#watched the frighteners last night and now i dream of kissing him under the moonlight

[girl-drink-drunk]

i crave jeffrey combs' little guy energy carnally

[gallickingun]

break the glass {in case of emergency} || t.s.

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto needs help, so he hires a nanny. More specifically, he hires you. 

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Shouto x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 21.2k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is the definition of a labor of love. big thanks to @k-atsukidayo, @freckledoriya, and @lady-bakuhoe for keeping me sane. and super shoutout to my love @shoutogepi bc she’s been my hype lady! i hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations because wow has it been a wild ride ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Shouto’s feet are trudging through the proverbial thick of life.

His ankles twist the further he tries to advance, and with every step forward, another tragedy breaks the fragility of the glass box he now lives in. The etching begins at the center, spreading out into cracks like lightning, threatening to shatter what remains of the clear cage.

And yet, Shouto must put on the mask, he must pretend that everything is fine when in fact he really would rather crumble to the floor with his hands in his hair. There are nights when he presses his palms into his temples, wishing and praying that someone out there might be listening so they can help him to will away the painful throbbing between his eyes. He can’t whimper, can’t make a sound, because if he does, if he withdraws the curtain and allows the world to know how inundated he truly is, then it will all be for naught.

“Daddy?”

Shouto blinks harshly to bring himself out of the vortex of his trepid thoughts, “Hey, love, what are you doing awake?”

Her teetering body scrambles into the room, pawing at the bedsheets as a broken sob parts her lips and shakes her chest. Shouto leans down to tuck his hands under her armpits, jolting her upward so she’s pressed into his chest. Her small hands grip onto the skin of his pectorals, thin fingernails scraping at his flesh. Shouto winces, but cradles her around the back regardless, the warmth of her heated cheek on his collarbone alarming.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he asks, soothing one of his hands through her hair while the other rests splayed against her back, dipping gently to try and ease her crying. She doesn’t answer, hiccupping cries making her whole body shake as she clutches onto him.

“Hey,” Shouto presses his lips to the crown of her head before coaxing her head backward. He tucks his thumb underneath her chin, “Talk to me.”

The little girl’s lower lip is wobbling, eyes doe-like and full of tears, thick white eyelashes dense with the little saltine droplets. She palms at Shouto’s face with one hand, seeming ancient when she whispers, “Why did they take mommy from me?”

And just like that, the glass box shatters.

Shouto feels the explosion, but maintains his composure regardless of the impact. Shards lodge into his throat and lungs, painful twinges jutting into his insides. His voice feels jagged when he speaks next, grating against his esophagus and tongue, “Sometimes the world just isn’t fair, love. I wish I had a better answer for you, but there’s not always a perfect explanation.”

Her bejeweled turquoise eyes behold him, thumbs against his mouth as she stares up at him. Glassy irises are blown wide by frightened pupils, “I miss her.”

She collapses back into him like a star shattering in the galaxy, explosive tears dripping down his chest as she tremors. The implosion of her life plays before him in the form of an empty half of the bed, a bare side of the bathroom, and a nightstand still left unembellished despite having been there for almost two years.

“I miss her too,” Shouto murmurs into the child’s silvery hair.

If he sheds a few silent tears of his own, she does not admonish him for it, instead laying quietly until her tears and shaking sobs have exhausted her tiny body. Her lips part and she begins to drool into the pocket of his collarbone, hands twitching against his chest.

A gentle melody vibrates Shouto’s lungs as he rolls himself to the side, carefully displacing her from his body to the empty half of the bed. The toddler grabs for him as soon as the warmth of his body disappears, and Shouto focuses all of his energy into regulating the warmth of his left side. He brushes his thumb over her cheek, pushing her silken hair from her mouth so it does not stick with her drool.

He chuckles, tucking her locks behind her ear, cupping her cheek with his warm palm, “Good night, Hana.”

The only acknowledgement he receives is a gentle snore that flares her nostrils and expands her chest, small body only looking tinier in the large expanse of the king-sized bed. Shouto lies there in wonder, his heated hand keeping in contact with her body until she halts her shivering.

How did I get so lucky? He thinks to himself, the threat of tears pressing intensely against the backs of his eyelids. He can’t close them, though, because he’s afraid he might miss a moment of his daughter’s sorrow.

Shouto leans forward to press a kiss to her furrowed brow, the familiar weight of his lips on her head giving her the comfort she needs to release the tension in her sleep. Her expression mellows, the crinkles in her forehead smoothing until she looks something akin to peaceful, ethereal.

The last thing Shouto sees before his mind succumbs to the lure of unconsciousness is her silvery hair glistening in the moonlight of the bedroom, her tiny palm wrapped around his index finger, clutching on like he were her lifeline.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I can handle this on my own.”

“This isn’t just another assignment. This is your daughter, Shouto.”

His nostrils flare, “Yeah, and?”

Fuyumi rolls her eyes, containing herself by taking a deep breath through the nose. Shouto’s eyes wander as Hana teeters around the kitchen with a few crayons and a plush rabbit.

“There’s no reason to keep yourself from admitting you need help, Shouto,” Fuyumi grits her teeth and attempts to appear somehow cheerful, even if just for Hana’s sake. She flexes her jaw, “This is an insanely large house, brother. You could use the extra hands.”

Shouto narrows his eyes, the scar over his left side appearing even more intimidating when his expression shifts, “You’re not moving in here, ‘Umi. I’ll figure something else out.”

His sister runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head as she turns her attention to the toddler bobbing her head to an invisible jukebox as she colors another page in her book. Fuyumi licks her lips, “Listen, will you at least call her? She’s great with kids, and she’s between jobs right now. It could at least turn into a short-term benefit for the both of you.”

After a moment of aggressive silence, Shouto nods. He decides, internally, that his agreement is purely out of the recognition that it will force his sister to let the topic rest.

“I’ll call her.”

“Thank you,” Fuyumi’s chest deflates, releasing a pent-up breath she had been holding in unexpectedly. She sifts her fingers through Hana’s hair, thumbing at her ear gingerly, “I know you hate that I loom over you like another mother, but I just want to make sure that you’re both taken care of.”

Shouto’s expression softens, eyes turning from jeweled beads to something more pliable. His chest tightens at her admission, the reality of their situation doing nothing to lighten the burden on his shoulders. He takes a step towards his sister, praying she can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks, “I’ll be okay, ‘Umi. I promise.”

Fuyumi allows herself a moment to take in the sight of Shouto’s twenty-one month old child, watching as she scribbles her crayons onto the coloring book in front of her with as much precision as she can muster. A somber smile tugs on her lips and she sighs, closing her eyes as she readjusts her glasses, “I just worry about you, is all. Taking over a large agency is a lot of work, especially with the added pressure of being a good father.”

“I will be a good father,” Shouto is quick to refute her lofty accusations, the intensity of his voice causing Hana to turn her attention from her book to her father. He narrows his eyes at his sister, “I won’t turn out like dad.”

Holding her hands up in mock-surrender, Fuyumi takes a step back, “I know, Shouto. Trust me, I know.” Her eyes are wide and Shouto feels fear grip his spine like a cold shadow, curling up into him and suffocating his throat. He wants to gasp but he cannot show weakness, not now. Fuyumi inhales a short breath, “You’re the furthest thing from our father. Which is why I think you should seriously consider reaching out, getting another pair of hands on deck.”

Shouto considers her, tilting his head. The implications that his ability at caring for his daughter makes his chest constrict, heart aching in a way he’s never felt before. His eyes dart downward, catching on the silver hair of his child as she sits on the floor, grubby hands gripping at crayons while she smears color all over the pages of her book.

“I’ll call her,” he repeats his words from earlier. “I will.”

Fuyumi reaches out to take her brother into a hug, breathing her peaceful nature onto him like a ghost begging to infiltrate his body. Shouto takes a long drag, lips parted when he wraps his arms around his sister’s smaller frame.

As his sister is leaving, Hana’s eyes focus on the door. Todoroki can’t help himself wonder for a moment if she believes that someone else might come walking back across the threshold, if only she were to look at just the perfect moment. The sun shines on Fuyumi’s figure, forcing a silhouette onto the floorboards of the entryway. If he were to squint the right way, it’s possible he could see her outline there, darkness shaped by the light.

Shouto must bite the inside of his cheek to keep his mind still.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Later that evening, when Shouto has his daughter resting in the crook of his arm, an educational children’s program playing on the television for background noise, he pulls his phone from his pocket to sift through text messages and emails. There are dozens of alerts to sort through, but the one thing his fingers keep returning to is the sight of your contact information in a message forwarded to him by his sister.

If you are every as bit as wonderful and kind as Fuyumi says you are, then Shouto is frightened of what you are capable of, based on your resume and photograph alone.

Not only do you have a stunning personality – caring, gentle, organized – but you have a beautiful outward appearance as well. Shouto notices the curve of your lips, the structure of your jaw and cheeks, and the way your eyes lilt upward at the camera.

The one thing Shouto hates the most about himself, the very being engrained within him to emulate, is that he was brought up worrying about these different kinds of things – the anatomy of a potential candidate.

It’s the Todoroki within him, the lurking presence of his father threatening to stifle his breathing, to suffocate him until Enji is the only glowing ember left in his charred, desolate soul. Shouto sits in the dark, the looming reality that he may very well end up exactly like his father forcing him to press the little green button at the bottom of the screen.

You pick up on the second ring, “Hello?”

“H-Hi there,” Shouto’s voice sticks in his throat.

A gentle laugh from the other end of the line makes his heart stop beating within the confines of his chest, “What can I do for you?”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Shouto has never been so worried about the interior design of his house before.

He realizes suddenly that there are no photographs on the walls, no pictures hanging to tell the sad tale of his life story. The recognition of this little detail only further throws him into a darkness he knows he won’t ever be able to fully crawl out of. Every day he must fight this beast, this unseen presence that sits on his shoulders, forcing him to carry the burden. He’s never wanted to tell his life story, not with the way it played out, especially not now.

Abusive father. Hospitalized mother. Deceased wife.

When the doorbell rings, he pulls himself from his stupor to step forward into the foyer. Shouto takes a deep breath and curls his toes into the rug to ground his body as he turns the doorknob. It’s as if the door stands for something much weightier, a distance currently built between you and him, something he can control.

But when the heavy door gives way to the sunshine outside, your body casting an elongated shadow on the hardwood, Shouto’s ankles lock and his fingers still against metal.

“Todoroki Shouto?”

The sound of your voice, completely unadulterated from the natural static of a phone, makes Shouto’s head spin. He nods, swallowing so hard his throat bobs, “Yes, please come in.”

You kick your shoes off as soon as you step across the threshold, tucking them to the side near the other pairs of dress shoes and sneakers accompanied by little ballerina slip-ons and tiny formal shoes. He notices the way your eyes linger on the pink ballerina slippers that aren’t really shoes at all, more like glorified socks, and he has to hold back a chuckle.

Shouto raises his hand in a greeting, kicking the door closed with his ankle as he turns to face you, “Thank you for meeting me.”

“I appreciate you interviewing me,” you answer him, reaching forward to meet his handshake. You’re grinning when he makes eye contact with you, cheeks round with your smile. “I know that your schedule is very hectic.”

Shouto can’t think about it too much or it makes his brain throb within his skull. He grits his teeth, “Yes, my assistant was able to push out a few other unimportant meetings for this. I do apologize, but my daughter is currently with my sister. I thought it may be best for us to meet first and then decide if it will be a good fit before we introduce her into the situation.”

“I can respect that.” You smile, wrapping your arms around your waist as you stand in front of him. The surprising warmth from his hand sits with you, palm tingling even as it’s tucked between your body. A nervous laugh parts your lips as your feet shuffle, “I wouldn’t want to get too attached to her if you didn’t like me.”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes darting to his toes, “Oh, it’s not you I would be afraid of being incompatible. Hana can be very picky.”

Your thumbs dig into your biceps, rolling your lips together as you consider your reply. A soft padding forward of your feet on the dense rug makes little sound, but still breaks Todoroki’s gaze from the floor.

“You’d be surprised,” your left eye dropping in a wink. “I have quite the effect on people. Especially those who stand three feet and shorter.”

He is shocked to find himself grinning at your jesting remark, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he shuffles a step backward from you. You tilt your head, eyes washing over his tall frame, “I’ve been doing this a long time, Mr. Todoroki. Usually children are withdrawn from their caretakers because they fear we’re trying to replace someone more important in their lives.”

You are closer to him now as you stride across the tile. Todoroki feels his chest constrict when you speak, “I’m not here to be anything more than supplemental. You set the boundaries, Mr. Todoroki, and those are what I will abide by without a shadow of a doubt. I’m here to do as much or as little as you need of me.”

It takes him a moment to recuperate, faltering before he replies, “I appreciate that. I-I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t planning on it.”

Shouto notices the way you visibly shrink away from him, understanding the subliminal tones in his words. He holds a hand in the air, palm face-up, “No, that’s not, I just-”

A sigh parts his lips and he looks back down at his feet, but you’re careening forward to save the day before he can dig himself further into a hole he’s already drowning in. You chuckle, “I don’t think many people choose to have children only to set them into the hands of a nanny, Mr. Todoroki. You needed help, that much is clear, and I don’t blame you for reaching out. I think being able to push through your pride and do what is best for your child is not something you should be ashamed of.”

Oh yes, Todoroki thinks to himself with a smirk on his lips, hand outstretched towards you again, He’s going to like you just fine.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

You did not imagine your initial meeting with Todoroki Hana to go like this.

Shouto’s voice is mildly frantic on the other line, which is telling in it of itself. Even upon your first meeting, you knew that he was to be a mild-mannered, easy-going man. He does not seem to be a person who is easily upset by much, so the lilt in his voice is a clear indicator to his mood.

“It’s okay,” you try to remain calm in spite of his fear, praying that your clear head can help him to unwind. “I’m sure she’s fine, Mr. Todoroki. I’m already in the car, on the way to the daycare right now. I’ll go pick her up and call you as soon as I have my eyes on her.”

A breath is exhaled from the other end of the receiver, and you can imagine the way his chest deflates at your words. You smile to yourself, phone pressed to your ear as you drive down the highway, “It will only take me twenty minutes. Until then, try to keep yourself busy, okay?”

The two of you exchange pleasantries before you close your phone, slipping it back underneath your thigh before focusing on the road again. You were thankful that Shouto had already installed a car seat into back row, allowing you to go pick up Hana without having to do too much extra preparation.

Driving to the daycare facility takes eighteen minutes on one stretch of highway. You feel your palms sweat the entire way, recalling Todoroki’s words about Hana’s injuries she sustained on the playground not very long ago. The tremor in his voice sent a jolt down your spine, your bones rattling around in your body as you imagine the dozens of different cuts or gashes she might have on her body.

And then there’s the reality that this will be the first time you ever lay eyes on Todoroki Hana. It will be your reckoning day, the deciding moment of happenstance when she makes the choice of whether or not you are worthy of her acceptance.

You park and walk into the building, your eyes wavering over the entire intricate structure. It’s a formation of pillars and high roofing, accented with filigree of metal curved into beautiful shapes. The price point of this facility does not go over your head, given the marble pillars look genuine, smooth and rounded in all the right places. You run your fingertips over the cool stone as you walk to the thick, mahogany door. The doorknob is sparkling gold, as if someone polished it when they saw you park.

All the details wrapped into a pristine package ease your mind about the salary that Todoroki Shouto is paying you. Originally, you’d wanted to fight him on it, but you acquiesced into silence after taking note of his watch and the name brand of his suit jacket.

Your hand shoves at the front door, weighted and dense, and you step up to the front desk. Resting your forearms on the top of the divider, you smile down at her, “Hi, I’m here to pick up Todoroki Hana.”

It’s clear this woman has never seen you before by the way her eyes gawk over your appearance. You may not be dressed as pristinely as she might like, but you still look rather presentable, given the time restraints you were under to come pick up the young girl.

She tilts her head as if considering you like prey before grabbing up the phone on her desk, muttering a few words into the receiver. As she hangs up, she holds out a clipboard, “We’ll need a copy of your ID. Mr. Todoroki called ahead to let us know you’d be coming, but we’d just like confirmation. For Hana’s safety.”

It all makes sense, and is rather sound policy, but the curl of her lips when she says it forces a vat of acid into your stomach. You swallow your retort that is sitting on your tongue like a knife and gently take the board from her hand.

As you’re filling out the paperwork, the sound of little footsteps starts down the hallway. You tilt your head, pen stilled in your grip, awaiting what feels like your very own doomsday. This little almost two-year-old holds your fate in her tiny, grubby hands.

You stand and replace the clipboard onto the front desk, sliding your ID along with it. Turning your head, you await the arrival of your own two-foot-tall guillotine. You twist your hands together, knuckles wrung out white as you wait for Hana to approach the curve of the hallway and seal your fate. You know you should not be this anxious over a child who has just broken into real sneakers, but the rational part of you never wins out in these kinds of situations.

Todoroki Shouto is paying you something on the upside of expensive, offering you a generous starting bonus in addition to your typical pay so you could start working earlier than expected and still make your rent payments without worry. It would be a shame to lose that thick paycheck just because you could not win over a teetering toddler who probably babbles about princesses and the color purple most of the day.

“Hana, it looks like your-”

“Nanny,” you interject as you hear the voice echoing down the hall, attempting to avoid any confusion if possible. You brush your thighs free of any imaginary dust and crumbs so you can hide the shaking of your joints, “I work for Mr. Todoroki.”

When they finally round the corner, you stop breathing.

The little girl standing in front of you cannot be much over two feet tall, bright blue eyes shining as she drinks you in apprehensively. Her pupils shrink the closer she gets, bejeweled eyes swallowed by the inkiness. Her hands fidget at her sides while she stutter-steps towards you. The long locks of pale, silver hair reach midway down her back, the curled tips giving her an almost doll-like appearance with their perfection. Her full lips are drawn inward, tentative, much like her father.

And there, covering her right eye, a gauze bandage attempting to staunch and protect a wound.

You cannot help the way your eyes widen at the sight of her injured face, your hands ready to snag her up and race her to the nearest emergency room. Todoroki hadn’t told you the extent of her injuries, just that she had an accident on the playground, and someone needed to pick her up immediately.

“Hi Hana,” you squat down so you can appear to her at eye-level, an effort to put her at ease. “Your daddy heard you took a fall outside with your friends and he wanted me to come pick you up. Are you okay?”

She has obviously been crying, cheeks dark red and swollen, her visible eye puffy from tears. Your inner nature is telling you to reach out and comfort her, taking her by the hand and drawing her up into your arms to give her a gentle squeeze. But you know that there is a time and place and threshold for each form of affection, so you withdraw.

“How bad is it?” You turn your gaze upward, calves screaming as you shift your weight. You seek out the eyes of her teacher, trying to gauge your reaction based on her body language, “It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding too much now, and she’s rather calm. Was her eye directly injured?”

���No, it’s just around the orbital,” her teacher runs fingertips through Hana’s hair, “I don’t think she’ll need stitches, but she will definitely need this wound cleaned up by a professional. I know Mr. Todoroki has a nurse he usually calls.”

It’s as if these women are trying to suffocate you with their knowledge of Todoroki, almost like them knowing he has a nurse, or not knowing he’d hired you until today, would win them some sort of award or accolade. You try your best not to let your stomach turn at the sight of them, desperate and petty.

“Hana?”

She tilts her head up at you, another round of tears welling up in her eyelids. You wonder if it is from stress, pain, or a mixture of that and the uncomfortable feeling she can sense from the way you’re interacting with the daycare staff. She sniffles and wipes her face with the back of her forearm, careful of her injured eye, “Y-Yes ma’am?”

So Shouto has taught her manners.

You attempt to keep your composure at the sound of her tinny, trepid voice echoing out the words that are normally rare for even full-grown adults to use. In reaching out your hand, you notice she does not shrink away from you, not this time, “I think we ought to go have that nurse of your dad’s check out your eye, what do you think?”

There is silence for a moment, genuine concern evident in her sparkling irises. She blinks quickly, like she is trying to figure you out before she makes her decision in response to your question. You don’t want to clue her in to the fact that, at the end of the day, it’s not really her choice to make – that plight between staying here and going somewhere else has been completely left up to you.

“You know,” you’re whispering now, dramatically hiding your mouth behind the palm of your hand, pretending that that others standing around can’t hear you. “I think that I saw this cool ice cream shop on the way here. You think you could help me try a new flavor?”

This makes her eyes widen, pushing herself up on her tiptoes as she fails to contain her excitement at the suggestion of a sugary treat, “Wh-What flavor?”

You grin, warmth seeping into your chest as a giggle bubbles up in her throat, “I was thinking bubblegum, or maybe cotton candy?”

Hana’s nose scrunches at the suggestion, “No way!”

“Well,” you stand to your full height, hands on your hips as you pout, “what would you rather have then?”

She is full-on smiling now, cheeks drawn upward so her dimples can dip into her cheeks on either side, “I like mint w-with choco-chips in it!”

You hold your hand out again, praying that now, after divulging your favorite ice cream flavors, she won’t totally reject you. The last thing you want is for her to force your hand in making a decision to pick her up and take her out of the daycare.

Hana pushes herself up and down on her toes, biting her lip before bursting with a smile, “Y-You really mean it?! Ice cream?”

“I don’t see why not,” you shrug, wriggling your fingers as the other women watch on in amazement as your connection to the child. “I think you deserve it after that nasty fall you took.”

Bouncing towards you, Hana bobs into the air by pushing upward on the balls of her feet. She reaches out and snags your hand into her grip of her own accord, before beginning to tug you to the exit. She is babbling on about all of the ice cream flavors she’s tried, and what they taste like, and the last time she had ice cream was oh so long ago…

“See you later, ladies,” you wave over your shoulder, unable to hide the satisfied smirk making your mouth crooked, “I guess we’re going to get ice cream.”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

Hana knows how to buckle herself in, so she’s already clambering up into your car as soon as you have the door open. Her injury is completely forgotten as she bustles up into the seat, climbing in awkwardly before turning around to plop her backside into the curve of the cushions. Her fingers are frantic as she desperately tries to get the straps clicked together so you can be on your way to the nearest ice cream shop. You smile at her struggle, allowing her to settle with a pout before offering her your help.

“I-I can do it!” she insists, eyes misted. “I-I’m a big girl!”

“Oh, no doubt,” you shake your head in reassurance, pursing your lips as you hold your hands up in midair, palms facing her. “I’m just trying to help so we can get to our ice cream just a tad faster.”

