemanding. Free. She felt his body press in, soft and warm. This was the love she'd waited for, prayed for. She inwardly thanked God and hugged all the tighter. A love like this was to be cherished for life.

When they finally parted after several minutes, tears stopping and breathing normal, y/n felt his absence as a cold wind, wishing she could keep him wrapped around her like a well worn sweater for always.

John smiled and held her at arm’s length, his eyes softening as he watched the way she brushed her tears away from her reddening cheeks.

“Feel better?” he asked and y/n only nodded, unable to form any words under his gaze.

“Good, let’s get you cleaned up” y/n cocked her head to the side, not sure what he was talking about until she followed his gaze down to her arm.

A deep wound was sliced in the flesh of her lower left arm. It heavily oozed out blood and there was a bluish-purple bruise forming around it. y/n lightly pressed her index finger against the center of the cut and sucked in a sharp breath as the pain spiraled all across her body. She wasn’t even aware of the cut caused by the vase until that very moment. Colorful spots contoured the sides of her eyes and y/n had to bite her lip from the pain of it all, the adrenaline that numbed her pain slowly fading away.

“Ow” she whimpered out and John pulled her finger away.

“Stop that” he whispered and pushed his arms under her armpits, lifting her from the floor. y/n said nothing as John led her to the bathroom again and gently placed her onto the side of the bath. She watched as John shifted through the cupboard, pulling out different bottles of medicines before finally turning back to her.

John gently lifted her arm and turned on the tap, holding it under the running water. The water enveloped her as closely as her own skin. Every new sore stung as John tipped a bottle of TCP up-side-down before he poured some over her cut. y/n winced as the pain swirled without mercy, penetrating to the cells that should have been protected by smooth skin but lie open and raw.

y/n hissed at the pain and John hated to see her like that but it was the only way to avoid infection.

“Sorry” John simply said, eyes not leaving the cut as he softly dabbed it with a cotton bud, wiping away any blood that remained in the cut before examining it for any more glass fragments that may be hiding inside. The simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through her veins, their fluttering wings easing the dread that had settled inside her as she stared at John.

“Why don’t I hate you?” she blurted out and John seemed to tense at her words.

“What?”

“I should hate you. You- you raped me” her voice grew quiet with every passing word and John stopped his movements, turning the running water off before turning his gaze to her - firm and stoic.

“I didn’t - rape you” he said sternly and y/n bit the inside of her cheek as she looked down at her cut again. “Didn’t you want it? Didn’t you want to have sex with me?” he asked after several seconds of silence.

“I - I don’t know. That’s what’s confusing me.”

John exhaled heavily and moved to sit next to her on the side of the bathtub.

“Did I hurt you?” his voice was low, much like a child who had been told off and y/n shook her head.

“No -” y/n turned slightly, facing him and grabbed onto his knee as she drew reassuring circles with her thumb. “-You didn’t hurt me. You never have. I just don’t know what to feel right now. I should hate you but I dont and I know you're mad at me and-”

“You think i’m mad at you?” John interrupted, reaching his hand up to grab onto her hand, stopping her movements. y/n stilled for a moment in his touch until she felt him push her away.

"I can feel the pain that swirls in your brain, y/n, the confusion. All the stories you keep telling yourself as if they hold answers. They don't. People do things because their emotions are driving them that way... all those things that hurt you, princess, had nothing to do with you at all”

y/n lips formed a tight smile as she played with her fingers. She couldn’t explain her thoughts, her feelings, her fears. They stirred together in her head and threatened to boil over at any second and John only made it worse; his eyes showed the kind of gentle concern her grandfather used to have yet his actions said something different.

John laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and instead of flinching like she usually did, y/n was soothed by it. He had spoken with a soft voice that calmed her more by the way it was said rather than the actual words. It felt as if she was wrapped in a blanket of his care. How could she not fall in love with him now that she could see how much he truly loved her?

“I just don’t know what to feel. It’s like I love you but I know it’s wrong. You hurt me, scared me, took me away from my life, yet I don’t want to go back-” she inhaled deeply, “I just don’t understand what I feel. Normally I can talk to someone about my issues and they could give me some advice but I’m pretty sure this isn’t something that most people go through” she chuckled softly, her heart sinking as she felt John shift beside her.

“I never intended to hurt you” he whispered before standing up.

y/n’s eyes followed John as he moved, his normally stoic face having turned into a frown before he disappeared out of the bathroom. Y/n sat there, staring at the empty doorway for a second, preparing herself to follow before John quickly re-appeared.

Her eyes formed half crescents as she stared at the face she had grown to love but her smile dropped and heart sank when her eyes caught the glint of the knife he held in his hands.

“John?” she croaked out, breath catching in her throat as she pushed herself to stand, taking a step back. She didn’t understand. Was he going to hurt her? She had just confessed her emotions to him and now, this?

“I’m sorry” he said softly, his hand lifting almost robotically whilst he stepped forward. y/n closed her eyes, her heart stopping as she waited for everything to be over, to feel the knife sink deep into her skin but it never came.

Instead she felt his presence linger just in front of her before John did the unthinkable - he shoved the knife into y/n’s hand.

y/n opened her eyes slowly, her eyes wearing a puzzled expression as she studied John's sunken eyes that were trained on the floor. She held the knife, twisting it under the artificial bathroom light, her confusion exaggerated by the dark shadows around her eyes as she glanced at the weapon in her hand.

Although rust had already set in on the handle of the knife, the blade was strong and jagged - more than enough to hurt John or even kill him. She had the perfect opportunity to do it, to end everything and go back to her old life.. She could already see him in a pool of darkening blood, it would be so easy.

“I don’t understand - I” y/n started

“I want you to stab me - hurt me, just like I hurt you” his voice was quiet and his eyes never left the floor. y/n glanced upward to look at John as he stepped closer to the blade. Y/n’s mouth pursed but remained slightly open and loose. Her eyes were fixed as if she was staring into a dark abyss and she slowly blinked.

With a shaky hand, she lifted the knife, holding the pointed weapon to John’s stomach. She knew exactly where to stab for it to be fatal - she had learned a lot as a nurse. It was now or never; she had to make a choice. All she had to do was push the knife forward and it would all be over.

TBC

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