Your reasoning seems to be sound, because Hana releases the offending buckle and puts her hands on either side of her car seat to give you enough room to maneuver and snap the contraption in place. Your hands make swift work of the buckles and straps, tightening them to the perfect spot on her chest and hips. She smiles up at you when you’re finished, expectant and excited.

It is strange, the intense desire to protect her that immediately washes over you at first sight. You have to stop yourself from rushing into allowing her between the cracks of your heart. You are frantic to seal them so you can let yourself down easy if this job ends up being as short-term as you’re worried of it becoming.

You pull away from her, face blank, and shut the door as Hana begins to fiddle with the remaining length of the straps around her body. Her fingers swirl around the black fabric and plastic, tugging and pulling, but not hard enough to adjust any of your hard work.

On your way to the parlor, you decide to call Shouto.

“Daddy!”

A relieved sigh sounds from the other end of the receiver, and you can’t help the warmth that blooms in your belly when you grin. Shouto coughs thickly, clearing his throat, “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay!” Hana twirls her fingers in midair, watching around like Todoroki may appear out of thin air like his voice echoing in the car. “We’re going to get ice cream!”

“Ice cream?” his voice sounds slightly judgmental, but you try to push it off and pretend it means nothing. You spare a glance over your shoulder, “Tell him what flavor you’re getting, Hana.”

You pull into the drive through window of the ice cream shop, listening as Hana babbles on about the different flavors you two talked about and whether she’ll get a cone or a cup. You put the car in park as the person in front of you orders, swiveling your hips so you can look her in the eye, “I was actually thinking about a milkshake. How does that sound?”

“Ooh,” her eyes grow wider, chubby little hands curling into fists in her lap. She’s practically buzzing at just the thought of it all, “That sounds like fun!”

You chuckle, hand on the gearshift, “Oh, I meant to ask, have you already scheduled the nurse to be at the house? I wasn’t sure if you’d rather it be someone personal to look after her, or if you’d want me to take her to a general hospital.”

“I’ll call Masuyo and have her meet you at the house.” Todoroki’s voice is muffled as he turns to speak with someone else in his office, hand over the receiver. You hear him cough, voice tense, “S-She’s okay, though. Right?”

“I think she’s a strong girl,” you make your voice confident, straightening your spine, “she’ll be fine once we get her cleaned up. Right, Hana?”

You spare one final look at the little girl in the backseat, all bright eyes and buzzing fingertips. She’s already shuddering off of pure energy, and you wonder if sugar was really the best route to go down for her comfort. Either way, she nods her head, enthusiastic about what’s to come next.

“Yes!” She leans forward in her seat, getting closer to his voice, “I can’t wait until you get home, daddy. We’ll play prince and princess, right?”

You can sense the hesitation on Todoroki’s end and your heart turns to granite in your chest. When he speaks, you feel the weight of it settle in your belly, throat tightening.

“I’m not sure, love. I’ll have to see. It’s very busy this afternoon.”

Hana allows her expression to fall for a mere moment. You honestly would not have caught the change in her demeanor if it weren’t for you studying her as Shouto uttered the words. Every bit of enthusiasm that was previously holding her cheeks high is drained. Her face pales and her lips turn downward in a frown, eyes dropped to her hands as she fiddles with her knuckles in her lap.

And yet, almost as soon as she falters, her smile returns, albeit not enough to light up her eyes as it did before. It’s like she is reconstructing a mask that she feels pressured to wear in order to keep her father satiated and undisturbed.

“Oh, that’s okay, daddy,” Hana’s voice is as cheerful as her little strong will can force it to be. She attempts to be dismissive as she waves her hands, despite Shouto unable to see her, “I played princess at school anyway.”

Your heart continues to crack as she says her final line, “I love you, Daddy.”

Shouto exhales, voice breathy when he repeats the sentiment, “I love you more.”

“I love you most.” Hana’s tone lilts then, a crack in her metaphorical armor at his affections despite his absence. She swipes at her face and you wonder if she was crying, because you certainly didn’t see any tears.

Your throat grows thick with emotion, making it difficult for you to tell him goodbye. You roll down your window and rattle off your order, trying to keep a close watch out of the corner of your eye to monitor Hana’s mood and expressions as the moments progress. You feel horrible for intruding on their very personal, private moment, and it only makes your heart wrench more when you see Hana’s glazed eyes unable to focus on one thing in particular. She’s docile, void of emotion as she stares out of the window, watching clouds pass as the world grows darker with the threat of a sunset on the horizon.

You settle the milkshakes into the front seat, finishing up at the drive through window before rolling forward into a vacant parking space. With your foot still on the break, you reach back to hand Hana the small milkshake cup with the straw already pushed through the opening on the lid, “There you go.”

She takes it from you gingerly, small palms wrapping around as much of the cup circumference as she possibly can. Her lips are pouted just enough that you wonder if she’ll take a sip at all. You busy yourself, pretending to clean up trash in the front seat and maneuver things around on the floorboards, waiting on her first drag from the ice cream cup.

But it never comes.

After five minutes of waiting, you press your hand to the passenger’s side headrest and look her in the eye – as much of her pupils that you can catch in spite of her hooded lids. Hana is still dazed, looking into her milkshake cup as if it might have the answers to all of her life’s confusing questions.

“Hana?” Your voice calls her from whatever lull she was in, eyes blinking slow as she connects back to this version of reality. A vague, “Yes?” is uttered from her lips, but she isn’t focused, not just yet. You brush your hand against the top of her knee, quick and gentle, and it does the trick. She blinks one final time before her pupils dilate back to their usual size, gaze settled clearly on your face.

“Did something upset you?” you ask, your hand wrung around the headrest again. “Or do you just not want your milkshake?”

“I dunno,” Hana admits quickly, eyes downturned once she realizes she’s let the emotion slip from her voice. It makes the edges of her words raw and ragged, “I guess I just don’ wan’ it anymore.”

You are persistent; your job is to make her happy and keep her safe, and right now with a milkshake melting in her lap, part of you feels like you’re failing.

“Was it what your dad said?” Your question is asked in a low tone, something you’re trying to use to convey that you are being patient and kind. You take a chance and rest your palm against the car seat armrest, close enough to make contact but not adjacent enough to infringe upon her personal space. You swallow thickly, taking a short breath, “About not being home to play?”

Hana is pinching the straw between her fingers, looking into the little opening as it closes with the squeeze of her fingers. You wonder if she does this often, with tangible objects. Does she ache to control something so much so that she becomes lost in the euphoria of it all?

She sighs, kicking her feet, “Daddy is just always working. It makes me sad sometimes.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, not really. If you had known her for longer, or met Todoroki some other way, you could likely refute her statement. However, there’s truth in what she’s saying, a vulnerability that you weren’t sure you would see from the child so soon.

When she speaks next, Hana reminds you of a full-grown woman, attempting to redirect the conversation from something personal to something vague, “What’id you get?”

Her voice sounds like an echo of her true self, nothing like the way her tone lilted when she first spoke with her father. There is a seemingly eerie mask she has perfected, something both audible and emotional. And it would appear she knows just how to slip it on and off when the time is right, despite her young age.

Then and there you choose to burden yourself with the purpose of breaking her out of her glass box of entrapment.

“I got cookie dough,” you say as you take an over-dramatic sip, crossing your eyes at the sensation of cool ice cream flowing down your throat, “What did you get?”

Her face scrunches inward, nose wrinkling at the bridge, “Y-You know what I got, don’ you? You ordered it for me!”

You make an exaggerated face of confusion, tilting your head backward and tapping your fingertip against your chin. “Hmm,” you nod, agreeing with her accusation, “I guess you’re right, huh?”

“You’re silly,” Hana giggles before going in for her first sip of her milkshake. Her eyes are narrowed downward at the cup, hands cradling it carefully as if it were the most important thing in the world and she might be in danger of spilling it at any moment. Her eyes are wide, doe-like in nature, as she comes up for air, “This is good!”

“Great,” you answer her, switching the gearshift back into drive so you can pull out of the parking lot and out onto the highway to head back to their house.

The remainder of the drive back to the Todoroki residence is spent in moderate silence, gentle music playing on the radio as Hana preoccupies herself with licking every last drop of her milkshake from the straw. She sucks the mint chocolate chip ice cream from her thumb and looks up at you when you park the car in the driveway, “We’re home?”

You unbuckle yourself from your seat and answer her, hopping down from the car to open her door. She’s already working at her buckles, undone the top half, but still struggling with the bottom. By the time you’ve gotten her undone from the chair, she trusts you enough to reach out her arms and ask for you to help her down to the ground so she does not have to clamber down and risk falling onto the concrete.

When the soles of her shoes hit the concrete, she’s reaching up for you, grabbing you around your fingertips to hold on as she walks. You squeeze her hand gently, fishing the keys out with one hand to unlock the door.

The nurse is already inside, set up on the couch. Hana runs straight to her, plopping herself unceremoniously down on the furniture, hand hovering over the patch as she talks with Masuyo about her ice cream experience from just moments ago.

You busy yourself with dinner, prepping meat and vegetables, as Masuyo starts to clean and treat Hana’s wound. It’s another thirty minutes before you start to sear meat on the stovetop when you hear the garage door rattle open unexpectedly. Todoroki shouldn’t be home until later this evening, he texted you after you’d been in line for ice cream to tell you as such.

And yet, when the door opens to reveal his familiar frame, you can’t help the way your jaw unhinges.

“You’re home early,” you mention, flipping the steak pieces in the pan to sear the other side. “Everything okay?”

Todoroki is stunned by how grossly domestic the sight of you in his kitchen is and he’s jarred back into his prior lifetime where he had the full family package. He blinks and takes a short breath, forcing himself away from the swirling blackhole of the past to smile at you, “Yes, well. I decided that my daughter’s health was more important than some paperwork. I had a few of the first-years handle it.”

That is how it starts. Your first day as the new nanny of the Todoroki household.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Are you sure you got the right color plates?”

“Yes.”

“And what about the cake?”

“Ordered it three weeks ago.”

“How about the-”

“Shouto.”

He turns to look you in the eyes, breath frantic, “What?”

You can’t help but laugh at the wide-eyed expression he wears, all of his emotions blatantly displayed on his face. You take a step toward him, reaching out to cup his elbow, “I’ve got it all handled, okay? Her birthday party isn’t for another week, Shouto. Are you ready for the zoo?”

Todoroki hesitates, gritting his teeth together so harshly that you can see the muscles in his jaw quiver. He turns his palm to press flat against your forearm, heterochromatic gaze seeking you out for some sort of comfort, “Did you need me to pack the bag?”

“No,” you chuckle, forcing yourself to remove your body from his grasp by walking back to the sink to finish up the load of dirty dishes you wanted to get into the wash before you left. You tilt your head to look across the bar at him, “We’re leaving in half an hour.”

Hana comes careening down the hallway, a doll in either hand, her pajamas still crooked on her body. She giggles, bouncing on the balls of her feet before launching herself forward to latch around Todoroki’s calf like an animal, “Daddy!”

Shouto bends at the waist to pluck her up, hands careful under her armpits when he tucks her into his side, “Yes, love, I’m going to the zoo. But it looks like you need a change of clothes.”

“I already laid some out on her dresser,” you pipe up from behind the sink, “but you’ll need to spray her down with sunscreen first, it’s not very cloudy outside today.”

As Shouto turns to walk Hana back to her room, you allow your gaze to linger a moment longer than the ordinary. Ever since you first took this job, you could note Todoroki’s beautifully carved body and stellar facial features. He is built perfectly for the type of Pro Hero that he is – thick muscles wrapped around dense bones, and yet still a relatively lean frame to hold it all into place. Shouto’s face is cut sharp at the jawline, cheekbones stark against his skin. You are sure to admire him whenever you can.

When you hear him and his daughter talking, sharing words and laughs, it only adds to the flame that burns in your belly at the thought of Todoroki Shouto.

There is no doubt in your mind that it is improper to feel the way you do about a client. They should be nothing more than a paycheck and a steppingstone, and yet somehow you have found a way to allow Shouto to wind his pristine claws into you. He’s got you by the heart and it has only been a few months.

You force your hands to work at the dishes, cleaning what remains so you can start the dishwasher. After you’re done, you make your way upstairs towards Hana’s room, where you hear various grunting noises.

A laugh threatens to part your lips and give away your spying secret when you notice Shouto frantically trying to pull the shirt you picked out over the top of Hana’s head. Her arms are stuck in the wrong spots and you can already tell that it’s somehow inside out, but none of that pushes you to step forward and take over.

It’s only when Hana spots you spying in the doorway that you’re coerced into treading into her bedroom. She pouts and Todoroki doesn’t look much happier. He chuckles, “I swear I’m better at this than I look.”

“Oh, I know you’re helpless,” you smirk across at him, squatting in front of Hana to help untangle her from the clothes and put her back in right side up. Her little hands grab for your face, squeezing your cheeks as she surges forward to kiss your nose, “Daddy is helpless, isn’t he?”

You are too busy fussing over Hana’s hair to notice the way that Todoroki drinks you in like he has been parched for years. He cannot stop himself from memorizing the color of your irises, the slope of your nose, the bow of your lips.

The reality that he could even be attracted to you is lost on him – he swore after his wife died that he would never find another woman to replace her. You have only been here a few short weeks and he’s already begun to question his earlier statement.

It’s just the way she is with Hana, he tries to convince himself. I am kidding myself into believing she’s here for us, not just because it’s a job.

And yet, when his gaze connects to yours, Hana babbling about lions and tigers as you slather her down with sunscreen, Todoroki swears that he feels something different.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The day of Hana’s party comes quicker than expected.

You’re frantically spinning around, making sure there is enough food and drink for everyone in addition to trying to keep an eye on the children as they play around on the various structures setup outside.

A group of moms gather at the bar, one of them urging the others to look at you with a sinister lilt in their gaze. You continue to serve everyone at the party, filling drinks, bringing new plates of food, and yet their eyes never waver from you.

When you are cleaning up some stray garbage in the kitchen, the blonde woman near the end of the bar perks up, “Excuse me, nanny, would you mind filling my glass?”

It is like the floodgates have opened, and now they are all asking you for favors. You swallow your pride and do as they say whether that’s food or drink or a new napkin or even cleaning up their garbage. They are all gossiping behind their hands, palms raised to their mouths as if that will do anything to staunch the flow of the conversation, or even make it more difficult for you to hear the way they speak of you.

Your pride takes each hit in stride, attempting to roll the insults off your shoulders while you tend to them kindly. It takes Shouto stepping into the kitchen for your face to falter.

You gaze across the room at him and your strong façade falls away, hands shaking by your sides as you look at the floor in shame. You swallow your self-importance and build your walls back to their full height before looking up at him once more.

Todoroki is fuming, to put it nicely.

His hands are curled into fists, knuckles white and cheeks hot at the sight of your unease. He takes a few strides forward, features softening as he reaches out to press his fingertips into the small of your back.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs into the shell of your ear. His breath is warm, spilling down your spine like molten lava, pooling the heat in your belly and turning your insides to mush. The expanse of his palm splays against your back, the plane of his chest flush with your arm when he stands too close.

You take a short breath, unable to get enough oxygen with him crowding your space like this. It is like he’s thinning the air within a few feet of his body, making it difficult to breathe.

“I’m fine,” your voice is high and thick, nostrils flaring when you make eye contact with one of the women at the bar. She is smirking proudly, head tilted so she can look down her nose at you. You swallow the shards of emotion sticking in your throat and look up at Todoroki, confused at the fury held in his irises, darkening them both so they look almost the same color as his pupils.

He turns and you watch in slow motion as his jaw hinges open, anxiety gripping your throat tightly. Your body moves before your mind can catch up; you shift your feet, so your hips are in front of him, hands palming against his pectorals to bring his attention down to you.

You tug on the fabric of his shirt, breathlessly calling to him, “Shouto.”

Todoroki turns his eyes downward, jawline quivering just enough for you to see at this close of an angle. He is intoxicating, the combination of his cologne and his body heat sending your mind spinning. You lick your lips and his eyes track the motion, turning butterflies over in your belly, their gentle wings brushing the insides of your body delicately, enough to tickle.

“Shouto,” you mumble his name again. “S’okay, alright?”

The sound of barstools scraping the floor signifies the judgmental women taking their leave, and your chest deflates at the change in atmosphere. Your hands go slack against Shouto’s chest, head falling forward to rest against his collarbone.

When his hands brush your hips, you snap your eyes upward, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle to meet his gaze. Shouto grinds his teeth together before speaking, “I’m sorry they were bossing you around. You’re not here to take care of them.”

“It’s okay, really,” you pat your hand on his chest as if solidifying your statement, smiling enough to sell it.  

His thumb grazes the hem of your shirt, fingertip slipping beneath the fabric to brush against your skin. Your breath hitches and every instinct within you tells you to push yourself up on your toes and grab his shirt in your tight fists, but when you’re eye-to-eye with him, you wish you wouldn’t have listened.

You can feel his stuttering breath on the bow of your lip, and it makes your shoulders quiver. Your name is whispered between his teeth and suddenly he is too close, so close that you’re intoxicated, and every inhibition of yours has been forgotten like dust in the wind.

“Daddy!”

The sound of her voice breaks you apart, stumbling like teenagers caught underneath the bleachers. Todoroki turns to Hana, tending to her face with a napkin and listening to her sugar-driven babbling. You take the moment to slip past them and back to the outdoor area where everyone is gathered.

For the remainder of the night, you feel Todoroki’s eyes on you, following your movements as you maneuver throughout the guests, offering them refills and to take their garbage. He cannot help but feel the heat incinerating his body from all sides, not just his left. The sensation is strange, the ice on his right side usually taking over any and all feeling he might have.

It feels foreign, but not unpleasant. Todoroki’s neck prickles at the impending awareness that he might be in for a crude awakening soon.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

The next few months are a breeze.

Until they are not.

Todoroki has begun to spend more time at work and less at home with each passing day. The threat of his job creeping over him like a looming dark shadow, slowly engulfing him inch by inch until he is surrounded entirely. He spends his days fighting crime, and nights doing paperwork.

You are slowly starting to spend more and more time at the Todoroki house – you are now expected to arrive around five in the morning, and sometimes you do not leave until nine in the evening. It is exhausting, given your drive back to your apartment is a half-hour on a good day with little traffic.

Somehow, you have been able to keep Hana satiated, even without her father around. There are fleeting moments where her cheery expression falters and she sheds a few tears, but you are there to wrap her up in your arms and let her cry until she has nothing left. And then, after she’s dried her face on your shirt, she looks up at you with those beautiful blue eyes and begs you to play princess.

One night, when you are half asleep on the couch with Hana curled into your arms, you feel a palm press to your shoulder, “I’m home.”

You blink blearily, a short jolt of breath stinging your lungs. You swallow and look to the right of you where Todoroki is squatted beside you. He is smiling; you can tell, even in the darkness.

“Hey,” you whisper, careful to cradle Hana’s head as you sit up. “Sorry, it’s been an eventful day.”

Shouto shakes his head and helps you to your feet, palms finding any juncture of you that he can use to support your body. His hand is against your elbow when he speaks next, “No, I’m sorry. I should have been home hours ago. I know you were making dinner.”

“I make dinner every night,” a laugh parts your lips and you run your fingers through Hana’s hair to try and keep her asleep despite the noise. “So, it’s nothing new, Todoroki. Let me go put her down and I’ll head out.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but his jaw snaps shut before he can let out whatever secret he is harboring. You disregard it, walking upstairs to tuck Hana in for bed. She stirs but does not wake entirely and you are thankful. The day has already been tumultuous enough without having to sing her back to sleep or stay up any longer.

As you are walking down the steps, you’re surprised to find Shouto pacing in the hallway, his thumb pinching his chin and his brow furrowed harshly. He looks rather intensely conflicted, and there is a moment where you’re worried, he may decide to fire you. Could you have done something wrong with Hana? Did she not like you? Was he upset that you let her have chocolate before noon the other day?

“Shouto?” you call, padding forward, toes sifting through the carpet. “Is everything okay?”

Another yawn splits your lips and you cover it with your palm, apologizing through your teeth. He shakes his head and steps toward you with a palm outstretched, “Yes, everything is fine. I just have something I’d like to ask you.”

You tilt your head and it reminds him of a curious animal, sniffing him out for food in the form of information. Your hand rests on his bicep and it is dizzying to be this close to you, even after several months of working alongside you. His head still spins when you are too close.

“I was wondering if you might consider moving in.”

You blink dumbly, mouth parted so he can see the pad of your tongue and the tips of your canine teeth. Your fingertips graze against his arm and you feel like lightning is sparking at the cusp of your touch.

The reality is this is not far from normal – most full-time nannies do end up living with their families. It makes everything easier and cheaper. If you live there, he does not have to pay you for drive time, and your boarding costs can be directly deducted from your standard paycheck. This option is what makes the most sense, but you are not focused on sense right now.

All you can see is his bare torso.

You are imagining accidentally walking in on him after he’s taken a shower, or him stumbling in after his morning runs with his tiny running shorts and shirtless upper half. Your tongue goes dry at the thought of it all, but you force yourself to push words past your lips, so you won’t look like a dead fish.

“That’s a pretty permanent decision, Shouto.” Your words hold weight and he knows it, he’s thought this through a dozen different ways to Sunday. You swallow and when your hands brush over his skin, he swears sparks light beneath your fingertips; it makes his arm numb. “I don’t mind, but I just want to make sure that you’ve really thought this through.”

He nods, stepping closer so he’s almost flush with you now, “I feel awful having you drive so early and so late. Your hours would not change, your responsibilities wouldn’t change. You would have your own room and privacy, and I don’t expect to lessen your pay just because you live here. It’s just-”

“Shouto,” you’re laughing now, shaking your head as you look down at your toes, “I don’t expect everything to stay the same if I move in. I’m prepared, are you?”

Truly, he’s thought about that question far too much in the passing days when he sees you around the house or speaks with you on the phone during the day. The idea that you will be here every hour of every day is suffocating, but in a way that makes him want to drown. As time moves faster, Shouto realizes that you have become a second nature in his house. He is thinking of you during his office meetings and the late nights on patrol.

He cannot be honest with the true reason he is asking you to move in, because then he would have to face his emotions and he’s not ready for that yet. And yet, his body betrays his mind as he reaches forward to brush his thumb over your cheek, “I think I can handle it.”

Emotion swells like a blooming heat between the two of you, your bodies almost entirely pressed up against one another as your voices grow softer. You are not sure if it’s the sleep-muddled brain you’re working off of, but you swear that you see his eyes drop to your lips. There is some part of you that wants to fall into him, to let him take you and burn you and leave you for dead, but the rest of you is working off of sense and logic and you know that would never work.

“Well,” your voice shatters the fragile moment, “I guess I better get home and start packing.”

Shouto releases you and something shifts in his irises, but it is gone as soon as it appears, and you don’t have enough time to discern the emotion. You pluck up your bag and slip on your shoes, turning to wave at him over your shoulder as you step past the threshold and back to the garage.

As you start your car, you rest your forehead on the steering wheel before you pull out, and murmur to yourself in utter chagrin, “What have I just agreed to?”

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“I’m telling you - Red Riot is going to give you a run for your money.”

“That blockhead?” Shouto chuckles, swirling his glass, “I doubt it.”

You tilt your head, “And what about Ground Zero? He’s got his own agency now, doesn’t he?”

Shouto rolls his eyes, “God, can we please leave Bakugou out of this conversation?”

Another swig of the rum and coke slides down your throat, burning in the best way. Your head feels hazy, but you don’t mind, taking advantage of Hana’s early bedtime for the first time in a few weeks. You push your mostly empty glass towards him, “Bartender?”

Todoroki smiles, tipping the bottle downward to refill your glass. You grab the soda off the countertop and fill it to the brim, swirling the mixture with your straw. Another gulp of the liquid has you asking, “You and the other big players all went to Yuuei together, right? Ground Zero, Deku, Red Riot?”

Shouto nods, “Yes, we did.”

“Wow, to have gone to Yuuei,” you whisper in wonder, eyes heavy as you look down into the dark liquid fizzing in your glass.

He leans forward on the counter, body close to you as he asks his obvious question, “You don’t have a quirk, do you?”

“No,” your answer is quick, curt. You swallow thickly, shards of shame sticking in your throat. “I was born without one. You’ve seen my shoes.”

You are referring to the wider shoes that those with no quirk have to wear thanks to the extra joint in their pinkie toes. You lift your foot up in the air for good measure, painted toenails catching the light just right as you wriggle your toes around dramatically. You sigh, “I didn’t fully know who you were when I took this job. It’s kind of embarrassing that I don’t have a quirk, and you’re some superhero saving people with ice and fire.”

Shouto holds out his left palm, face up, and ignites a small flame, “I hated this side of my body for so long. It comes with a burden I’m glad you do not have to bear.”

The weight in his voice entices your eyes upward, connecting with his gaze as the heat blossoms, sucking the oxygen out of the air. Shouto curls his fingers inward and cuts the flame short, a gentle wisp of smoke floating from his palm.

“What does it feel like?” you find yourself asking, the alcohol creating a dull buzz behind your eyes that latches onto all of your inhibitions and immediately tosses them away.

His breath hitches audibly, pupils dilating as he attempts to focus on something other than the way your lips bow when you speak. Shouto steps forward, hands gentle as he cups your cheeks, a bravery he did not know he could muster bolstering his movements. His fingertips tickle your skin and it’s difficult for you to keep your eyes open when he is holding you so tenderly.

Shouto closes his eyes in concentration, taking a deep breath before narrowing his concentration onto the pores of his hands. His palms are flush with your skin and you let your mind wander while he is working up his quirk.

How would his touch compare to different parts of your body?

Your eyes slip shut at the thought, biting your lip as your mind runs rampant. The heat curling in your belly reminds you of his quirk – burning and licking at your belly like a raging flame. You only wish you had his right side to cool you down from the inside out.

Slowly but surely, you feel the right side of your face grow warm while the left side has started to chill. Your eyes go wide, and you circle your fingers around his wrists, voice breathy when you speak, “Wow, Shouto, that’s amazing!”

Your voice goes quiet and it is like the world stops spinning when he opens his eyelids to look down at you. You feel frozen in your spot, but you know it isn’t his quirk affecting you. Your grip tightens but he doesn’t seem to notice, his eyesight directed to your lips, zeroed in on the way that you gnaw at them when you’re nervous.

The tension is like a rubber band begging to snap. You feel the coil twirl around your spine, bunching you together and screaming at you to run away. There are a thousand different reasons why getting too close is dangerous, but your wanton body cannot be bothered to list them. Instead you are pushing yourself up in your seat, so your back is arched toward him, chest brushing his pectorals.

Shouto reminds you of something innocent when his mouth parts and irises glimmer beneath half-hooded lids. You feel distinctly profligate for envisaging his mouth on other parts of your body, the pink of his tongue peeking from behind pearly teeth doing little to quell your thoughts. You swallow thickly and shudder as his hand that produces cold shifts into your hair, rustling through the tresses at the nape of your neck.

Your hands are suddenly wrapped up in the fabric of his shirt, fisting the soft material, and you are pulling him towards you. Even so, it is Shouto who tilts your head upward, heels of his palms gently angling you by the cheeks.

The two of you take a breath before devouring one another whole.

His mouth tastes like whiskey, sharp and biting, but his tongue is in stark contrast to the flavor. He is gentle while still taking over your every sense. His tongue maps out the curves of your teeth and the pad of your tongue while his chilled palm keeps your skin from searing with blush.

The tenderness with which he holds onto you makes your heart rattle around within the cage you have built just for him. You knew this entire time that if he were to wriggle his way in, to touch your heart in just the right spot, you would crumble beneath his ministrations. This entire time you’ve been beholden to him, despite the utter denial you’ve been bathing in to hide the confession.

“Todoroki, I-”

Your voice is cut off by a blazing hand drifting beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers dipping against your spine, “I hate it when you call me that.”

Your eyes go wide but he’s enraptured you with another kiss square on the lips. Your words fall into the confines of his throat, never to be heard again as he swallows them into silence.

Hands are everywhere, so much so that you can’t tell where you begin and he ends.

Shouto nips your lip and you gasp, your hips canting forward of their own accord. Your mouth is gaping, begging for air, and he gives in to your silent request, drifting his lips downward to your jawline. He mutters a string of curse words as your hands finally make their way to his hair and shoulders, digging into him like he might float away.

He hums against your collarbone, teeth bared as he licks and nips at your skin. The alcohol in your bloodstream mixed with his essence in your veins only spins your mind into overdrive, dizzying you to the point that your eyes cross. You whine as he bites kisses into your skin, fingernails dug sharply into the skin of his back through his shirt. There will most likely be little crescent moon imprints when you release.

The trail of his kisses loops back up the column of your throat, teeth grazing your jaw as he works his way to your mouth again. You whine into his lips when his frozen fingers stroke your bare skin beneath your top, “Shouto, please-”

Todoroki’s confidence grows when he hears you moan his name into the air, begging him with only a few syllables. He disconnects his mouth from yours to look you in the eyes, “God, you’re so damn pretty, y’know?”

Your mouth hangs open and Todoroki must hold himself back from slipping his thumb between your parted, full lips. A shuddering breath passes between the two of you, time frozen as the moment sits still. It allows the both of you to agonize over one another, taking in each and every wanton feature as you beg quietly.

“So pretty,” he whispers before digging his hands into your backside and tugging you forward so you wrap yourself around him. His mouth is on you in a flash, all teeth and tongue pulling and prodding at you in a divine way you’re sure only he has mastered.

You are enraptured by him, fully captivated with his dual-ended quirk sending your body into a haze. Your mind is bewildered, thrown into a twirl of rum and Todoroki. If he were to give you a moment to catch your breath, you might be able to find it within your resolve to push him off you, to tell him how wrong this is. And yet, with his tongue tangled in your teeth, you can’t force the word no out of your throat.

Instead it is just his name.

Todoroki picks you up to deposit you on the countertop, thumbs digging into your hips to help you settle. His fingers make quick work of your top, slipping beneath them hem to graze over the swell of your breast on the underside. You whimper at the ghost of his touch, trying to angle your arms so you can tug at the band of his sweats.

When he realizes what you are fumbling with, he uses the bottoms of his feet to tug his pants down to his ankles. He steps out of them, but you can’t focus on anything other than the prominent bulge strained against his dark briefs. You have to swallow the drool accumulating in the center of your mouth, threatening to pool over the corners of your lips if you were to speak.

Before he tugs your shirt over your head, he looks into your eyes, sincerity cutting through the lust clouding his irises, “Last chance.”

He is giving you an out. One last clear path to purity.

You hesitate for a moment and his hands curl tighter around the hem of your top, restraining himself from ripping it away like an animal. His jaw is quivering as he waits on your response, nostrils flaring when you do not answer right away.

Whether it is the alcohol or the need talking, you are the conduit for the words spoken next, “Fuck me, Shouto. Now.”

Your shirt is yanked over your head unceremoniously, but you don’t care. Your eyes are wandering, begging for him to be nearly as naked as you. You don’t have to ask, because he’s already stepping away from you to remove the offensive piece of clothing, baring his body to you.

You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, especially upon moving into the Todoroki residence. He goes on shirtless jogs and sometimes does not wear anything on his torso for a while after he’s showered. There are days he has hardly anything remaining of his costume, after a particularly rough villain or training session.

And yet, this time it feels different.

He is baring himself for you. The intimacy of the moment does little to dull the ache in your mind, the strain of your heart in your ribs. You know that if he were to show you much more openness, you may have bruises beneath your skin from the way your heart threatens to beat at such a quick, tumultuous pace.

Shouto wastes little time in lurching forward to palm at your breasts, mouth too busy with your lips to pay attention to much else. You hitch your thigh between his hips, the curve of your leg brushing into his clothed cock. He grunts into the trap of your teeth, brow tugged with focus as he ruts his hips upward into you. You’re sure to put pressure back against him, the tip of his cock bulging on your thigh.

“Sho’,” you whimper when his mouth drifts from your lips to your neck. Your hands find his hair and his shoulder, eyelids fluttering halfway closed while he licks and nips at your thin, sensitive skin. Your throat burns, flesh aching as he starts to bite into you, rolling the skin between his teeth slowly, agonizing your very core.

A fresh wave of arousal coats the inside of your walls, and you know it is stained your panties, but you don’t have enough dignity to care. All that is on your mind is how he can take you on the countertop, and if you’ll be able to keep quiet enough not to wake the sleeping girl up the flight of stairs.

“Shit,” he’s cursing when your hand finds his bulge, “sweetheart, I-”

His breath is stuttered over your collarbone as you begin to palm him through his briefs. The nickname tumbling from his lips in a moan turns your stomach, effervescent champagne bubbles drifting up from your belly until they are suffocating your lungs. You gasp to relieve yourself of the pent-up anticipation as his left hand reaches the button of your shorts.

Shouto is careful as he unbuttons your pants, slipping the coarse fabric of your jeans down your thighs. As he squats down to help you out of them, all you can think of is what might happen if you were to grab him by the hair and force his mouth to your cunt.

Almost like he was reading your mind, he leans forward after he’s tossed your jeans to the other side of the kitchen floor and his mouth ghosts over your core. Your lower lip wobbles and you must bite your tongue to keep your mewling cries from tumbling out in excess. Todoroki kisses the top of your thigh, nose nudging over the edge of your lace underwear, his eyes closed so you cannot make out the expression settled in his ordinarily stoic irises.

“If you smell this good, I can only imagine how wonderful you taste,” Todoroki smirks against your skin, tilting his head so he can look up at you from his crouched position.

Your hips cant forward at the sentence, pussy already dripping just from the timbre of his deep voice. The vibrations of his word are like shockwaves straight to your core and you want to beg him to give you something, even a teasing lick over the center of your underwear.

Shouto kisses the little bow at the center of your panties, smiling as he snags the accent between the bite of his teeth and uses it to tug your underwear down your thighs. Your muscles tense, his ministrations slow and tantalizing. He chuckles and the sound shoots through your bones as if they were hollow like a feather, the warm honey of his laughter seeping slowly into your every pore and breaking down what remains of your resolve.

You have to cover your mouth with your hands when you yelp at the pad of his thumb brushing back the hood of your clit. His cool palm finds your thigh, just below the curve of your ass, and he stabilizes you with a firm grip, “Sit still, Princess.”

The authoritative tone of his voice turns your spine rigid, eyes facing the wall as he butterflies your pussy so he can see the silvery strands of slick built up between your layers of skin. He licks his lips and you feel the threatening heat of his tongue near your clit and you’re squirming. You are white knuckling the countertop, jaw under immense pressure as you clamp your teeth harshly.

He does not give you warning before delving his tongue between your folds, licking up your accumulated slick with one slow movement. His glittering grey iris tries to find your face, but the only thing he can make out is the line of your jaw and chin as your head is thrown back. Shouto chuckles before starting to explore the glutenous walls of your cunt with his tongue, his one hand still pressed into your thigh, fingers digging so hard that you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow morning.

Your body responds to him quickly, hips canting forward to buck against his mouth, begging for something more than just the quick slithering of his tongue in and out of you. In retaliation, Shouto presses his tongue flat, creating the illusion that it is thicker than before. You keen when he turns the pad of his thumb near your clit, close but not near enough.

“Sho’, please,” you pant, sweat beginning to bead up on your temples from the anticipation alone.

His cocky smirk is something you can sense when he speaks, but even further, you can feel it as he continues to lavish your pussy with his tongue. He huffs before standing to his feet, your slick mixed with his saliva giving his mouth a dangerous glint in the lowlight of the kitchen.

Shouto licks his lips as he steps closer to you again, bodies flush with one another. The hand that you know could burn you in an instant drifts down your side towards your pussy and you feel every muscle in your body clench at the thought of what kind of damage he could do to you if he tried.

Oh, and you’d let him.

You are about to beg him again, wanton moans vibrating your throat, but he intercepts you before you can lower your inhibitions any further. Shouto’s elongated middle finger slips just between your folds, using his saliva and your slick to lubricate his digit as he begins to pump up into you.

Todoroki Shouto is by no means a small man.

However, he is not so muscular that it looks like he is uncomfortable whenever he is walking. He is lean but built, which means that even though his hands are thick with muscle, they are not painful when pressed into your tight heat. Rather, they are snug and comfortable, his knuckle providing a pleasure you’ve not experienced before.

The tip of his finger brushes the spongy spot at the base of your core, and you swear you feel him in your spine. Shouto leans forward kiss you and you receive him quickly, desperate for some sort of tactile relief. He’s grinning into your lips, but you do not care so long as you find some reprieve from the coil beginning to twist within your stomach.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Todoroki whispers into your teeth as his tongue licks against your gums.

At his comment, you clench your cunt around his fingers, tightening your hold only to see how he will react. His hand stills for a moment, but then he is pushing another finger to accompany the first, splitting your cunt open despite the vice-like grip you have on his knuckle. He pumps until the base of his digits are finding the heat of your pussy, his fingerprints searing into your walls as you attempt to stay clamped around him.

Your legs begin to shake from the way you are holding yourself up on your toes, knees bent so you can be closer to his body. Todoroki feels the tremors in your thighs as his hand roams the dense muscle, whispering, “C’mere, love,” and then he’s picking you up gingerly.

Shouto hooks one of your legs around his waist at the knee, arching your back so your cunt is still butterflied open for him. Your other leg dangles from the countertop as he balances you on the edge.

The way his fingers work into you is nothing short of sinful, that white-hot flash of pleasure sinking into your eyelids slowly but surely. You begin to lose your peripheral vision as the impending ecstasy begins to settle in. The crest of the wave is close, his knuckles dragging salaciously against the innermost part of you.

Your jaw hangs open the closer you are to coming undone, panting breaths prying your lips apart. You feel utterly exposed in front of him like this, lewdly strewn against the counter that you were sipping rum and whiskey against not even a half hour ago. And yet, somehow, Shouto’s hand cradled against your shoulders is all you need to bring your self-consciousness down to a manageable level.

From this angle, you can reach down and pull Shouto’s briefs down so his cock can spring free. You’re palming at him as soon as you see the dark red of his cockhead. He stutter-steps forward when you pump him the first time, eyes close to bulging from their sockets at the sensation.

You twist his cock in your palm, running your thumb against the pearlescent bead of pre-come collected at the curve of his slit. Using what you can of the liquid, you drag your damp thumb down the length of his cock for slight lubrication. Shouto bucks into your hand when you bob your palm up and down to connect with the base of his pubic bone.

Now that you’re secure on the countertop, Shouto allows his free hand to wander around the curvatures of your body, mapping out the dips and contours of your frame. His hand is on your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, when your mouth drops open from a particularly pleasurable swipe of his fingers. Your cunt is dripping, and you’re honestly not sure if it even matters if you come, he should be able to slip right between your tight heat with ease.

“S’pretty,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek as his thumb brushes the bow of your bottom lip.

On instinct, your tongue laps towards the digit, silently begging for him to do more.

Shouto listens, dipping his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad of his finger into the thick muscle of your tongue. You lick and suck at him, rolling your mouth to match the pace of your hand as you work his hard cock towards release. Shouto fixes the rhythm of his fingers so every part of your bodies are going at the same speed.

The collective sensations of his hands and mouth are too much and you cry out, digging your free hand into his shoulder to attempt and ground yourself. You pant, looking up at him with bejeweled irises, tears sitting dormant on your lashes as a whine sits pretty on your lips.

“What is it?” he asks, borderline patronizing. “Are you gonna come on my fingers?”

Your lower lip trembles and you feel yourself slipping into some subservient headspace at the tone in his voice. You nod, rolling your hips to meet him as he slows his hand, “P-Please, Shouto, I-”

“I want you to come,” he murmurs into your ear, leaning forward so his breath is hot on your skin. The hand he has buried in your cunt begins to heat and the searing sensation sends your mind reeling. Shouto nudges his nose along your jawline, warmth creeping along the base of his palm, “C’mon, love, I want to see you come. Make a pretty little face for me, yeah?”

His words do little to quell the growing ache between your thighs, the pent-up need begging to be released. You clench around him again, not forgetting his cock between your hand. You continue to twist your wrist, flicking your fingers along the length of his dick, dragging with just enough pressure to make his eyes cross. Teasing the head, you drag the pad of your thumb over it, catching another swell of pre-come and trailing the liquid down the thick shaft.

You whimper his name, squeezing your eyes closed so harshly that the corners of your lids crinkle. Your sounds only grow louder when his mouth begins to suck at your nipple, massaging your breast in his chilled hand. The crystallization of ice draws your attention, a frozen cold so intense that it almost feels hot in its own unique way.

There is a stinging excitement at the duality of the temperatures that grow further apart the longer he activates his quirk. Your nipples pebble while your pussy floods from the heat, copious amounts of slick trickling down his fingers to pool in the creases of his palm. Shouto murmurs obscenities against your earlobe but you’re in such a realm of fevered phrenzy that you can’t make out he’s even speaking English.

“Sh-Shouto, I-I’m close,” you manage, feeling the way his cock throbs beneath your touch helping to bring you back to the cusp of reality. You dive deep again when his fingertips brush against your cervix, allowing his passion to force you beneath the surface.

His thumb is circling your clit as he murmurs, “C’mon, darling, I know you can do it. Come for me, yeah?”

It’s as if his words united with his caress are enough to shove you head-first into the pool of desire. You are whimpering, cunt fluttering around his fingers as your come drips down the crevices of his palm. Your release reaches his wrist, milky liquid tickling his skin.

“Atta girl,” he kisses your cheek, fingers stilling for a moment to allow you to collect yourself. You continue to ride out your high by bucking your hips over his knuckles, slippery fingers easily providing you the rest of the comfort you need to come down from your high.

“Your turn.”

You’re pushing your way off the countertop when the creaking of the stairs makes your heart still within your chest.

Shouto’s stare flickers from you to the staircase, jaw hung open as he analyzes the sound. When another step echoes in the hallway, he’s quick to yank his briefs and sweats back over his hips. He helps you into your shorts, the silvery strands of your release forgotten as he tugs the fabric up your hips.

You’ve just gotten your pants buttoned when Hana’s teetering figure creates a shadow on the kitchen floor.

“Daddy?” she whimpers, fists digging into her tear-filled eyes.

Shouto swipes his hands against his sweats before crouching in front of her. His palms find her sides quickly, thumbs grazing her rib cage in an attempt at comfort, “Hey, love,” the sound of the nickname makes something stir within your belly, “what’re you doing awake?”

Hana swallows a hiccup, “I-I had a bad dream.”

You step forward, pressing your hand to Shouto’s shoulder, offering a gentle nudge of comfort. Hana blinks up at you, jeweled irises focused on your face, “M-Momma?”

The title holds a weight you had not prepared to carry.

She’s all but forgotten Todoroki, pushing past him to barrel into your shin, wrapping her stubby arms around your knee. She wipes her face against the skin of your thigh, sniffling louder as a fresh wave of tears takes over her body. Her shoulders shudder and you don’t have time to wonder whether she’s cognizant enough to realize that she’s just called you her mother.

You scoop her up in your arms, holding her gingerly by the back and head, and she wraps her legs around your midsection to anchor her little body to your torso like a frightened animal. Hana buries her head into your neck, tears sticking to your skin and creating an unbearable heat.

“You’re not leaving, right?” Hana whimpers, “I-I had a dream that you left.”

In an effort to comfort her, you run your fingers through her hair, gently separating the strands so your nails can scratch her scalp. You kiss her temple, “Of course not, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me.”

She retracts from your neck and a rush of cool air washes over you. Her irises are swallowed by her pupils, thick droplets of tears wetting her cheeks. You smile, forcing yourself to forget the way you were just about to jump her father’s bones, and brush your nose against hers in an eskimo kiss.

“It was just a dream, babe,” you comfort her, making sure you are looking at her directly when you say it so she feels much more solid in the reality that you are here to stay. A soothing hand reaches forward to couple with yours, thumb tracing the bump of her shoulder.

Todoroki kisses the back of her head, “Hana, there’s no need to worry, love.”

“I already lost one mommy,” Hana sounds ancient when she speaks, voice far away and intelligent beyond her young years, “I don’t wanna lose another one.”

Your voice is lodged in your throat now, tears of your own pressing threateningly against the back of your eyes. You try to swallow but the shards of your heart are blocking your windpipe, cutting off your oxygen. Todoroki slips his hands beneath Hana’s armpits, separating her from you so he can cradle her body against his chest, “You’re not losing anyone, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You take this as your cue to leave, grabbing your things as Todoroki takes Hana back up the stairs to her bedroom.

A sense akin to despair settles in your chest, restraining your heart in such a way that makes it difficult to breathe. The world seems to settle atop your shoulders and in the next moments you have turned into Atlas, forced to hold the earth up by your careless grip. Tears settle in your lids as you pull away from the Todoroki residence.

Something tells you that things will never be the same.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

As much as you hate it, that little voice eating away at the back of your mind was right.

The looming reality that Todoroki is avoiding you does little to satisfy the curiosity settled in your bones, affecting you down to the marrow.

Ever since that night, he hardly looks you in the eye.

In fact, he’s barely even around to see you at all.

Todoroki leaves for work before you can emerge from the bathroom with Hana in tow, fresh from a bubble bath and ready for breakfast. He slips back through the doors late at night, normally after eight, so Hana is either passed out with you on the couch or curled up beneath her covers in her bedroom. There is not another time where he touches you gingerly on the shoulder and guides you back to bed, not anymore.

You have wondered many times if you should approach him, beg him for some sort of explanation. Not only is his distance affecting you, but it’s turning Hana into a child you hardly recognize. She is still cheerful a majority of the time, begging you to play princesses and watch Bubble Guppies. But there are times when she turns angry, ripping the heads off her dolls and trying to sabotage Todoroki’s work clothes by drawing on his shoes or dropping her glass of morning milk on his suit jacket.

You start to cook his meals the day before, packaging them up in a Tupperware container that’s always gone when you check at breakfast the next morning. You are not a blind woman, and you normally choose to indulge his silly game of hide and seek instead of confronting him about what happened that night.

However, tonight, you’ve had enough.

Even though he’s decided to spend the weekend at home for the first time in a few weeks, you’ve never felt more on edge. Hana is extremely irritable, nightmares plaguing her mind during the time she’s supposed to be sleeping, and it would seem there is nothing you can ever do to satiate her throughout the day.

Playing princess is boring, coloring is stressful, blowing bubbles is stupid.

You are reaching the end of your rope and Shouto’s evasive presence does little to satiate your temperamental moods. You clutch at the cusp of sanity, praying that it will not leave you just yet; the only thing holding your tongue back from lashing out is the sliver of discretion that you’ve managed to sustain in spite of the day’s events.

“Hey, uh-” Todoroki’s voice is strained as he stands in the archway of the kitchen, “Would you mind making us a couple of sandwiches? I think Hana is getting hungry.”

The warmth from the dishwater gives you something other than his irises to focus on, your eyesight directed downward, “Sure. What would you like?”

“Let’s just do peanut butter and jelly,” Shouto shrugs nonchalantly. “Grape, if we have it.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of a specific flavor. You are certain that if you were to look into the refrigerator that you would not find grape jelly, but it’s obvious that Shouto is otherwise unknowing.

“Grape?” you echo, pulling your hands from the dishwater to wipe them on your hand towel. “You think that’s a smart choice?”

Shouto scoffs and it stings so much that you turn your head away from him, eyes now focused on the floor beneath your feet, “Yes, I’m sure. Why does it matter anyway?”

“Oh, no reason.” You pluck a jar of strawberry jelly from the refrigerator and begin to prepare the countertop for your sandwich making.

He takes a step forward to protest, but you’re waving the knife in his direction before he can stride across the tile, “You listen to me, Todoroki. And you listen good.”

Shouto pauses, throat bobbing as his line of sight zeroes in on your lips. His eyes widen, pupils swallowing his irises in fear. The knife wavering in your grasp holds much more weight than any other butter knife he’s come into contact with.

“We don’t have any grape jelly because your daughter is allergic to grapes.”

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the butter knife in your hand, “And if you were ever here you might notice a thing or two, such as an allergy to something that could, I dunno, kill her?!”

The sound of your voice raising an octave or two reverberates off of the walls and thrums at Shouto’s heartstrings. He swallows thickly, but you’re not done tearing into him just yet.

“This little charade you’ve got going on has got to end.” Your voice is desperate, unhinged, and you feel the honesty scrape against the front of your throat, “Your daughter is turning into someone you can barely recognize, and you’re not far behind her.”

Silence envelopes the room, and the only thing you’re able to hear is your heart beating frantically in your own ears. As your pulse thuds rapidly, rushing like a river of thick emotion throughout your body, you feel your palms begin to sweat. The longer you keep quiet, the louder the sound grows.

Finally, after giving him a few minutes to respond, you press the tops of your fists into your hips, glaring down your nose at him, “If you want me gone, all you had to do was ask. I thought we respected one another enough for that.”

You slap together two sandwiches quickly, tossing the plates onto the counter for him to pick up on his own before you turn and walk from the room. You’re unable to look at him any longer, not sure if it’s the loitering reality that you may have to move on from this chapter of your life or the loss of a generous paycheck and living situation that wraps your heart like the talons of a bird, squeezing until you can’t breathe.

The tumultuous roll of emotions scrapes away at your chest, and you’re surprised that there isn’t blood gushing from your ribs. You lean back against your closed door, head tilted backward to stave off the tears, saltine droplets coating your lashes as they sit in your ducts, pending the gentle sway of your neck to drip down your cheeks.

You aren’t sure how long you stay this way, crumbled against your door with the heat of disappointment building smoke in your lungs. It’s difficult to breathe, a dizziness taking over your mind that you’ve never felt quite so acutely before. You cradle your head in your hands, massaging your temples with your thumbs to try and mitigate the oncoming migraine.

A knock sounds at your door and you jump, hand pressed over your frantic heart, “Y-Yes?”

“Can-Can I come in?”

Shouto.

The sound of his voice does little to staunch the metaphorical puncture wound in your chest. You flex your hands before standing to your feet and opening the door, allowing him to step over the threshold into your room.

“Listen, I think there’s just-”

“No,” you interrupt, a short breath filling your lungs, “I’m going first.”

Todoroki’s eyes dilate, his feet stuttering backward as he takes in your assertive sentence. He grits his teeth, jaw quivering under the stress, but keeps his lips sealed in spite of desperately wanting to speak out.

“If you don’t want me here, you could have just said so.” You wring your hands together, knuckles knocking against one another as you twist your fingers. You close your eyelids and inhale a deep breath, “What happened, u-us kissing, wasn’t professional, and I apologize. But what you’re doing to Hana?”

You flare your nostrils as your hands turn to fists at your side. Todoroki watches you closely, eyes never wavering from your frame as he takes in your quivering, quiet fury. Your jaw muscles tense and you force your eyes to meet his, despite the glossiness settled in them, “You’re never here, Shouto. You missed her ballet recital last week, then you forgot she was allergic to grapes, and now you’re not seeing what’s directly in front of you!”

The more you speak, the louder you become. You can feel your cheeks heating, the tears building up in your eyelids with every syllable. Your fists clench at your sides, and your fingernails dig irately into your palms, so harshly that you swear you might draw blood. Each word draws out an anger in you that you didn’t realize you were harboring, like a fugitive sitting in the cage of your chest, tugging on the bars of your heart as they beg to be broken free.

“Hana deserves better than this, and you know it, Todoroki. So if you don’t get your head out of your ass,” your lower lip wobbles and you reach forward to poke him directly in the chest, index finger dug into the space between his pectorals, “you’re going to lose your daughter.”

You’re shaking your head and your fist as the next sentence comes tumbling from your lips, heart strings fully wound as you speak, “Listen, I don’t know what your problem is, but if it’s me, then I’ll leave.”

Shouto’s brow furrows as he looks down his nose at you, “Are you finished?”

The deadpan of his voice stirs something in your belly, something like an acrid fire that plumes in your chest, the smoke of it all curling around your throat and begging to be spewed like acid from your tongue. Your teeth grind into each other, a creaking sound echoing in your own ears. The way your heart twists in your chest makes it difficult to breathe, but you manage.

“Fuck you, Todoroki.”

You go to turn away from him, your hand falling from his chest, when he snatches you by the wrist, repeating his question, “Are you finished?”

A small remaining sliver of your patience sits heavy on your chest, forcing you to nod your head. Regardless of how you feel about him, Todoroki Shouto is an important man, and you need to leave here a dignified woman. If you make a scene, if you flash your fists and bare your teeth, it’s possible you won’t have another job ever again.

“I don’t want you to quit,” his voice is breathless, an octave higher than normal; he almost sounds sick, “but there is a problem.”

The anticipation of what he might say next brings back that acidic wash in your belly, throat squeezed shut by the clamped hands of insecurity and doubt. Shouto takes a careful step forward, mindful of your personal space as he does so. His fingers never leave your wrist, circled around your arm even as it’s pulled away from his body.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

To say that the world stopped spinning was an understatement.

You feel the whole planet turn on its axis, your body undergoing vertigo as the metaphorical rug is yanked out from beneath your feet. Your stomach flips, the acid molting into lava, hot and sticky as it licks up against your skin, pooling just below your navel. His grip is too restrictive, and you can tell your body is beginning to shift into panic mode.

“You’re right,” he barges in on your internal monologue of self-hatred, eyes boring into your soul, “I’ve been a shitty father, which is painful for me to admit. But it’s the truth.”

The conviction in his voice is solid, and you know that he is being authentic. Todoroki has a clouded past when it comes to his father, Enji. You are aware of the influence his estranged parents have on his relationship with his child, which is one of the reasons his distance has troubled you. Every time he has had enough vulnerability to allow you to peek into the glass panes of his soul, he’s shown you the scars that Endeavor has left on him.

Todoroki uses his free hand to cup your cheek, thumb under your chin to pull your attention back to him, “I tried to distance myself from you to get a better grasp on the way I was feeling.”

His palm grazes down the column of your throat, his eyes careful not to stray to close to your lips or else he’ll get distracted. Your mouth bobs open but you have nothing to say, and the bewildered expression on your face makes him laugh. The sound of his baritone chuckle does little to quell the storm raging beneath your skin, lighting striking with every single touch of his fingers and thunder booming in your chest at the sound of his voice.

“For the longest time, I believed I would never love anyone again after my wife passed away.” The feel of his knuckles slipping between yours, palm searing into you despite it being his right side. At the mention of his wife, your whole being begins to shudder, the weight of expectations and self-doubt pressing into your chest like a mass you cannot remove.

Todoroki swallows the lump in his throat, neck bobbing, “I was content with it just being Hana and I for the rest of our lives, us against the world, until you came along. You fit so perfectly into our family, sliding in seamlessly as if you’d been here the whole time. You managed to win Hana over in a day and now she can’t stop talking about you. And then, when Hana called you mom, it threw me.”

Shouto’s eyes are intense as they stare into you, narrowed and attentive. The odd combination of one blue, one grey, is hard to grasp, unsure of where you should look specifically. His fingers against your neck card through your hair, keeping you anchored to him and this world.

“It was easier for me to dive into work because I knew I’d have you here to pick up the pieces,” Shouto admits, his gaze finally breaking away from your face to narrow focus to his sock-clad feet. “I was so weak for you that I couldn’t bear it. And then you and Hana both suffered for my cowardice.”

A wave of destiny washes over you, looming like a shadow, begging you to make a decision.

“Todoroki, this is-”

“I told you,” his thumb grazes your cheekbone, “not to call me that.”

Your jaw hangs open and tears cloud your vision, and you want to smile no matter how hard your body fights against you. Your lower lip quivers and you shake your head, saltine droplets lingering on your cheeks, “I-I can’t, Shouto. I’m not right for you and Hana, I’m not-oh.”

His mouth slots against yours, angled perfectly to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. Shouto’s hands are on your face, holding you in place so you can’t run from him, despite how every cell under your skin is screaming to bolt from your place.

As he parts from you, you’re left in a daze of euphoria, eyes half-lidded, mouth still pursed as you chase after him, pleading for more.

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip before retreating to trace your jawline.

And you know that you can’t; your body has already betrayed your words with the simple action of a kiss. Your hands follow suit, wrapped around the fabric of his shirt to keep him close, frightened he might leave you all over again.

Shouto’s hands drift down your abdomen, slow against your rib cage as if he were counting each bone to make sure they were all there, safe and sound. He kisses your forehead and then your nose, mouth hovering over the bow of your lips, eyes begging you even though his voice is caught in his lungs.

You say a stupid thing then, just something meant to break up the quiet, but with the floaty tone of your voice it breeds for much more wicked thoughts.

“Your lips are really warm.”

Shouto laughs before devouring you at the seam of your mouth, leaning forward to scoop you up in his arms, hands dug in at your thighs. You squeal against his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist, your fingers dipping into the muscle of his shoulders for an anchor.

He’s got you back against the bed before you can breathe again, leaning back on his thighs so he can pull his shirt over his head with ease. Your palms are like magnets to his abdomen, fingerprints finding each curve and dip of his muscle, praying you can map it out so you might memorize it for the times when he’s not able to be this close.

As his fingertips graze beneath the hem of your shirt, your eyes go wide, stuttering breath accompanied by panicked words, “H-Hana? Is she-”

Shouto chuckles, “She’s laid down for her nap. We have about two hours.”

The devilish glint in his eyes does little to quell the rampant thoughts running in your mind. You suddenly want to feel his hands and mouth everywhere on your body, insatiable in your lust for his touch.

“Sh-Shouto, please,” you’re panting and he hasn’t even undressed you yet, “need you.”

A devout confession such as that one, something so primal in its nature, shifts his demeanor from playful to sinful. Now his fingertips are dancing beneath your shirt, palming over your skin like he might find a hidden treasure in your bones.

He shakes his head, nose grazing your cheek as he starts towards your collarbone, “Tell me what you need, darling.”

“Need you.”

You are quick in your answer, eyes screwed shut at the tantalizing ministrations of his fingers on your flesh. He is teasing you, just close enough to your breast that it hitches your breathing, but not too close to where you can feel pleasure. A hot wash of arousal rolls into your body, slick beginning to gather between your thighs.

“More specific,” the words are muttered around the skin of your chest, one of his hands tugging on your collar to bare more of your body to him.

You whine, bucking your hips upward, knowing exactly the shape his cock will be in beneath the underwear that has him caged from you. You reach forward and tug at the waistline of his briefs, “Please, Shouto, I want to feel you.”

At the mention of feel, he takes you by surprise as he slips two fingers between your folds, curling into you quickly. You muffle your whine into the pillow, turning your face so your cheek is smushed against the downy cushion. Shouto’s palm that isn’t occupied with your tight heat tugs your shirt up over the tops of your breasts, baring your chest to the cool air of the bedroom.

“You are feeling me, sweetheart,” he teasingly licks over your nipple, thankful for the lack of a bra separating you from his wanton tongue.

Another moan drags salaciously from your lips, vibrating your throat and making his cock twitch, “Sho’, wan’ your cock. Please.”

You’re able to drag his pants and briefs down at once, his cock springing free from the restricting fabric. When it bobs against his abdomen, enflamed red cockhead leaking pre-come, you feel saliva build up in the back of your throat. You start to pump him as best you can, watching as his weighty balls swing under your touch.

Everything about him is enticing, from his dual-toned hair to his heterochromatic eyes to his chiseled body. You’d use your tongue on every part of him if he’d let you, but right now you’re focused on only one thing.

Once Shouto has coaxed enough of your arousal to coat his hand, he curls his fingers into you one last time, collecting the silvery fluid on his fingers, and then stands to step out of his clothes. You keen at the loss of contact, eyes wide open so you don’t miss a second.

“C’mon, baby, take your clothes off for me.”

At his command, you’re stripping down until you’re bare in front of him, clothes in a pool of fabric on the floor right next to his. Even the simple intimacy of his clothing overlapped with yours does things to your heart, a pinpricking sensation making your skin heat.

“Hi,” he whispers, fingers framing your face as you get lost in his touch. His voice is gentle, and his touch is probing in the best of ways, a genuine smile tugging his lips upward as you echo the word back to him.

You can feel your arousal tumbling within the confines of your body, begging to be put to use as you feel his cock against your thigh. Todoroki guides you back into the mattress, shoulders pressing into the cool sheets, your body given some sort of contrast to the molten heat circulating under your skin. Your blushed skin draws Shouto’s attention, eyes dragging over each inch of your body, mesmerized by your beauty.

Todoroki shakes his head, “You’re beautiful, you know?”

And at the end of his sentence, acting like punctuation, his cock slides between your heat.

Your eyelids flutter shut and your hands are on him in an instant, nails dug into his flesh to try and dispel some of the energy already built up within your fragile body. Shouto feels lightning spark up into his spine, the trails of it striking his hidden heart, licking at the edges of the glass box keeping him imprisoned from the world.

As your cunt clenches around him and your mouth utters his name like a prayer, Shouto can tell that his chest is constricting, tightening around his heart in an attempt to break himself free from the confines of his past.

“Sho’,” you’re mewling for him now as the veins of his cock drag salaciously against your tight, glutenous walls. Silvery slick coats his dick and he moans as your pussy clamps again.

He begins to build up the speed of his thrusts, his thumb brushing over your clit slowly, the very beginning of a pleasurable end building up within your belly. His mouth is attached to anything on you he can find – breast, collarbone, jaw, throat, cheek. Teeth and tongue lash out at you, parting his mouth so his heated breath can wash over your body.

Shouto focuses as best he can on forcing heat down the length of his arm, pinpointing the warmest point onto the tip of his thumb. You preen, eyes bulging out of your sockets well enough that he can translate your pleasure. On the opposing hand, the one currently preoccupied with your nipple, begins to freeze. Gooseflesh trembles on his arm but he does not mind, not when he gets to hear your panting whines of his name mixed with the begging sounds of please, please, please.

“Such a good girl,” Shouto murmurs into the thin skin of your throat, tongue delving from between his lips to lavish your jugular. “So pretty, laid out just for me.”

You nod your head as best you can, eyes wide as you drink in his praise. Your mouth bobs open but you can’t form words, not anything intelligent anyway. Shouto reaches his icy thumb towards your lips, brushing his cool touch over the heated skin, steam wafting between the two of you.

“Have you been thinking about this as long as I have?” he asks rhetorically, not expecting you to answer based on the fucked out look in your eyes, the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth as his body makes quick work of you. Shouto grunts, “I’ve wanted to take you against every damn surface in this house for months.”

His left hand peels from your clit, running up over the curve of your thigh to press beneath your knee, pushing your leg upward so he can thrust into you from a better angle. Your hands are stuck on the sheets now, his body just out of reach thanks to the twisting of your hips. Shouto slams into you, balls slapping your ass as he ruts forward.

You feel his cock harden even further from within the confines of your cunt, the tip of him brushing against the spongy corner of your insides. After another deep thrust he’s bottomed out within you, hips absolutely flush with your thighs as he presses into you.

Shouto leans forward, not daring to pull himself away from you just yet, enjoying the way you envelope him fully, “You think you can come for me, love? I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

“Y-Yes, Shouto, I-I’m getting there, almost,” you promise him, eyes fucked out to the point you can barely make sense of his frame loitering above you. Your lower lip wobbles as you pout, “A-Are you gonna-fuck-want you to come in me.”

It’s a simple sentence, but the weight of it makes Todoroki’s heart stop. He knows you’re on preventatives, he’s had to stay home with Hana to cover during the day for your doctor’s visits. But something stirs at the base of his cock, weighing in the thick of his body, and for some reason he wishes you were his for the taking in every sense of the word.

As you whimper beneath him, his eyes trail over your body, landing on your belly. His fiery touch grazes the swell of your stomach where he knows his cock is pressed deep within you. His balls throb at the thought of coating every inch of you in his spend, you begging for more as it leaks out of you and onto the sheets; him drawing you into another round just to make sure that you’re stuffed full.

Suddenly, a fracture within his chest allows him to breathe deeper. As you buck your hips into him, begging him for more, telling him how good he’s making you feel, Shouto recognizes the fragile box surrounding his heart, guarding it from the world, has begun to shatter.

“Shouto, please,” you are begging him now, glassy eyes and pitched tone designed just for him, “Need to feel you, everywhere.”

Your plea is the final rock thrown at the glass box, cracking it in every direction. Shards of emotion lodge in his throat, tearing into him so he cannot breathe. As he gasps for breath, fingers digging into your skin, he knows he’s bruising you but he can’t bring himself to think of it as anything other than finally marking you down at his.

And then, when your breathy voice curls in the air, settling on his chest like a balm, he feels the glass melt away, turning to liquid fire in his gut. The words you utter tear open his heart, leaving a gaping, belligerent wound that he knows only you can mend.

“I love you, Shouto, I love you too.”

His eyes find yours, wide and wanting. You nod as if that will solidify his place in the universe, tears blurring your vision, repeating the sentiment over and over again, uncaring to the way your face looks glassy beneath the lowlight of the bedroom. You just need him to know, need him to understand.

“Shit,” he pushes the heel of his palm into the bottom of your stomach, itching to feel the way his cock pulses in and out of you as he thrusts into your body. His thoughts are even more permanent now, the idea of filling you up, pouring his body into you in the most primal way possible, is the only thing he can see. Your hand makes its way into his hair, tugging at the crown of his head as you lean forward.

A mix of crimson and white is bunched between your fists, matching the little tufts of hair that tickle your pelvis every time he bottoms out within you. You scrape your nails against his scalp, but that only spurs him on faster, panting moans busting his throat open and begging you for more.

Your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks, mouth parted so he can see the pink of your tongue, “Sh-Sho’, I’m close.”

He makes it his mission to twitch his cock within your walls, providing an extra layer of stimulation as his channels himself into you mercilessly. Somehow, he does it with such a finesse that it does not feel rushed or sloppy. Shouto is very careful, precise, in everything he does, and you are not surprised it works its way into the mannerisms he exhibits between the sheets as well.

“C’mon, darling,” he coos into your ear, folding your thighs upward so you’re fully pressed into the mattress, “I want you to come for me, yeah? I want you to coat my cock. You can do it, you’re close, I can feel it.”

His praise intertwined with the thickness of his cock bulging within you breaks the crest of the wave, allowing pleasure to flow through your body and onto his cock, coating him in your thick, sweet release.

“Fuck, you feel good.” Shouto continues to thrust upward into you, eyes focused on your face as he uses your cunt to bring his own euphoria down from the clouds. He’s looking down at you, jaw hung wide as he buries his cock into your tight heat, enjoying the way your slick lubricates his length.

You buck up into him and he drops his head to your collarbone, thrusts becoming sloppier the longer he tries to hang on to the edge of the cliff. Your hand in his hair tugs on the strands, mouth by his ear as you whisper, “Please, Shouto, want to feel you come in me. I want you to pump me full of your hot load, stuff me-ah.”

His hips stutters as he releases his seed into you, tongue lapping at your throat carelessly to try and force his body not to start up again. The need to feel you coming around him, begging for his cock and come, is something he has been denying for too long.

“I love you,” he whispers into the curve of your earlobe, nipping at the skin as his hips still. “Fuck, I love you.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to the curve of his scalp, “I love you too.”

As he reaches the extent of his high, he presses his body flat into you, cock twitching within your core. Your palms find his shoulders, grazing gently with your fingernails until he’s moaning into your neck, hot breath fanning out over your skin.

“Unless you want to go again, I suggest you put an end to that,” he warns, but there is no intent behind it.

You laugh, rubbing your ankle against his calf, “We’ve got a little one about to wake from her nap. Maybe later.”

And that is a promise you fully intend to keep.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

“Momma?”

You turn your head, pancakes on the griddle in front of you, “Yes, honey?”

Hana bounces towards you, white chiffon dress bubbling out at her knees, “When is breakfast ready?”

“When daddy gets back from his run,” you answer her, squatting in front of her to smooth the wrinkles from the fabric of her dress. “I made yours with choco-chips.”

Her eyes go wide and you feel a little sunbeam shining directly on your heart, warming your chest. She grabs you by the cheeks, palms squishing your lips together, “You can’t tell daddy!”

“Oh, I won’t,” you promise, voice distorted from the way she has you in her grasp. You brush a hand through her silver curls, tucking the strands away from her face. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Don’t tell daddy what?”

Hana squeals, turning on her heels to sprint towards the garage door. She’s on Shouto’s leg in an instant, clutching him like her life depends on it. You stand back to your feet, brushing your thighs clean before turning back to the griddle to start another round of pancakes.

“We can’t tell you or else it won’t be a secret, duh!” Hana sticks her tongue out as she pokes Shouto’s leg, rolling her eyes like it should be obvious. “Look, Momma’s making pancakes!”

Todoroki looks across the room at you, eyes reminding you of colorful gems as they behold you. Every time you catch him staring at you, you swear it’s even more infatuated than the last, his love for you only growing as time passes.

“Is she?” He peels her from his leg to shift her into his arms, holding her securely against his side. Todoroki walks over to you, leaning into the counter so he’s close enough that you can reach him but far enough that he can’t burn Hana on the griddle.

“You’re back quicker than I expected,” you admit, pouring batter out onto the stovetop. You grab the spatula, prepared to flip once they look done enough, “Did you pull something?”

Shouto shakes his head, leaning forward to intercept you with a kiss to the lips, “I just missed you.”

“Ew, gross! Kissing means cooties!” Hana pushes your faces apart, a hand on your mouths as she dramatically lolls her tongue out of her mouth to prove her disgust.

You chuckle, leaning forward to brush her hair from her eyes again, tucking it behind her ear even though you know it will spring forward not long after. Your eyes flash from her to her father, watching the pride settle into his irises, solidifying them even more. A gentle touch of your hand to his bicep brings him back to you, gaze unwavering as he maps out the features of your face yet again, each time finding something new to behold.

“Well, that means you have time to shower before we eat,” you squeeze his arm and return to your station at the griddle, flipping the next set of pancakes. “I’ve still got to make eggs and bacon, and some hash browns for the princess.”

Hana is beaming, bright smile tugging on the strings of your heart, “Momma makes the best hash browns.”

Todoroki places her back down on the ground, patting her backside as a silent gesture to tell her to go play. She takes his hint, sprinting back into the living room to resume her tea party with a stuffed elephant and a Ken barbie doll.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You never-ooh.”

He’s got you by the neck with one hand, the other anchoring to your hip to hold you close. Todoroki melds your mouths together, the heat of his body quickening your pulse. He steps closer, knee between your thighs so you can feel the hard bulge pressing into the fabric of his running shorts.

You hum as he parts from you, pancakes momentarily forgotten in the wake of his affections. You pat your hands on his chest, gnawing on your lower lip, “Smooth one, Todoroki.”

Shouto pinches your hip, growing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You. Me. Nap time.”

“Oh?” you ask as he unwinds himself from you, nudging your body back towards the griddle.

“And I’m not talking about sleeping.”

Todoroki disappears from around the corner, slipping up the stairs to your now shared bedroom.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips. When you go to turn this set of pancakes, the diamond sitting on your left hand catches the luminescent lights of the kitchen and you marvel at it. You roll your ring around on your finger, trying to find a different angle to appreciate it from, but you’ve already memorized the shape of it after three years of marriage.

Your palm finds the gentle swell of your navel beneath the baggy t-shirt you’re wearing, one of Shouto’s early proofs for a new merchandise design. You bite your lip and look down, speaking to the rustling new life currently blooming in your belly, “Here’s to tomorrow, little one. May it always be just a little better than today.”

The pancakes are done and the bacon is sizzling when Shouto returns with damp hair and a pair of sweats on the lower half of his body. He curls an arm around you from behind, kissing your shoulder, “Smells good, love.”

You turn to offer him a kiss, which he takes with fervor. Hana voices her disgust from her seat at the table, but Shouto hushes her quickly with a playful rise of his eyebrow, pointed finger making her giggle.

The three of you are sat down to breakfast, just like any other Saturday, but this one feels special for some reason. You can’t quite make it out; maybe it’s the sun shining outside or the crisp breeze blowing through the open windows, but your soul is settled in a way that can only be achieved by utter bliss.

“Hey,” Shouto calls you from your stupor, “your choco-chip pancakes are going cold.”

You blink slowly, returning your gaze to him, a gentle smile on your face.

At least you’ll get to spend the rest of your life with someone as mindful and kind as Todoroki Shouto.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

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[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓞𝓯 𝓙𝓪𝓷𝓮 (𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮!𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰) 𝓡𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒! 𝐾𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔 (𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧)/ 𝐴𝑐𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡, 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟/𝑃𝑠𝑦𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟, 1930'𝑠 𝐸𝑟𝑎.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4.3𝐾

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑝𝑠𝑦𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑠, 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑖𝑎, 𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑒/𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑠𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑠 '𝐽𝑎𝑛𝑒'.

𝑇𝑎𝑔 𝐿𝑖𝑠𝑡: @hanatiny @yunhofingers @multidreams-and-desires @aixy-hpsa

"𝐴𝑠 𝐼 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝐴𝑠 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝐼 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝐽𝑎𝑛𝑒..."- 𝐵𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐵𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

The dark and eerie dense fog that shrouded around the somber and serene graveyard felt as cold as the lifeless bodies that now layed under the soft brown earth. Sculpted angels, white crucifixes, and even bells served as ornaments for some of the tombstones and burial grounds that were meticulously scattered throughout the cemetery. Underneath shadow of the clouds that darkened the daylight, with only slight slivers of rays from the sun piercing through slight cracks as his guide, the handsome male with skin as pale as death itself and a face that seemed to be sculpted in heaven took slow and heavy steps, ignoring all other distractions around him, including the rustling of leaves, a tiny woodland creature scurrying past him or even the distant noises of the groundskeeper......or body snatchers.

None of that mattered to him, his gaze was only focused on the magnificently sculpted stone that he was now standing in front of. He let out a heavy sigh, tears held back as his hand gently grazed upon the letters that had been beautifully engraved into the hard block.

Jane Bryan~ 1917-1939

Sinking to his knees, he stared at the cold hearted reality that he was now living in, unable to feel anything but a hollow and aching void inside his body as his dearly beloved soulmate had been merciless torn apart from his side, before he ever got the chance to confess his deep love and admiration for her.

Reaching into the inside of his dark grey trenchcoat, he pulled out a crimson red journal, the sides of the pages that had once been white, were now more of a light beige color that had come as a result of time, the once smooth pages now somewhat wrinkled up from the constant use it had been given. He skipped all the meaningless first entries, having already read and re-read them many times in the sanctuary of his and comfort of his home, it wasn't anything that most of the public didn't already know. The motivation and driving force of why she chose her career path in the first place, the struggles and poverty she faced at the beginning, and finally her sudden breakthrough and rise to fame. Although many would argue that had it not been for that, he would have never found out about her and would have never even spared a glance at her.....

But Yeosang knew that was all blasphemous accusations that had absolutely no foundation. From the beginning, probably even before his own birth, he already desired and yearned for her. He was destined to be with her....

But alas, fate was cruel to strip him of his hope and chance at happiness, with nothing more than a few pages to help him endure these past days that were nothing but a torment to him.

Finally, coming to the section that truly mattered, he began recounting all the events and scenes that had elapsed over the past year......

One that ended in tragedy.

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ •• ═══ೋ❀❀ೋ

"My lady, these just arrived for you."

Looking at her sharply dressed maid through her vanity mirror, the diva smiled and gesture for her to place them on the dresser next to her. After dismissing her maid, the girl put down the hairbrush that had been thoroughly combing through her [insert color] hair, the locks at the very end slightly turned outward from the previous curling session they had endured the day before. Scanning through the series of letters and gifts her charming and adoring fans had sent to her, a bright smile was plastered on her face, enthusiastic about getting to open them and read their comforting and heartwarming words they had to say for her.

As she came across the last stack, her heart dropped when she felt the familiar feeling of the yellow parchment envelope that she had been so used to receiving by now. As per custom, two rose buds had been carefully tied to it, one pure white and the other crimson red. Her thumb brushed across the seal that had the letters "KY" imprinted on it, waiting to be broken off so she could peer into the nearly poetic phrases of adoration that would often spill out from the page.

Taking a deep breath, and against her better judgment, she broke off the seal and with shaky hands, she held up the paper and began reading it aloud:

"My dearest Jane,

You looked absolutely ethereal in your latest film. As soon as it was released, I was sitting in front of my television, watching in earnest every little detail, every wave of your hands, every step your feet took and every smile you had. Words alone cannot fully describe how incredibly beautiful and mesmerizing you are..........

In short, to this day I still remain your most loyal and greatest admirer.

-KY."

It would have been nothing more to another love letter to her, had the postscript at the bottom of every page not sent shockwaves coursing down her spine.

"P.S, have you considered wearing more light blue? The chiffon blouse and skirt set you wore last week while walking through the gardens looked ethereal on you love."

Her hands dropped the paper, letting it fall directly onto the marble floor. With shaking pupils, her gaze wandered across her room, inspecting every nook and corner, delusion setting in as she felt as though she were being watched by a pair of eyes she could hardly make out. Cautiously standing up, one of her hands wrapped around the yellow silk robe she was wearing, fingers delicately tightening the belt that held it in place. Through dragged out steps, she went to the large and lonely window that looked directly out into the grounds of her enormous house, the many rose bushes and apple trees could still be seen from the moonlight cascading down on it.

As she looked out into the night view, her eyes scanning around for any unusual sightings. She could swear there was somebody moving across the fields, slowly getting closer and closer towards her......she was certain she could make out a slim yet powerful silhouette of an unknown male charging straight at her, hands soon to be pressed against the cold glass....

With a sharp gasp, she quickly drew the long curtains to cover the window, nearly falling backwards onto the floor from how fast she backed away from the window. Through shaky breaths, she quickly pulled back the covers and practically jumped into the mattress of her king sized bed. Tucking herself under the warm embrace of the cotton blankets, she looked over at the lamp by her bedside table. Hesitantly, she reached out to turn it off, but then decided against it. Instead, she opened the drawer in the dresser and pulled out her most trusted and confidential friend, accompanied by its black inked partner. Opening up to the next blank page, she began scribbling down words in an effort to calm her mind and hopefully ease her into a deep slumber.

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The snowy haired male writhed around in his bed, tossing and turning constantly, eyes shut tight with a burning desire to drift off into one of his many dream escapades so he could see his beloved soulmate once again. It was the only thing keeping him sane during the days he had to spend locked up in his home, unable to go wander off into the great estate and spend his day accompanying his beautiful lady as she strolled through her gardens, often attending to the flowers herself because she couldn't trust anyone else to treat them with the tenderness that she meticulously bestowed upon them.

Letting out a pained whimper, he turned his head and coughed slightly into his mouth. His throat was sore, chills running through his body and a tiny trail of mucus sometimes needing to be wiped off his nose, all a result of the the nights he spent outside her window, watching it intensely until the light inside turned off, and even after that, he'd still stay an hour or two more, just in case she was awoken by another one of those terrible nightmares that often frightened and terrorized her, unwilling to let her rest.

He was in agony, he hadn't seen his love in 4 days and it was excruciatingly painful for him not knowing any news about her. Perhaps it was the hours without sleep he had gone through, perhaps his fever was making him get a lucid dream, or perhaps his mind was drifting off in vivid imagination, eyes finally closing......

The cold feeling he had endured was suddenly replaced by a warm body laying next to him, gentle fingers running themselves through his soft hair, earning a groan out of his lips. Opening his eyes, he was blessed by the sight of the most dazzling eyes known to mankind, plump and luscious lips curled into the most breathtaking smile that was aimed for him and only him.

"Jane......my dear Jane..."

One of her fingers pressed against his lips, hushing him quietly.

"I've missed you so much my darling." She admitted, eyes looking sad as her mouth formed into a tiny pout.

Cupping her face, he brought his own face close to hers, his nose nuzzling against hers, foreheads pressed against each other.

"I've missed you too my love."

Unable to hold back any longer, his lips hungrily sought after hers, his body shifting so that he was now hovering above hers. Her hands grasped at his neck, mouth parting to allow his wet muscle entrance inside. Once having been satisfied with that, he moved to her neck, planting wet and desperate kisses across her jaw, down her neck where a chain of purple blotches began to take form like one of the many chokers she was often donning. His hands kneaded at her soft and tender breasts that were covered by her silk nightgown, the pale blue color looking ethereal on her skin. In a rather flimsy manner, his veiny hands pulled the straps off her shoulders and began to remove the article of clothing from her body, the nightgown getting lost somewhere underneath the blankets covering them. He looked backed down as his eyes beheld her in her most beautiful form, completely bare and nude, nothing hidden away from his eyes that were practically ravishing her body already.

Stripping himself out of his own garments, he leaned back down, elbows resting on each side of her head as he sought out her lips once more, faint moans and gasps getting caught in his mouth as he slowly began to enter her, her walls stretching out to accommodate and welcome his thick length into her warm and velvet sanctuary.

"Yeosang..."

He let out a soft groan everytime she mentioned his name, prompting his thrusts to get faster and have her chanting his name over and over like a mantra until she was spilling herself all over his cock, his own sticky release following soon after, leaving them both in a state of bliss and ecstasy.

"I love you so much." His deep and husky voice whispered into her ear.

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Holding up the torn off page, his other hand lit one of the corners with the lighter he had brought with him, watching it slowly become engulfed in flames until it was nothing but nothing but another blackened ruin that now layed on the dirt underneath him, surrounded by many other companions that had been blazed up by the same fate. He let out a sigh and looked back at the tombstone in front of him.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why hide all your pain and suffering from me?........"

He stilled before speaking out the last part.

"And why could I not see it?"

He who watched over her constantly and studied everything about her, how did it never cross his mind that his sweetheart was living in constant fear and agitation from some unknown force that seemed to haunt her inside the walls of her own home? The very place where she was supposed to feel protected and safe? It made absolutely no sense. No matter how many times he read over the last few pages, he could not find one clue or detail alluding to the cause of her phobia.

"The place I once called my haven, has now become my hell, my place of torment. I can't eat, sleep, lounge around nor do any other activities without feeling trapped......I see them....hear them... even as I drift off into the night, the times where I can sleep for at least an hour or two, I can feel their very presence, watching over me. It's truly frightening..........

Where are you? And what do you want from me?"

He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. Maybe he could have done something to help her, the lord and devil himself knew he'd do anything and go to any lengths for her. He'd live for her, die for her and even kill for her..............

And that was not mere talk, it was the honest truth.....

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"Miss Jane, I have drawn your bath and even added a few drops of the lavender scented oil to help you relax."

The old woman gently touched the girl's shoulder, her touch almost motherly like.

"Please miss....you haven't looked well lately...." Her maid was practically begging at this point.

Realizing she was right, the young woman got up from her couch.

"Thank you Grace. I'll be in in a minute." She assured her.

Her maid excused herself, dreading having to leave her alone for a few hours due to having to go out and fetch a few items for dinner. She was particularly apprehensive about leaving the dear girl alone given how fidgety and anxious she had been, her stress making her more and more agitated as the days went by.

Once she heard the front door shut, it seemed to resonate through her ears, realizing she was all alone.....

And yet she wasn't.

Stepping inside her luxurious bathroom, she untied her bathrobe, letting it drop onto the floor. For a moment, she had been refusing to bathe completely bare, uncomfortable at the thought that someone watching her. So she slowly dipped her foot inside, followed by the other, allowing her expensive nightgown to become soaked inside the bathtub. The lavender scent seemed to relax her body slowly as each minute passed. Her eyes started to get drowsy, all those sleepless nights finally getting to her as a deep fatigue took over her body, making her mind shut down immediately...

She woke up with a sudden gasp, eyes flying open. She was still inside her bathtub but for some reason, the water was all gone and she was completely dry, as if she had never taken a small soak inside.

Her home felt off, it was chillier than usual, and a very dark ambient seemed to be surrounding it. Cautiously slipping out of the tub, she walked out into the corridor and headed straight to her bedroom. She was about to go lay down on her bed, but something made her halt her steps and walk back. Turning her head, she looked over at her vanity dresser. Her eyes furrowed in confusion as her mirror no longer had the glass in it, it was nothing but a mere frame with wood where the reflective material should be.

"That's odd..." She thought to herself as her fingers touched the panel.

Reaching inside one of her drawers, she took out her hand held mirror and discovered it had been tampered with in the same manner as her vanity mirror. The glass was also missing.

Feeling a surge of panic at her home being invaded, especially after all the fretting about someone watching her at all hours of the day, she bolted out of her room and began ransacking through every guest room, bathroom and corner, but all the other mirrors in them were completely removed. Running down the stairs, she nearly tripped from how fast she was coming down them. Going towards the front door, she tried opening it, but it was bolted shut, the door handle wouldn't budge. She began to mercilessly pound on it, screaming for help as tears began fall down her face.

She felt a shadowy presence loom over her.....

Not daring to turn around, she started running down the other corridor that would lead her into the living room where she'd usually attend to her guests. Slamming her hands on it, it opened with absolutely no resistance. As she stepped in, she noticed all the missing mirrors were all placed around the room. Walking closer and closer to them, she inhaled sharply as she stood in front of them.....

And her reflection was nowhere to be seen at all.

Her hand came up to touch her cheek, then forehead and other facial features. Her hands traveled down her neck then to her shoulders as she made sure she was definitely there. Her hand reached out to touch the mirror, confusion overwhelming her as she did not understand why there was no reflection of her at all.

"Don't worry, you may not see yourself, but I see you....and you're extremely beautiful."

She whipped her head around, trying to figure out where the voice came from.

"Who..who's there?" She demanded to know.

"Awww my dear little flower, do you not recognize me? After all the letters I sent you? I am after all your most loyal and greatest admirer."

Hearing those words sent her into a frenzy, nearly knocking down one of the mirrors when she stepped back so abruptly.

"Still don't know? Let me remind you..."

From out of the corner of her eye, she thought she caught sight of some figure moving through the room, reflected only by the mirror beside her.

"So nice of you to help the injured bunny that was in the garden, you truly are a kind hearted soul."

Her heart dropped as she recalled those words from a letter she had received months ago.

"Remember the necklace you were so sad to have lost while out in the gardens? I found it and am returning it to you."

Her body swiftly turned as she felt a gusty of wind past behind her, but there was nothing except the same mirror with both reflection of her, but instead a hand holding up the lost item that had been sent back to her along with the same two roses that were always sent.

"Is your wrist better now? I saw you pricked it while attending to your rose bush."

She let out a yelp when she felt something scratched along her skin. Looking down, she trembled as she saw blood pouring out from her wrist, much like the time she had accidentally cut herself, only this time the wound was deeper and the liquid pouring out was not red but instead a black color that had her turning pale.

"Stop! Leave me alone!" She cried out, making way back towards the door only to find that it wasn't there anymore, she was trapped inside that room of mirrors that still reflected nothing of her figure, but had a shadow silhouette pass through them from time to time.

"Remember when you actually wrote back to me? I still have the letter, your handwriting was so delicate, I could faintly smell the scent of that perfume you always wear."

"Shut up!" She begged the voice, feeling frantic as she began pushing over all the mirrors, letting them smash to pieces on the floor.

"You wrote 'please let it be the last time you write to me such contents.'......I couldn't imagine it, you actually wrote to me! To me, directly from you! The very first love letter you replied to me!" The voice let out a tiny giggle.

"Well then let this be the last reply! I hate you!" She declared.

There was silence for a brief moment, then the voice let out a tiny chuckle.

"Honestly? I don't mind if you say this love is the last time-"

"There's a fine line between love and hate, don't you get it?!" She cut them off, before her hands reached above her head, clutching her ears as she didn't want to hear anymore.

"As I said....I don't mind....I like that." They seemed to taunt her, their voice dangerously close to her now.

Whimpering in fear, she shut her eyes tightly, hoping to wake up out of the nightmare she was living.

"So now I'll ask....do you like that?" She felt someone's breath right on her skin.

"No!!!!"

Yelling as loud as she could, she punched her fists into the mirror in front of her, slicing more cuts into her skin as she shattered the glass in front of her, but not completely ruining it. Wheezing harshly, she looked up and saw a reflection in the mirror, but it wasn't her own.........

It was someone else's figure behind her, face as ethereal as an angel, but his eyes looked void of any emotions. Lips curling into a slight smile, she gasped as he wrapped a hand around her neck.

"I like that."

Before she knew it, a cold blade was swiftly dragged across her throat, slicing it open with blood splattering all over the mirror and onto the floor underneath her. She could no longer feel anything, her breath being taken right out of her....

The man's eyes were the last image she ever saw....

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Not being able to take it anymore, Yeosang managed to pry the window lock open. He was thankful that it was spacious enough to allow him to easily crawl inside. Landing with a soft thud, he ignored the pain on his right hip as he stood up, carefully looking around hoping to spot his dear beloved somewhere. He had neglected her for far too long, his illness consuming him for nearly a month and he was restless to see her again. Walking through the corridor, he went inside what he discerned to be her bedroom, already familiarized with the outside structure of the house. He did not find her there, but stumbled across a crimson red book that was placed on top of her dresser. Picking it up, he turned to the first page and immediately realized what it was. This was it, her most treasured secrets were now in the palm of his hands. He was about to start skimming through the first pages when he noticed the adjoining room's door was left ajar. Curiosity getting the best of him, he peeked inside and noticed it was a bathroom. He briefly scanned inside, not particularly amazed by anything...

Until his heart dropped when he saw familiar hair and an arm poking out of the bathtub.

He nearly busted the door down from how harsh he pushed it open. Dropping the diary onto the floor, his arms scooped up the frail and colorless body that was submerged inside the now cold water.

"Jane! Jane!"

He desperately called out to her, his hands shaking her rather forcefully, but to no avail. He looked at the woman he was holding with despair, his heart breaking as he realized she wasn't going to wake up anytime soon.

"No.....no my love!"

He cried in earnest as he held onto her lifeless body, unwilling to let go for a long time. His hand caressed her wet hair, lips placing small and gentle kisses across her face. He just couldn't believe that the love of his life was now gone...forever.

Hearing the front door open and her maid calling out, he looked back at his beloved one last time, placing a desperate and longing kiss first and last kiss on her lips.

"I love you.."

He whispered those words before letting go of her. Making sure to not leave the diary behind, he quickly snuck out of the window, carefully landing on the grass beneath him, running out into the woods surrounding her home and waited....

Waited to see what would happen next.

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His brown eyes looked over the newspaper article that was published not long after that horrible day:

"Famous celebrity actress found dead in her own home by her maid. Investigators say victim fell asleep in her bathtub and accidentally drowned. No foul play is suspected."

Tearing the article apart, he threw the ripped shreds onto the ground before picking up the torn pages he had removed from the diary. Burning the last of the pages he didn't want in there, he stood up and looked back at the tombstone in front of him. Placing the diary on top of it, he turned it to the last page and placed one of his favorite photos of her, followed by one of his own.

Finally now, he had a place in her diary.

Closing the diary, he finished by placing a white and a red rose, bound together with a black ribbon on top of it. Stepping back, he fell to his knees in front of the grave, his eyes glassy from the tears he was holding back. With no hesitation, he reached into his pocket and took out the revolver he had brought with him, specifically because he could not live without his Jane any longer.

"If I have to, I will put myself right beside you.."

Holding up the barrel next to head, he kept a calm and collected stare as his eyes never left the name engraved on the stone.

"Would you like that?"

Saying those final words, his finger pulled on the trigger..........

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[actuallysaiyan]

The Killing Moon(Itachi Uchiha x Female Reader)

Word count: 1,993

Pairings: Itachi Uchiha x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, bittersweetness, possible spoilers

Summary: Reader stops at nothing to be able to see Itachi one last time, even if it may not end up being a happy ending.

The night air clung to your skin as you kept looking back to make sure no one was following you. You know what you were doing was extremely wrong, but you couldn’t say no to this. You couldn’t allow yourself to miss out on what could possibly be the last time you would see him. It had been years since you last saw him, and still he plagued your dreams. Often, you’d wake up in a cold sweat, calling out his name with tears in your eyes. Never would you love another like you did with him.

When you spotted the crow, you had a feeling that this would be an omen. You weren’t sure if it was good or bad, but it had a letter addressed to you. Of course, the crow disappeared as soon as you took the letter. You figured it was genjutsu of sorts, but you weren’t the most familiar with it. 

Seeing Itachi’s name and his handwriting brought back some difficult memories. You could see yourself with him, running down the streets and watching over little Sasuke. The way Sasuke would grab at you, asking you to pick him up when he was very young. Nowadays, he wouldn’t even look at you. You knew that it was difficult for Sasuke to acknowledge you, but he also knew that you were hurting deeply inside. His vow to kill his brother was what killed you inside. You knew Sasuke felt like he absolutely needed to fulfill this, but you didn’t think it would ever come to this point between those two.

Yet, when Itachi murdered his whole clan and ran off as a rogue ninja, your heart broke. You tried to look after Sasuke, but he just rejected you at this point. You weren’t sure what had transpired that night, but it still killed you inside that Sasuke didn’t want anything to do with you. He yelled and kicked at you, telling you how much he hated you. From that day on, you decided it would be best if you just tried to move on and let him live his own life. You always tried your best to keep an eye on him, but you knew better to approach him. He would never allow you into his life again. Somehow, it seemed like Sasuke blamed you for part of what happened. Whether it be because you had always been in love with Itachi, or just because Sasuke hated the world, you never figured it out.

And yet, here you were, basically ruining your reputation as a shinobi to be able to see Itachi one last time. Your heart raced as you did everything to make sure you would not get caught. You didn’t want to be branded as a traitor. When the guards weren’t watching so properly, you slipped out of the village and made your way into the forest.

The sound of the cicadas screaming reminded you of summer nights long ago, when you would sit with Itachi and both of you would talk all night long. He always shared his feelings with you, but he never told you about what was going on in the background. He never told you the true reason why he would eventually kill his whole clan. You believed he had a good reason for it, but you could never figure it out. No one could ever explain it to you, and now maybe you had your chance to find out what happened.

Suddenly, a burst of crows appeared in front of you and they materialized into Itachi. You almost screamed in horror, but you stopped yourself. You didn’t want to draw attention to the situation unfolding in front of you. When Itachi spotted you, he glared at you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, which had changed so much since the last time you saw him.

“(Y/N).” 

You swallowed hard as you found yourself to be frightened. You wanted to approach him, but all the rumours about him had made you terrified. He was a rogue ninja, and also a murderer. You wanted to trust him, but you didn’t even know him anymore.

He approached you slowly, his eyes observing you. You looked so beautiful in the pale moonlight. He was enamored with you, yet he knew he could never have you. He wanted to take you into his arms and run away with you, but he could never subject you to that. You had your whole life in front of you.

His lips brushed up against yours roughly, and you were surprised. You had loved Itachi since you two were children, but you never thought he returned those feelings. His tongue licked your bottom lip, and you allowed him into your mouth. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer into him. You never wanted this moment to end.

“Itachi…” You moaned breathlessly when you pulled away. He cupped your chin and tilted your head so you could look into his eyes. That’s all it took for you to be placed under his genjutsu.

It’s a sunny afternoon, and you are standing in front of the sink. As you finish up the dishes, you hear the front door open. Sasuke’s voice calls out to you as he runs towards you, his arms outstretched to give you a hug. You smile as you reach to hug him, ruffling his hair. 

“Hi, how was training today?” You ask as he pulls away from the hug.

“It was great. I think I’m getting a lot stronger!” He was so enthusiastic.

Itachi watches from the doorway, a big smile spreads on his face. For once, everything seems to be going well. He knew his parents would be returning home very shortly, and he couldn’t wait to surprise everyone with his big proposal. 

The night goes on without a hitch, and everyone has a wonderful meal together. You always felt like you were a part of the Uchiha family. They made you feel so welcome. This warms your heart as you think about how you were an orphan from a very young age. Both of your parents perished in a battle.

Itachi turns to face you, his beautiful smile is infectious. You were so in love with him, and you couldn’t help it to wish you could be with him forever. You know that maybe you don’t have a chance with him, but being his best friend forever is enough to keep you going in life.

“(Y/N),” Itachi starts. Everyone stops talking and they all turn to face you. You can feel the blush creeping up on your cheeks. “There’s something I need to confess.”

“What is it, Itachi?” You ask, puzzled. He pulls out a small box from his pocket, and inside is a beautiful ruby engagement ring. You aren’t sure how to react anymore.

“Ever since we were children, I knew you’d always be by my side. I don’t want to go through life without you. Will you marry me?” You look into his eyes, and the scene changes…

It’s years later, and you find yourself on the sofa. Your belly has grown quite a bit and you can’t help but rub it every now and then. You wait patiently for Itachi to return from his mission. You still live with the Uchihas, and they always dote on you, especially now that you are pregnant with Itachi’s child. A warmth spreads inside you as you hear the front door slide open. In comes Sasuke, running towards you.

“(Y/N)! Itachi has returned. He’s coming home!” Sasuke is so excited for his brother to return.

You give him a small smile as you struggle to get up. Sasuke is quick to help you up, making sure you don’t hurt yourself or pull a muscle. He has been a dear to you throughout your whole pregnancy. Sasuke was the perfect little brother, and he meant so much to you.

You both walk over to the porch, awaiting Itachi’s arrival. You were growing impatient, but you knew it would be all worth it once he was back in your arms once more. Finally, you could see him coming towards the house. You excitedly called out to him, and he came running. 

Finally, he was there in front of you, holding you in his arms and showering you in kisses. It felt so good to have him here.

“I missed you so much, Itachi.”

He smiles, “I missed you too, (Y/N). And I missed our little one. I cannot wait to be a father!”

You’re brought back to reality as the genjutsu dissolved. You weren’t sure what just transpired, but you knew it had to do with Itachi. You could feel a growing sorrow deep inside you as you looked up at Itachi. His eyes, now dark and normal, had tears welling up in them.

“What was that?” You asked, hoping to get some sort of answers.

He stepped forward, holding you close. His lips pressed against yours once more, and you could feel his wet tears stream down his face and onto yours. For him to cry like this, you knew he was inconsolable. Your heart ached.

“I wanted to show you what we could have had, (Y/N).” He explained as he brushed your hair out of your face.

“We could still have that! Please, take me with you. I need you,” You protested, but he wasn’t hearing any of it.

“No, I can’t do that to you. You have your whole life ahead of you, and I know you could make some other man happy. I could never allow myself to lead you down this path.” You wanted to shut him up, but you knew he was speaking logically.

“Please, we could have that. I want to be with you, Itachi. I love you.” You told him. You trembled as you tried not to cry. It was becoming increasingly difficult.

“(Y/N),” he said. You looked up into his eyes once again, and this time you could see the love and adoration you had for him. “I would do anything for us to be able to live that life, but we can’t. I could never let this happen to you, just know that I love you so much. I need you to be strong for me.”

You fought back tears as best as you could, yet you still started crying. Itachi wiped your tears away, and you relished at the feeling of his hands.

“Be strong for me, (Y/N). Maybe in some other lifetime, we could have been happy together. I want you to know that my actions were justified, and if I could have done it differently, I would have for you. The odds were always going to be stacked against me.”

You wanted to argue with him and have him take you away, but you couldn’t find the strength to do so. Instead, you allowed yourself to be held by him. It could be the last time you would ever see him, and you just wanted to remember the way he felt. You wanted to remember his scent and his voice.

“I love you so much, (Y/N). I’m sorry I put you through so much.” Itachi apologized.

“I love you too. Don’t be sorry.” You told him as you wiped your tears away again. “I may not know the circumstances, but I believe that what you did wasn’t hateful. I just wish I could have helped you, even if it was something small.”

“I will always love you.”

And you found yourself in bed, crying out as your body was slick with sweat. Tears streamed down your face as your body was wracked with hard sobs. You weren’t even sure if what happened was real or if it had just been another dream. You cried out for him, longing to be held by him once again.

[remys-lucky-franc]

Kissing Prompt #27 - Queen of Thieves (Remy)

I know everyone else who was doing these has probably finished working on them already - I’m a slow writer I’m afraid - but I get there in the end - and I’ve really loved working on these prompts ☺️ This is the 2nd last one I have on my list (unless I get any more requests!) - this was requested for Remy and it’s # 27: kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

Written from Remy’s POV

Word Count ~ 1400 words

May have gone a litte bit off piste here - it’s not much exchanged as just given really, but I hope you enjoy it anyway 💜

—- [MORE] [[MORE]]

“Come on, Niko, hurry!”

I hiss quietly at my new friend as he slips through the shutter I’ve prised open. I try to be as discrete as I can. I’ve been on the streets for long enough now to know the importance of disappearing into the shadows, of moving quickly. Niko hasn’t mastered this yet: he snags the edge of his expensive-looking sweater on the rough metal frame, curses under his breath in what I’m sure is his native language, and wrestles to free himself while he tries to keep hold of the kitten. I cast one final glance around the alley before I deftly unhook him and slip through the shutter behind him.

He shoots me that haughty look that I’ve become accustomed to in the past few days, “I had it.”

I fix him with a wink and a grin that say, ‘oh, really?’ as I slip past him, through the storage room and into the waiting area of the medical practice. It’s Friday evening and this place won’t reopen until Monday morning’s first surgery - it’s somewhere safe and warm that we can sleep for a couple of nights. It has a small kitchenette where I can throw together some food for us using a few ingredients I pilfered from a grocery store earlier, plus whatever is left over in the staff fridge. But the best part is that there’s a television and a couple of plush waiting room sofas where we can maybe catch a few hours of sleep. Not that either of us sleep much - just enough to sustain us through the next day: never more.

Once I’ve got my bearings, I set to work on our food and discover a pack of cold cuts that will be perfect for Elizabeth. I call out to Nikolai and get no answer. I try again. And again... Uneasy, I grab a kitchen knife and make my way from room to room silently, stealthily, my heart swelling inside my chest. I scan each doorway as I make my way down the hallway until I reach the main consultation room, and find Niko sitting cross-legged amongst a pile of books, utterly absorbed. I swear under my breath, relieved. I drop down to crouch by him, curious, lifting up one thick tomb,

“Principles and Mechanisms of Clinical Toxicology?”

Nikolai barely grunts in response; too engrossed in what he’s reading.

I check the cover of the textbook in his hand. ‘The Basic Science of Poisons’... I swallow: this is definitely not a weird or intense topic for a runaway fifteen year old - not at all... I tilt my head at him, awaiting some sort of explanation. An acknowledgement? Something? Anything? Niko?

When nothing comes, I tut at him and shake my head in irritation. I return to the half-prepared food feeling slightly disconcerted by my new friend’s fascination with toxins and mortality. He’s so guarded: I can’t help but wonder what his secrets are and what exactly it is that he’s running from? Eventually I reason that I have my fair share of skeletons too, so I won’t pry. He might tell me someday, if he really wants to.

Later that evening, after we’ve eaten, chatted and watched some easy movie on the TV in the waiting room, we turn in for the night. It’s early March and despite the bright Parisian sunshine, there’s a definite chill in the air reminding us that summer isn’t with us quite yet. After some rummaging, I’ve found some pillows and rough hospital blankets in the store cupboard to keep the cold out and make us a little more comfortable. I take the smaller of the two sofas, but Nikolai’s spindly, long legs still dangle over the edges of his when he lies down: he looks so cramped and awkward. Still, it’s luxury compared to the exposed rooftop we slept on on top of our jackets for the past two nights. The sickly moonlight provides no comfort. You can see your breath while you shiver beneath it - little wonder neither of us did more than doze for a few minutes, waiting for the rays of the morning sun to return and restore some warmth and life to us. It sounds so romantic and fanciful, a life of adventure on the streets - going where you like, doing what you want, no parents to answer to - but it’s not. It’s hard on the streets: harder than I imagined it could ever be. But by now, I’m used to it. Niko isn’t yet, so I’ll look out for him.

I’m not sure how much later it is that I’m yanked from sleep by the sound of anguished screams. On my feet in seconds, heart racing, I’m half-dazed and scrambling to find Nikolai’s attacker. I whirl around in the darkness again and again and again, scanning, searching... Until I realise. There’s no one else here. Only me, a frightened kitten and the pale, dark-haired boy asleep on the sofa, thrashing and wailing in a tongue that I can’t understand. Instinctively I kneel by the sofa and lay the back of my hand against his forehead as he flinches away from my touch; he’s stone-cold and drenched in sweat. I speak his name, quietly at first, trying to lure him back from whatever horror grips him behind those blue eyes, then louder, and louder. My hands grip his arms as I gently try to shake him out of it, but it’s no use! He twists and pulls against me, gasps and shouts. As I finally manage to jerk him awake he leaps clear of the sofa, tears stream down his waxy cheeks as he backs away from me, sobs catching in his throat as he calls for Elizabeth. I pause and hold my hands up to show him I mean no harm as I crawl to where he sits, back pinned to the wall, head in his hands, nose buried in her soft grey fur.

“Niko, it’s ok? You’re going to be ok...”

I slip in beside him on the tiled floor, shoulder to shoulder, and peer across at him; I’ve never seen anyone look so fragile and shattered, and all I want in the world is to stop this before he fractures completely. I loop my arm around his shoulders and feel him bristle for a second before he relaxes into me in spite of himself. I know he’s both taller and older than me, but in this moment he looks so young and so very small. He reminds me of my younger brother when we shared a bedroom and he would have a bad dream. He would never call for our maman, always for me: only for me. Although it was simple imaginary monsters under a seven-year-old’s bed that I had to vanquish back then. Now with Nikolai and his demons, I find myself doing as I would with Etienne when we were little; I pull Nikolai closer until both he and Elizabeth are in my lap and his head rests against my chest, the calming rhythm of my heartbeat thrums in his ear.

He tries to protest, mumbling that he’s fine, to leave him be. But he’s not, that much is very, very clear. He shakes like an autumn leaf; brittle and exhausted. I rock our bodies slowly from side to side, mouthing soothing platitudes because they’re all that I have: what else can I say to him when I don’t understand what’s going on? I mop his brow and brush his hair back from his tear-streaked face, softly pressing silent kisses into his crown. I calm and hush him until he eventually snaps fully out of whatever God-awful night terror this was, stiffens to his usual stature and slips away from me with an embarrassed look on his pinched features, the little cat twisting around his ankles as he goes.

I watch after him wordlessly and drop back onto my sofa, sliding under my blankets before he returns. I haven’t known Nikolai for very long at all, but I already understand enough to know that he won’t want a post-mortem of what just happened. When he reappears in the doorway, I ask simply, “Better now?”, and am quite satisfied with the curt nod and tight-lipped smile I’m met with, an accord that we won’t speak of this tomorrow.

[carloswilliamcarlos]

Once Upon a Dream (Kylo Ren x Reader)

Warnings: Rated E for Everyone, gratuitous fairytale fantasies.

Words: 1.3k

AN: A royal AU for our dark prince of Alderaan.

You have a million duties that weigh on you daily as the eldest princess in your family. But the only one that matters is marriage. To your family’s utmost delight and your deepest dread, you’re betrothed to be married tomorrow. You’ve only met the man this morning. He’s everything you always feared he would be: thin, cold, frail, paler than a ghost, hair grey as death. He’s empty, he’s lifeless, he’s bleak. He’s your lack of autonomy in human form. 

You lay awake in your quarters, staring up through your window at the moon. Sliding off your bed, your pry open a tiny, secret gap in your floorboard, pulling out an ivory calligraphy pen. Twirling it between your fingers, you think of him. 

The dark-haired prince you’d run around the forest with as a child, splashing in the river, muddying your dress, watching in awe as he lifted little pebbles from the ground without a finger, making them dance around you. He’d swirl them around your head like a halo, eyes lighting up as you giggled.

The day your mother went out to find you and caught him in the act, the pebbles crashing to the ground, the fear in his face. She’d dragged you back inside the castle roughly by the arm. “We don’t associate with force users,” she spat. “That boy comes from a dark and dangerous kingdom. You must never see him again.”

You had snuck out to meet him one last time, that same night. He gave you his calligraphy pen with a trembling hand. “Remember me,” he said. You plucked a single daisy from your braided hair, pressed a tiny kiss to its petals, and handed it to him delicately. He kissed you under the cover of the forest canopy before he and his black robes disappeared into the night. 

From then on you’d only heard stories about his kingdom, horrible stories about war and terror and villages burnt to the ground. He was Commander now, leading the charge of tyranny. He had killed his own father, the rumors said. The boy you met in the forest is gone, trapped inside the body of a ruthless killer. Some nights, you swear you can still hear his voice in your head.

The news of your engagement has surely reached him by now. You wonder if he remembers splashing in the stream with you or if your memory has been lost to time, age, royal responsibility. 

You know all too much about royal responsibility. After the ceremony tomorrow, carriages will whisk you away to a strange new land, never to see your family or the castle you’ve grown up in again. 

You stand at your window, gazing out at the moonlit tree line, the wind whispering forbidden words and the bubbling of the stream sending a shiver down your spine.

You have to go, before you leave One last time, before your future is stolen from you forever. 

Candlestick in hand, you creak open your heavy wooden door. You tiptoe down the stone hallway, passing by portraits of your ancestors. At the top of the stairs, you spot the one of your great great great grandmother, the one who looked just like you. You think you catch her eye gleaming as you turn to descend the steps. 

The grass tickles your bare feet and brushes against the bottom of your nightgown as you cross the open field toward the tree line, moonlight illuminating your path. You breathe in deep as you step into the forest, darkness swallowing you. 

You follow the sound of the stream, dark creatures passing beside you, two fireflies flitting across the path, unidentifiable croaks, creaks, and snapping twigs filling the air. You walk closer, closer, the soft bed of dirt and leaves padding each step.

Across the stream, you see him, kneeling by the riverbed, a cloaked black figure in the darkness. 

His eyes flick up to meet yours. Kylo.

You’re breathless. 

He says your name, only a whisper, standing slowly. 

You’re frozen until invisible arms surround you, lifting you across the water to stand before him. 

He reaches up a careful, careful finger to swipe away a tear falling from your eye. 

Silence falls over the forest as you stare at each other, struck speechless. 

He’s tall, powerful, broad shoulders standing proudly under his robes. His jaw is stronger now, a scar runs down his cheek, he looks all at once exhausted and furious and frightened. But his eyes. His eyes are the same. Warm. Deep. Searching for something he can only find in you.

As you meet them with your own, his whole body softens, a breath of ease relaxing his figure. 

There are ten trillion words you could say to each other now. Too many years of memories stolen, of innocence lost, of tragedies you’ve both suffered and caused that maybe you never would have, had you been together. You feel it all then: the life stolen from you, the bleak imminent future, the loss of the only real innocence either of you have ever known. 

You can’t think of a single word to say. 

So you reach into your nightgown pocket and pull out the pen, displaying it to him in your open palm. 

He reaches into his cloak and extends his own hand. Above it, a single daisy twirls in the air, as alive and fresh and beautiful as the day you gave it to him all those years ago.

He’s kept it alive with the force, you gather, pulling his own life force from within him to heal it each time it wilted. What you don’t know is he’s done so every single night, alone in his chamber, before he falls asleep. He’s done so even when he bunked in battle encampments, with soot and enemy blood still clinging to his skin.

“I thought you’d forgotten me,” you whisper, another tear falling. 

“Never,” he replies, eyes flicking between yours. “You’re the only thing I ever want to remember.”

“Kylo,” you say, heart sinking, looking down at the forest floor. “I leave tomorrow. I’m engage-”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “I only hoped I’d find you here before you left.”

You nod sadly, face crumbling. You take a shuddering breath. “I never forgot you either.”

He tucks his finger under your chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze. 

“Run away with me,” he says. “Run away with me tonight and you’ll never have to see him again. We can go, now. Leave your kingdom and mine. Start over somewhere new, somewhere far away, somewhere where we can be together always.”

Your heart races. You can’t. Can you? You’d be defying all of your family’s wishes, breaking a generations-long tradition, betraying every role and responsibility you’ve been slave to since before you were born. 

It’s perfect.

“We can have a future,” he says. “A future beyond our bloodlines.”

He waits, holding his breath, watching every expression wash over your face, hoping, hoping.

You look into the black depths of his eyes, catching your own reflection. You see it all then. You see a girl, in love, in power, free, human. You see the child you were when you splashed across the stream for the first time, laughing with abandon. You see the woman you’ll become when you leave with him. And you see the gleam in your great great great grandmother’s eye as you turned to take the stairs, to make your choice, to honor the sacred mysticism of possibility. 

“Yes.”

You’re running now, laughing wildly, hand in his, dodging dark trees and pounding the earth. Your candle lies extinguished on the riverbed, smoke floating up to the stars. 

[cupsofsuga]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏�� ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers.  I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ 💐} REQUEST - ❝ how do the boys act with their s/o during the pandemic? ❞

{ ☕️} NOTE - i am not in any way trying to romanticize or glorify this pandemic. this is strictly for entertainment purposes. right below, i provided a link that lists ways you can help with covid-19::

https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2020/03/21/how-you-can-help-during-coronavirus/?arc404=true

please stay home and stay safe!

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

through the fog of yearning for summer, jin has found you, the child of aphrodite in autumn’s oath

oh, the tender sound of flesh… it’s like thunder under earth’s surface

to love y/n is to love the nymphs that dream amongst the fragrance of weeping willows

to love y/n is to long for their sole attention, and much to jin’s benefit, this global pandemic may have given him the opportunity to hog all the stardust held within the deity of his lover

with classes canceled, you both can spend eternity gathering tulips and wildflowers in the safety of your home

jin can taste laughter against his lips and the august rain of your divine infatuation

he can inhale the sun in your hair and the midsummer fruits on your skin

finally, for what seems like infinity in quarantine, he can breathe

now, to keep this daydream within the forest at constant, he’ll rob any potential excuse of yours that involves not having your attention on him

of course, he would forbid you from seeing anyone outside the solace of your own residence

the faint idea of those heathens laying their ruthless hands upon your heavenly form and possibly imperiling you with this virus infuriates him to no end

even during the hours spent on online classes, jin will smother with resentment over the revelation that he’d be required to spend several hours without your love

boredom and envy, two poisons racing like serpents through the maze of his veins

and he can’t seem to sedate this burning jealousy, that is until the session ends and the grandfather clock sings it’s euphoric harmony

oh, and when your attention is finally on him

petals splatter, lambs sing, the sun kisses the moon and the fruit of the earth flourishes

heaven is on earth, and besides, you never needed those classes, anyways

with perfect grades, perfect class, perfect reputation, jin could give you whatever your heart could desire

and he’ll love you until the sun vanishes and the earth is reborn; until all stars fragment and our galaxy dissolves into dust

jin loves you and the blossom of july that follows

he loves you to death.

━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

oh, how yoongi loves you...

to digest his own organs, to tend to the wounds of his garden

he’d trade in his life for the fleeting chance of bathing in your moonlight

like the crumpled-up paper left on your table with the number of a pretty waitress scribbled on, the scrape of peach fuzz against naked skin under ocherous streetlights

you, y/n l/n, a stranger in the alps holds the dawn-tinted fragments of this young boy’s soul

the resonance of your honeymoon-flavored voice, the liberation of the ocean’s pearls as they sleep in your touch, your superlunary reassurance as you soothe him of his concerns for the world’s condition

yoongi cannot comprehend how sour solitude blossomed into a sultry summer by the acceleration of a global pandemic

he owns the privilege to spend infinite days in quarantine, butterflies and white lace upon his heart as he wakes up to the sight of your face, yet again

he watches as stars and planets melt together as your galaxies collide, relishing in the feverish sensation of eternal divinity

and during this pandemic, yoongi’s tendencies flourish as his dependence, neediness and loyal compliance intensify

he’ll go out of his way and purchase all of the necessities you could ever crave, the revelation of his health at stake left unbothered

it is challenging to find entertainment throughout quarantine, but fortunately for you, your hero (missing his cape) uses his rent money to find you whatever it is you've deemed vital

you’ll go and welcome your lover after he returned to your residence from getting groceries and discover a variety of board games to play, a nintendo switch (with animal crossing, obviously), and an espresso machine that he bought with intentions on teaching you how to make drinks like he does (even though there will never be a day where he won't brew one for you)

despite fear painting every street in the world, yoongi touches aphrodite’s reminiscence as he skates beyond a rainbow’s arch

he has found sunlit honey in the mornings where he can cling onto your form like a lifeline and smother you with his coffee-stained kisses and overwhelming fascination

finally, days are heavenly with you by his side every. waking. second

the bullets have faded, the storms have abolished, the tears have shattered and all that’s left is your french perfume and cherry lips

oh, you should expect suffocating love during this quarantine season because you’ll never escape from yoongi

not now, not ever.

━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

due to covid outbreak, hoseok feels his body tremble with fear beneath his covers as if the virus was a monster underneath his bed

behind the exquisite light of his sanity is winter, where terror sits like snow against naked trees

only then, you waltz into his tunnel of vision, your silver armor glistening under the amber light of his bedroom

finally, with you by his side, he can savor the taste of the sun as it peaks through the leaves of summer

y/n, the sweetest apparition, the aurora of jasmine, stardust in a mason jar

you are the bones of ecstasy and hoseok feels the horror racing through his veins melt into a daze of tulips and passion

and it took him days to recover from the lemon-flavored euphoria that dreams of you in a hallucinatory lucidity

but, even then, the heart of his infatuation still holds cunning ways of creeping up behind him

despite being locked inside, hoseok still relies on you to protect him

you’re his knight in shining armor, his life preserver in an empty sea

he needs you to wrap your wings around his form and shield him from the demons that lurk in the shadows of your home

god, does he need you

but, when the sun is high and both of you are trapped in the walls of your home, his soul ascends as if he had listened to his favorite part of a song for the very first time

your lover then insists on creating a fort, the light of purity heavy in his opalescent irises

that childlike innocence within him, you always adored it

you’ll both make a mess of your living room with couch cushions and chairs, certainly to receive a scolding from your parents

there are fairy lights strung upon quilts with its heavenly glow and tender pillows that are painted with last years midsummer night-dew

and with scarlet ribbons and a huff of contentment, your masterpiece is complete

now, you will lie in the fort that is shielded with a password, lover in your lap as he runs upon his little rants

a disney movie you can’t recall the name of is left abandoned to play on its own as hoseok works you through the timeline of the pixar theory, hope, and exuberance within his expression

he always admired conspiracy theories, but not the ones that are too frightening

you, aphrodite’s rose and summer’s sweet fruits, are there for hoseok to love and to embrace

and he’d swim all the oceans and waltz through the depths hellfire to prove to you just how enamored he truly is

that is until he longs for his childhood stuffed animal that he makes you go into the attic to get because he’s too afraid of the dark.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

namjoon will love you until the end of eternity

he’ll love you until the moon swims the seven seas, he’ll love you until fate eradicates into liberty, he’ll love you until white jasmines accelerate into poppies

he’ll love you until our solar system melts into prismatic ash

and this epiphany flourishes as the night sings with you nestled against his chest, your lover refusing to let you go even when the sun is high in the sky

with locks of hair rested upon the crevice of his neck and latin poetry he’s too tired to translate parting his lips, he has found ecstasy in the purple rain that enveloped him

he has found the hidden nymphs of his life nestled under leaves; he has found his light in a sea of dead stars

and namjoon can’t imagine a day where he wouldn’t bleed himself dry to protect the one thing that matters most to him

due to the spread of this virus, let’s just say that his paranoia has gotten the best of him

you’ve never seen so much fear within his eyes from just a simple cough

you’ll be forced to stay within the lavish bedroom of his as all possible necessities are delivered to your door

and any excuse for you to leave, he has another to dismiss it

you’re hungry? great, a full-course gourmet meal made by our personal chefs is on its way!

you’re thirsty? would you like water? tea? wine? we’ll have the housekeeper deliver it in a jiffy!

you’re bored? we have board games, puzzles, movies, video games, whatever your little heart desires!

you feel trapped? ok, fine… well, i guess we can go take a walk in the garden

and you felt such a rush of elation to take sight upon the lustrous tulips possessing a variety of colors and to inhale the fragrance of summer as it stains your consciousness

oh, to feel sunbeams heavy against your longing skin and to trace your fingers down the juts and crevices of your favorite flowers

this is euphoria tied with a silk bow

that is until you were aggressively yanked behind namjoon as he saw the gardener wasn’t 6 feet away from you

he spat out threats to the poor man just trying to water the poppies you infatuated yourself with

but hey, at least you got a taste of the sun though, right?

oh, well, the tiffany and louis in your expensive bedroom will suffice, anyways.

━━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

so… this is love

to caress the sugar-scented tulips on the riverside, to taste summer as worries melt like honey against your tongue

to lose yourself in the lustrous daze as camellia flowers fall like pink rain

so… this is love

and god, jimin has never felt so alive

like a dove at dawn, iridescent feathers, and misty eyes

you descended into his field of vision and robbed him of his heart right then and there

and now, as the sun glistens and the moon shimmers, day-by-day, he holds the privilege of calling himself yours

especially being locked within the walls of your home, infatuation seethes like dust in the attic above

it’s far too dangerous for you to leave, anyway

with disease, sorrow, and pain staining the air of the world, it’s only best is you stay indoors… only by his side, for every waking second

and you swear, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve awoken to the sight of your lover with his chin rested against his palm, hearts swimming in his eyes as he chirps, “good morning, bumblebee!”

but, you have to realize, he just can’t help it

there’s moondust in your lungs, sunbeams bathing within your veins, the rings of saturn enveloping your locks of hair, stars nestled beneath the crevice of your heart

there’s a universe inside of you, and luckily for jimin, it is all his

only his

as the morning is set into motion, your boyfriend has a variety of activities for you to indulge yourself with

days are spent reading you through all several journals he reserved just for you, pages filled with cheesy poems, songs, or your name written obsessively over and over and over and over again

he’ll giggle like a young schoolgirl at your reactions, drown you in butterfly kisses or gaze at you for hours as you read, oblivious to his creepy admiring stare

and god forbid you drink water and it goes down the wrong tube

you’ll cough once and he’ll begin to pamper you as if you were a sick orphan child

that’s who he is, though

dedicating his entire life to the sun itself; dedicating his existence to the child of aphrodite in full bloom

god… he has found love

and nothing is more euphoric than this

and you had absolutely no idea a worldwide pandemic could make this man the happiest boy on planet earth.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

you can’t recall how long it’s been since you were abducted

days have melted into candy, hours turn to honey, seconds are everlasting grace

you’ve been treated like royalty ever since pages of your face with a loud ‘MISSING’ on top had been scattered across town

your kidnapper lover will bake you cherry pies, boxy smile threaded on his face. he’ll draw a bath adorned with rose petals raw from the garden, eyes flickering with hopes and exuberance

taehyung will give you just about every pleasure a human could ask for, all in the name of seeing that candied smile that sedates his mind and turns his knees to jelly

he wouldn’t be shocked if he looked down and saw a puddle of his drool, to be honest

and because of the uproar of the virus, taehyung finds in his best power to simply not tell you

to protect you from your worries, to shield you from this world

he would rather die than risk losing his glimmering evening to the arms of the earth

this revelation strikes coldly as you sit beneath a willow tree, sugary pastries and treats varied around you as your lover sits with his canvas

to blend the opalescent tones of your face, then the loud devotion of your skin and the feverishly irradiated hues of your iris

oh, to sit here and paint his dear… it’s pure bliss!

days spent deprived of the burden of technology, heaven has reached the recesses of this horrid planet

after lunch beneath the sun, you and taehyung will take canoe rides throughout the lake just outside your little cottage on the hillside

and watching as you graze your fingertips upon the lake’s surface like you’re made of something magic and blessing the water with your enigmatic essence was practically holy to see

he’s been puzzled stupid in times like these

where the sun is high and heavy, golden embers kiss upon the land, his lover sat with a goddesses caress

it’s euphoric how you breathe and strip taehyung of every logical thought within his mind

yes, you are captive, but there is simply no denying this man's devotion to you

you shall not worry about the worldwide pandemic and should rather fall into a deep slumber within the faded-red canoe

when it’s only the two of you, a virus is but a speck of dust left upon the highest shelf

no matter what this world comes to, you are safe with taehyung

and nothing will take you away from him.

━━━ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

jungkook thinks of you more often than he should

those fleeting moments where your dulcet laugher reflects and his eyes are practically glued to you; those moments where your “i love you”’s are unadulterated and his entire chest collapses

he’d do anything and everything to keep his light forever home

fortunately for him, this global pandemic may have gifted him that opportunity laced with a velvet bow

but this boy is paranoid, you see. so paranoid that the intensity of his concern comes out in an opalescent pandemonium

it’s as if saltwater swells in his lungs and kisses him with it’s strangling embrace; as if his worst sins have been placed on a silver platter, left for the world to laugh and gape at

but, through the haze of his purgatory, there’s you, joyous and alive

and it’s like a potion mixed with rosewater, vanilla and a dove’s feathers heavy on his tongue whenever he drinks in the sight of you

it’s like the essence of his infatuation dancing like a ballerina beyond the recesses of his mind; his sanity it’s ballroom

to spend days in quarantine bathing within his bewitchment is euphoric, but there are the days of terror that creep upon him

and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the time where you had complained to your lover about your headache and observed as the planets swimming in his irises abruptly fade to utter horror

he always over-exaggerated his worry, which you were used to, but this

you’ve never seen true fear like this

you were given a cold towel to place upon your forehead and kisses to soothe you of your distress

the worry he possessed only snowballed into something much more cynical and evil, though, as the prophecy of the virus taking you away from him shook him to his very core

you eventually fell into a deep slumber by dusk, most likely by the fault of the medicine

though, as the moon was high and the bedside clock read 2:38 AM in it’s fluorescent, neon green hues, you were awoken by the hushed sounds of weeping

blinking your mind back into reality, you found jungkook on the bedside, shoulders shaking violently from the sobs that shook his entire body

you watched as he incoherently wailed into the phone, only to finally decipher the person on the other line was a 911 operator

you then handled the situation safely and maturely, reassuring the poor operator that you were perfectly healthy and safe and thus proceeding to care for your puppy-dog of a boyfriend who worried over every breathe you took for the following several weeks

oh, what a time this quarantine will be

but, hey! you weren’t sick! so…yay!

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (13/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: This chapter includes descriptions of physical and emotional abuse towards Vassa. If you find this potentially troubling or triggering to read, I'm providing a summary of the chapter at the very end of this chapter, so that you're able to skip it and keep following along with the story. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. If you'd like to get an early peek at chapter 11 and all future chapters, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane. Thank you for reading! ❤️

When Koschei claims her, the fire rages in Vassa’s veins, threatening to consume her. She hates that Lucien’s last impression of her will be the screaming of a wretched, frightened woman, but in those last moments in the Spring Court, Vassa is certain that Koschei will turn her body into filaments of bloody flesh. She can feel her flesh separating from bone.

When she opens her eyes again, she is back at the lake and Koschei looms over her, silhouetted against the full moon. The only indication that any time has passed is the white gossamer gown that Koschei has always dressed her in, translucent even in the moonlight.

“You put up quite a fight, my darling,” he says, nearly purring the endearment. Bile rises in her throat. Before, he never touched her except to strike. He’d never called her darling. “I had to force you to sleep for days. And you will notice that the enchantment on you is more tightly wound than before. After all, I was asked to keep you from escaping.”

“Briallyn is dead. The rest of the queens have left their thrones behind. Who still binds you?” She imagines herself in the throne room. It’s the only way she can keep her voice level.

“You’ll find I always keep my promises, little bird. Unlike your ragtag group of friends. You should know that they have not appeared to try and claim you.”

“I told them not to rescue me,” Vassa says, injecting as much fire in her words as she can bear. Inside she still feels ragged, every joint and sinew sore and tender, though her skin is still unmarked, the moonlight making her skin unnaturally pale, even against the white gown. An image, her golden brown hand on Lucien’s bronzed arm, the way they were shining and alive together, streaks across her mind. She banishes the thought quickly. Vassa has never been sure if Koschei can read her mind, especially now in this weakened state.

“Surely you are scheming,” the death-lord says, curling a finger and using it to raise her chin so that she’s forced to meet those depthless eyes, “but I will warn you, your cadre will not find me quite the fragile opponent that plagues this world.”

“Why am I so important to you?” she asks, forcing herself to meet his gaze, to keep from looking away. Best to keep him talking. Maybe then he’ll reveal a key part of his strength or magic, maybe somehow she’ll be able to pass it on to Lucien and he will know what to do, will know whether the words are sincere or a carefully baited trap.

But Koschei only gives a little smirk and turns away from her, sweeping his cloak in a gesture she knows means she is to follow.

Vassa had always been dimly aware of her relative weakness as a human, but now, unable to remember what has happened, unable to free herself, unable to focus on her goal with the same single-minded passion she’d had during her first captivity, she feels weak as a wet piece of paper, ready to dissolve at the faintest touch. She’d trained with a sword, once, gave speeches that brought her people to their knees. But no words can save her now, and even if she had a sword, what use would it be against a magic so powerful that none of the fae in this world could find a way to overcome it?

It was a hard lesson to a woman trained to be a queen, but in her first captivity, she learned how to be powerless, how to bide her time. So Vassa heaves herself to her feet with as much grace as her throbbing joints will allow and follows Koschei.

The sorcerer is bound to this lake, so Vassa has never been sure how he manages such a richly appointed table, more elegant than anything she has witnessed in her own court or in Prythian. The food, too, is exquisite, and though she is worried it has been drugged, after three days without a meal, she wolfs down everything so artfully arranged on her gilded plates, trying not to notice the gleam in Koschei’s dark eyes.

When she begins to feel sleepy, Vassa hopes it is merely the effect of being sated, the wine she drank. Koschei did drug her before, in those first days when she had not yet realized the futility of fighting him. After a week, the helplessness was enough to break her. Still, she thinks, as a heavy unconsciousness claims her, this means he thinks she can escape. That somehow, in some way she still cannot parse, the death-lord is vulnerable.

She wakes submerged in the dark waters of the lake, weeds clinging to her ankles, her lungs burning, and Vassa barely has the strength to hoist herself to the surface, pushing the water away from her body until she can gasp in the air. Above her, the stars are brighter than she’s ever seen.

Taking in the beauty as she paddles to shore, Vassa thinks of Elain. A peace that is nurtured by beauty, the legacy she’d wanted. At the time it had seemed a lovely wish, if a little anemic, the kind of thing that girls dream of. But now, as Vassa watches the stars fill the great dome of the sky, glittering above her, she thinks that maybe Elain knew all along, the necessity of this wish. If all along she was lost in her pragmatism, while Elain Archeron, the sweet-faced gardener, was the one who really saw the world.

She does not know if she will ever see Elain again.

She’s still not sure why Koschei let her leave with Gabriel Archeron, though Vassa has wondered if Hybern’s magic, their command of the cauldron, was too great a threat for even the death-lord to allow. But perhaps, in spite of all his promises, Koschei will let her go, or perhaps Lucien in all his cleverness will find a plan, and Elain will wield whatever fearsome gift is inside her, and Tamlin will storm the gates alongside them, the sword under which all their cleverness and strategy can thrive. Her companions at the Spring Court could be the stuff of legends, she decides, if only they’d realize their own capabilities. Perhaps this is nostalgia, but still it glows inside her, an ember of hope.

It’s this hope that allows Vassa to steel herself for the dinner with Koschei, that keeps her from fully slaking the growling hunger inside her. So that she pretends to fall into the drugged sleep early, her limbs sprawled heavy on the table, her face on the half-laden plate for effect. She knocks over the wine and worries this is one flourish too many, but once she’s really evened her breathing, Koschei begins to croon over her. The tone, which reminds her of her fellow queens exclaiming over babies and puppies, makes her skin crawl, but she cannot understand what he’s saying, the language unlike anything she’s ever heard on this earth. She wills her muscles to stay relaxed. Even a twitch will give her away.

Without warning, he picks her up by the back of her dress, the delicate seams digging into her skin, and flings her across the room.

For a small eternity, Vassa is in the air. Eyes closed, she tries to keep herself from panicking, from anticipating the fall.

When she hits the wall, and then the ground, the pain in her head is bright in her eyes, an explosion of pain that shoots through her body. The food she ate rises, burning, in her throat. Her joints are clanging. All the while, she tries not to make a sound, to keep her breathing low and even, though each breath is its own sharp pang.

Boots cross the room. Will he kick her next? Is this what Koschei does every night?

Somehow Vassa wills herself to stay still, nearly relaxed. She wanted to know what was happening to her. If he continues with a beating, eventually she will lose consciousness, but at least she will not be some limp doll with only a few precious moments of clarity, of starlight and beauty and memory.

But Koschei does not kick her.

Instead, he crouches down by her.

“I know you’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice so gentle it could belong to another person, not the sorcerer who flung her across a room as if to shatter her, “I am at least a bit more clever than you think I am, little bird.”

She stays quiet. Koschei has never rewarded reluctant obedience.

“Do you know what I think? I think those faeries convinced you of their friendship and now you mean to spy for them. Perhaps that’s why you offered so little resistance when you felt my call. I want to believe you missed me, but as I said, I am not quite as foolish as you believe.”

His fingers are on her face, tracing her cheekbone, the line of her jaw. The pad of his thumb presses into her bottom lip.

Lucien touched her like this, only a few days ago. Your lips are perfect for kissing, he’d said, how is it that they’re so soft?

“I smell that faerie on you, Vassa,” Koschei says, obliterating her thoughts. His voice approximates a song. “I know you took him into your bed. Did you think the fire would burn off my enchantment? Or did you know that your lover’s true father is known across this world for his acumen at breaking spells? Did you think they would find a way to free you?”

He brushes his thumb against the seam of her mouth, so lightly that her lips do not part.

“The creatures of this world are weak. I would have thought you’d know better by now.”

Vassa does not whimper or cry out, only waits for him to speak again, to strike or violate her. She will be limp as a doll, she tells herself, a dead weight in his hands.

Instead, there is silence for one laden moment, then another. She hears the sound of his boots on the floor, walking away.

Then he turns back. Before Vassa can register the sound of his quickened steps, his booted foot is at her stomach and his fingers are in her hair and once again, she’s flying.

This time, oblivion claims her before the pain.

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Vassa wakes up inside the firebird. The world is still alive, the water of the lake spangled with rainbows and the afternoon sun, and the absence of pain is a miracle. She tries to remember why she is so glad to notice all these things but she cannot remember. Instead she wonders why the lake is empty, why the other birds scatter when she draws near.

Why, if she has wings, does she not fly?

This time, when the sun dips below the horizon, Vassa’s mind is ready and she swims to shore before the fabric of her dress is soaked through. The pain from the previous night’s assault has vanished from her head and her stomach, her back and her shoulder, even in this form. She realizes that perhaps more than a day has passed, that it could have been weeks since she was last conscious. Somehow this possibility is more appealing than Koschei healing the damage while she was incapacitated. Even when there’s magic involved, a healer needs to put his hands on the patient, skin to skin.

When she hoists herself up on the bank, Koschei looms over her.

“How was your day?” he asks, as if they were completely different people in completely different circumstances, friends parted for a day by their respective obligations.

Vassa is careful to modulate her voice so that it’s all sweetness.

“Did you know that birds can see more than humans?”

“I have heard the shapeshifters among the High Fae make such a comment, but I suspect their own vision is relatively weak. Particularly if they’re devising artificial eyes.”

She takes a deep breath of the evening air to buy herself a bit of time to think, notes the chill of autumn beginning to creep into the summer evening. Soon, the water of the lake will be frigid and she will have to stay in her right mind if she wants to avoid swimming those waters when winter comes.

Koschei misinterprets her silence as acquiescence and holds out his hand to her.

He does not decide what her gestures mean. It’s what she tells herself as she grips his palm with her cold fingers, allows him to pull her upright. When he turns away from her toward his home, she follows without comment.

Let him think she’s already broken, she thinks with a little smirk, trying to keep from tripping on the sodden skirts that cling to her ankles.

Koschei passes his entry hall, the dining room, leads her deeper into the house, further than Vassa would expect the walls to extend based on the outer dimensions of the structure. He ascends a spiralling staircase, passing the hallways to two shadowed floors, then leads her to a landing that would be beautiful in the day, with high windows and wooden floors that would gleam red-gold in the sunlight. The color of her own hair.

But this moment of enjoyable vanity is destroyed when Koschei stops, gestures with elegantly pointed fingers at an open door. The room lit with candles is a bedroom, the bed large and inviting.

During her first captivity, she slept outside, under the stars. Even the freezing nights were preferable to this implicit threat. Nausea rises through her, the remembrance of those fingers caressing her face. She tries to keep these thoughts from appearing on her face, knows that she’s probably failing. Her queen’s training only preserved a certain lack of respect, not the threat of capture or abuse or even rape. Her tutors did not prepare her for this scenario when they taught her how to modulate her voice.

“I only thought that you would like to change into a dry gown before dinner,” he says, his voice a perfect simulacrum of charm.

“And deny you the pleasure of drying the fabric through your own magic?”

“I am given to think that you human women detect such interventions as unpleasant. Unless you have learned otherwise during your time in Prythian.”

She thinks of Lucien, the way he’d warm his hands or feet so that he never caused her a single shiver of cold, only of pleasure.

“I learned many things in Prythian,” she says, trying to keep the expression from her voice. “Will you wait for me, or should I meet you at the table?”

“Are you planning on escaping through the window?”

“I’m sure you’ve already considered this possibility and warded the room.”

He smiles at her, runs his tongue along his pointed teeth. She has to work to hold her resolve. There is a benefit in letting an enemy think he has won. Even if it feels like a real loss.

“Join me at the dinner table. I expect that you will not linger unduly.”

She nods, dips into a curtsy for good measure, then waits until she hears him pass the second landing before entering the room. Quickly, quietly, she opens every drawer, looking for a weapon, a document, anything that could help, but there are only washcloths and cosmetics and jewels and perfumes and handkerchiefs and underthings. Because of course what she needs most at this moment is a functional corset.

She does not, cannot, ask herself how Koschei acquired so many items of a woman’s toilette. At best he summoned them to himself with whatever magic populates his flawless table. The worst options will wreck her utterly.

On the bed lies the dinner gown, sumptuous in a deep green velvet, no adornment but a line of pearls at the wide collar, which she knows will glow against her skin. The gossamer gowns are for virginal princesses. This is a dress that a queen wears when addressing her subjects.

She lets her sodden dress and underthings fall to the floor with a wet slap. The velvet is heavy enough that she does not bother with undergarments. They will only leave her itchy and haunted by the women who wore them before her, why Koschei kept them prisoner and how he managed to make their lives miserable.

In all her time with Koschei, she’s never seen another woman. Only the sorcerer, until Gabriel Archeron negotiated her freedom.

Nevertheless, and perhaps it is only her imagination, but Vassa swears that she can feel the spirits of these unknown women around her while she fastens jewels around her neck and in her earlobes, arranges her hair into a coronet. Their spirits gild the air around her when she fashions a stiff necklace into a diadem that’s pleasantly cool against her forehead. She has never liked bracelets or rings, which have always felt constraining, especially after Koschei, but when she looks at herself in the mirror, she looks passably queenlike. She even manages to muster a haughty expression, the kind that would send Lucien rolling his eyes at her whenever she aimed it towards him in the bedroom. A traitorous clutch of hope pounds in her heart, just at the idea of him.

I believe you will find a way to free me, she thinks in his direction, hoping one of the clustered spirits will pass the message. Their presence does not scare her. They have not assembled to do her harm.

Finally, heaving a deep breath into her lungs, Vassa exits the room, descends the winding staircase until she’s in Koschei’s lavish dining room.

Koschei is alone at the table, angling a goblet of wine to his lips.

“You look lovely, little queen,” he says, rising as she walks toward the table. He pulls out a chair for her, brushing a kiss to her temple.

For a second, his beard snags on the chain of her diadem, and Vassa forces herself to smother a smile, her first in days. Then she forces the hair free and sinks into her chair, letting her palms sprawl on the arms, the way she’d sit on her throne, the youngest and most willful of the seven queens who ruled the human realms of this world. With her people she was all easy grins and drawling delivery, witty and clever and sure, but with six other queens, Vassa knew enough to keep herself in check, to hide the whirling of her brain behind flawless manners.

She eats the food before her, her bites demure and chewed in silence, and eventually Koschei begins to speak about nothing in particular, the harvest in a nearby village and the berries of the forest, the signs which predict the weather in the coming days and seasons. Vassa sips her wine and makes encouraging little sounds in the back of her throat, watching for the small detail that will signal disaster.

This evening is practically a kindness coming from Koschei. His kindness is always suspect.

Vassa waits for a drugged sleep to claim her, but the meal continues the way a state dinner does, a new course periodically revealed as the most boring guest drones on and on about subjects that interest him only. Luckily, Vassa has had years of practice at smiling and nodding while crucial diplomatic relations can crumble over the improper acceptance of a compliment.

When dessert is finished, along with the smallest sip of port Vassa can manage, Koschei says, “I would like to offer you a room to sleep in, as a symbol of my faith in you.”

“That is a great kindness,” she manages to say, though all her senses are screaming.

“It would not do, if you were to sleep outside in the coming days. The nights are growing colder and colder. I would hate to see you freeze. Do you know what happens to a human body in such conditions?”

She expects him to continue speaking but he looks at her as if he expects to answer. She lets her eyes widen, as if the thought is too horrible to consider, as if he himself has not flung her across the room and allowed her bones to fracture.

“Believe me, little bird, you do not want to experience this pain. I insist you take the room.”

How she makes herself murmur a thank-you, Vassa will never know.

She climbs the stairs slowly, turning to look over her shoulder, but Koschei does not follow. When she reaches the room at the top of the staircase, she removes her jewels, pulls the blanket from the bed, and wedges herself against the closed door.

“If you have any ghost-magic, I would appreciate your protection,” Vassa whispers to the spirits that thicken the air of the room.

There is no silence. There is also no attack.

Vassa wakes into the gray pre-dawn, and manages to make her way outside before the world, her mind, all dissolve into a haze of colors and movement which overwhelm her thoughts completely.

The next few weeks fall into this routine: a new dress for every dinner, Koschei’s endless small talk, peppered with increasing yet innocuous questions about her mundane preferences and youthful memories, and a night spent curled on the floor with her back to the door, sleeping and yet alert to every sigh and creak of the house in case it’s an alert to Koschei’s presence. He never comes, and Vassa never feels more feral than in those half-dozing hours, when she realizes the way animals must sleep in the wild. Luckily she’s able to sleep on the lake as the firebird, which she realizes as her human mind learns once again how to work within the confines of the bird’s mind.

One night, when Vassa is preparing herself for dinner, there is a voice inside her mind.

Have you seen my sister? The voice sounds like Elain but with more gravity. Feyre.

You know I am a captive, don’t you?

Elain wants to rescue you more than anything. She and Lucien. I am worried they have made some terrible decisions in the course of pursuing your safety.

A death-lord holds me as his captive, High Lady, she says, not bothering to hide the derision in her voice. Once, she’d asked Feyre to free her. She’s not convinced that Feyre took her plea seriously. She’s heard the stories, of course, which tell of Feyre Cursebreaker, who, as a human, bargained for Tamlin’s life against Amarantha. Her trials and the torture she endured before she was reborn as High Fae have become legend, to the point where Vassa wonders how much is true, or if Feyre has given up the memories of her experience. Because if she endures this, if she ever leaves Koschei, there will be no women in captivity in her lands, no girls locked in strange rooms at the behest of men.

We are working on a plan to rescue you.

But you have lost Elain and probably Lucien, as well.

A silence, and then a sound like a sigh, so deep it’s nearly a groan.

Is he… harming you?

At first. Now he is being too kind.

There’s a silence. Vassa doesn’t know if Feyre understands or thinks she is being ridiculous. She has never been more aware of all her weakness than in this moment, when she cannot so much as parse a simple mental conversation.

We will rescue you.

There are only a few moments before Koschei will be suspicious, so Vassa decides to blurt out everything she knows. Let Feyre and her court work out the implications.

Lucien is working on parsing the spell that binds me. He’s working with Helion in the Day Court. And your sister -- I cannot detect power the way the fae do, but your sister is much stronger than you think. Koschei knows about her powers, probably more than you do. He will want her at his side.

Has he mentioned Elain to you?

Not yet. He doesn’t trust me with much information. She blows out a breath, fogging the mirror so that she’s only the red mass of hair and golden skin, the heavy purple folds of her dress. I am late to dinner and I am sure he will detect this conversation.

I’ll erase it behind you.

When you see your sister, tell her she was right about beauty. And Lucien has not betrayed you. I think Lucien is the best male in all of Prythian.

There’s a tug at her chest, the harness of the spell pulled tight.

I’m being summoned, she thinks toward Feyre, and then, as she descends the stairs, Vassa begins to wonder why it is that, despite the perfect ordinariness of the day, she feels a spark of hope inside her like a flower unfurling its petals.

Dinner with Koschei is a little quieter than usual, and Vassa finds herself worrying that Koschei will notice the difference in her, the lightness. As usual, she makes sure to keep quiet, hum her acquiescence in between careful bites.

“It is not so terrible being here, is it?” he says, when the plates of their entree have vanished and the dessert has not yet appeared. She longs to reach for her glass of wine.

“The forest is lovely in autumn,” she responds in a voice like honey, keeping her barb well-cloaked. “There’s a certain angle of the light that is quite beautiful at this time of year.”

He scoffs a little, the smile on his lips revealing the points of his teeth. Whatever Koschei was in the world of his origin, he was never meant to have an endearing grin.

“I am speaking of this life you have, every night. The dinners and dresses, the well-appointed room. You would like it to continue?”

She wants to say you know I am a captive, don’t you? The words feel familiar but she knows they are not safe in this place.

“You keep the finest table I’ve ever known, Koschei.” She meets his eyes when she says this, tries to make them earnest as she offers this one tiny pleasant truth.

“There is so much more I could offer you, little queen.”

He leans toward her, across the table, reaches out her hand. Vassa allows him to clutch her fingers. He runs his thumb against her fingertips, his skin against hers. She does not wince. She forces her face into a pleasant expression.

“Tell me more.” She cannot say what are you talking about. She will not be able to make the words sound pleasant.

“I could make you my wife and queen.” His thumb is on her wrist, the dip at the base of her palm where her pulse thrums. “Forget Scythia, Vassa. You could rule over all the human lands. The whole of this world.”

“And what would be left for you?”

She cannot keep the fear from her voice, but Koschei does not seem to mind. He regales her with another smile, a predator’s expression.

“There are other worlds, my little queen. Soon I will enter them as ruler.”

Vassa is too stunned even to attempt a correction to the posessive. At some point, her hand falls to the table, empty.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN SUMMARY

Vassa is imprisoned by Koschei at the lake. She is barely conscious in her firebird form, and is physically abused by Koschei when she's awake. Still, despite the abuse and the fact that as a human queen she is in every way outmatched, she tries to keep fighting. Vassa becomes seemingly acquiescent to Koschei but stays alert for any apparent weakness, though she begins to despair. After a short time, Koschei begins to show kindness to Vassa, offering her a new gown every evening and a room in his house which she's never seen, which is inhabited by the spirits of other women. She is afraid that Koschei will drug and/or assault her, but instead he offers her dinner and shelter. After a few weeks of this confusing treatment, Feyre speaks into Vassa's mind, looking for the missing Elain and Lucien, and promising a rescue, a promise that Vassa doubts. At dinner that same night, Koschei offers to marry Vassa and make her queen of this world, with himself as the ruler of every realm. Horrified, she does not answer him.

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 6

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking

Beta:  ilikaicalie

*Chapters 7-25 (26 posting tonight) are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

Two Months Later

“How often do the two of you lie together?” The midwife asks, sitting across from you in judgment. You’ve been married eight months and you’re still not pregnant. Most of the kingdom sees it as your only job and for the most part, it is. As the queen, it’s your duty to provide your husband with heirs to his throne.

Growing up you could never picture yourself as a mother, in fact, you’d never confess it but in truth, the idea of having children is not appealing at all. But your ability to give Sam children is imperative and it’s a responsibility you take seriously.

“Enough.” You shift uncomfortably.

“Apparently not,” she quips. “Have you keep keeping yourself warm during the nights? It will help your womb ripen.”

“I think so, I don’t feel cold,” you offer, looking back to your bed. “Isn’t there something we can do? Herbs I could drink?”

“I’ll concoct a tincture, perhaps it will help.” She eyes you and then shrugs. “I’ll speak to your maids. Make sure they’re stoking the fire throughout the night.”

--

After months of seclusion, you begin to plot your own personal rebellion. Most nights are yours alone. The last of the servants come to check the fire just before midnight, leaving you alone until the morning light breaks.

You typically stay up late, reading by candlelight into the early hours of the morning. It’s on one of these late nights when you’re curled up by the fire that you hear gentle snoring coming from the hall.

The night guard, Tobias, has fallen asleep.

Opening the heavy door to your room you peek out to find him propped against the wall, dead asleep on his feet. Collecting a shawl you inch out the door, tiptoeing silently down the hallway. You scamper carefully over the stone walkways, stopping to exchange your shawl for that of a servant’s and make your way to the exterior of the castle.

You walk with the stealth of a ghost, silent and light, making your way through the dark streets of the village and out of the city. You walk and walk until the fields surrounding the castle are visible under the moonlight. Staying in the castle at night feels like a waste of this perfect opportunity to slip into the dark.

Over the following weeks, you come to crave the experiences of nighttime, when the stars kiss the sky, decorating the heavens above like the most exquisite jewels. Beauty beyond human creation, all for simply raising your eyes instead of watching the timid footfalls that take you toward the aging drawbridge.

It’s here in Lebanon you discover your thirst for life after sunset, seeking ghosts of the past and whatever else prefers the world without the glare of the sun. In this shadowless black your ears are perfect, your senses heightened.

The night guard into a predictable pattern and you watch the clock tick well past midnight as you pry the door open to assure he’s asleep, which most night he is. These free nights are spent in the fields, laying your back, staring up at the heavens and dreaming of a different life, an existence where you’re free to choose your own path. If you were a man you’d go on grand adventures, exploring distant lands and uncharted territories. You get lost in these waking dreams, oftentimes for hours.

Tonight you’re running at full speed across the open field, your breath fast and heavy as you push farther and faster, skin covered in sweat. Your feet make little noise as they kiss the ground under the fat moon hanging full in the sky.

You slow as you reach the forest's edge, careful to make your way to the dirt path you know all too well. You’ve spent many a night alone in these woods, wandering and exploring like the little girl you used to be. There’s freedom out here in the dark. There’s no one to watch you spin under the stars, and hum quietly to yourself as you walk along.

Normally you’d have turned around by now but you’re full of pent of energy and eager to push the boundaries and explore further than you ever have before. You’re not sure of exactly where you are, but also unconcerned. It’s as you take a fork to the left, deeper into the forest that you sense you are no longer alone.

Stopping for a moment you listen to the sounds of the night, but all the peeping insects and squeaking bats have gone silent. In truth, it’s the silence that sends a chill up your spine. It’s dark out, but the moon is full and you’re eyes have adjusted enough to inspect your surroundings.

Listening carefully, you take a few more steps, spying something moving out of the corner of your eye. Drawing in a pregnant breath you freeze and slowly turn, only to find a sight that nearly stops your heart.

Fifty paces into the woods there’s a massive white wolf standing in the brush. You swear its eyes are glowing yellow, fixed on you where you stand.

Every story you’ve ever heard of the strange wolves of Lebanon floods back to you. You and the beast watch each other in the silent forest.

Slowly you take a step and the wolf moves in tandem, shoulders rolling as it matches your stride. You take, one, two, three more steps down the path and the wolf moves alongside, flanking you.

You should be afraid, you're not sure what’s wrong with you but find yourself sure that the creature has no intention to harm you. When you stop walking the wolf stops on cue.

“Hello,” you call out softly. “You won’t hurt me, will you?” The beast cocks it’s head at you as if drawn to your voice. “Can’t you sleep either? Why don’t we walk together for a while.”

The white wolf takes a dozen steps toward you, sniffing the air.

You continue walking, watching this giant dog follow at your pace.

“You are quite beautiful,” you offer, feeling rather silly at the prospect of speaking to an animal, but that doesn’t stop you. Your father always spoke sweetly to his horses and in return they were loyal steeds. This can’t be much different. Perhaps some of the wild tales are rooted in truth. “Can I tell you a secret,” you angle your path closer to the side of the road and the wolf gets closer as well. “It would be nice to have a friend. Most of the time I am rather lonely and it looks as if you are alone too. Perhaps we could be friends. I often walk at night, you could join me if you like.”

You wander on for the better part of an hour babbling on about your life. The beast stays with you, gradually getting closer and closer until it takes a final step onto the path next to you, walking barely an arm's length away.

Perhaps this kingdom holds magic. You’ve always believed in a subtle world beyond what you can see, the veil that holds the dead and the enlightened. This isn’t so far removed, it seems in this place the wolves are indeed part of something truly mystical.

“Do you not have a pack?” you ask, wandering along. “I am married but my husband does not like me very much. He prefers the company of his brother and other women I suspect. I came here to marry him so I don’t know anyone, you see. I am strictly decorative. A pretty thing to be seen and not heard. Sometimes I fear I will never be heard again.”

With realizing how close the beast has gotten, the wolf brushes your hand, his soft fur cold in the night air.

Crack.  

The sound of a branch breaking makes you jump and the wolf instantly leaps into the woods. You turn around on the path, alone and suddenly frightened as you watch the silhouette of man appear.

“What do we have here?” His voice floats out into the night as he approaches.

“Who are you, good sir?” you ask, forcing an even voice despite quaking nerves.

“Who are you young one, to be alone in the woods in the middle of the night.”

“You should not come any closer!” You warn, inching backward.

He whistles and after a moment another man appears. Two large men who are getting closer by the second.

“A woman just wandering around in the night in Lebanon?” the new man snorts. “Maybe it’s a gift for us, a whore ready to do her duty.”

“I beg your pardon, sir.” You square off your shoulders. “I am aware that don’t know me, so I will let your comment pass, but you are speaking to a queen.”

“A queen?” The first man chortles. “Oh my. I’m honored.” He mines a bow.

“So am I.” The second man adds.

They separate, each getting into position to grab you and you prepare to run, heart thumping faster and faster.

It’s as the first man lunges for you that the white wolf springs from the forest, pouncing on one of the men and taking him to the ground. The night becomes a mix of snarls and screams as you take off like an arrow, bare feet pounding the dirt.

You run faster than you have in your entire life, sprinting back the way you came. You run and run until you can’t breathe and are to forced to stop and recover, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

You’re lost. For a moment you fall to your knees, sitting in the dirt and crying to yourself. But it doesn’t take long to pull yourself back together, looking at the stars to find your way home. Your father taught you many things and celestial navigation was one of them.

It takes you hours to make your way home, the sun will be rising soon and you’re lucky to have snuck back through the village. It’s as you pass the stables that you come upon chaos, knights shouting for reinforcements.

You forgot all stealth and approach the first man you see.

“What is happening?” You ask grabbing the arm of a giant man clad in battle armor.

“The King was attacked and The Queen is missing. We’re forming a search party.”

Your mind swirls. What a wretched night, first you were assaulted in the woods and now Sam has been attacked as well.

“Is he alive?” you ask, confusion suddenly bleeding into a panic. The knight pulls away, annoyance brimming. “Answer me! Is Sam alive?”

In truth, it’s referring to The King as Sam that draws the attention of every person in the castle’s keep. They all fall silent turning to find their queen, covered in dirt with a torn dress.

“Forgive me.” The knight falls to his knee. “I did not mean to speak to you in such a way m’lady.”

Propriety is the least of your concern as you step forward. “I couldn’t care less about how you’re speaking to me. What happened to The King? Take me to him now.”

“My Lady.” Philip is beside you, gently taking your elbow. “Come with me.”

-

*Chapters 7-25 (26 posting tonight) are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

[thiswasinevitableid]

75 for Indruck!! and either nsfw or sfw is chill

I went with SFW! 75 “I’m an insomniac who calls my best friend at 3am except I misdial on my landline and I tell you all about my nightmare before letting you talk and now I’m mortified but you don’t hang up

CW: mentions of pot and of death

Indrid awakens in a panic, flailing and falling onto the floor. This is why he doesn’t have a bedframe; the routine falling hurts less from a half foot of drop.

“Ouch.” He says to the empty room, the white noise machine doing nothing to soothe his nerves. Maybe if he stays very still, the nightmares can’t find him.

No. That’s not how this works. Maybe he should see if anyone is awake. He just needs another voice, to know someone can hear him if he screams for help.

He grabs the nearest phone, which happens to be the landline that came with his little studio, and dials Barclay’s number.

“H’lo?” 

“Hello, it’s, ah, it’s Indrid, I, I know it’s late, but I need to talk and you said I could call anytime so I am. I, it, it was the dream again. I’ve been staying up as late as can, not sleeping unless my body just sort of forces me too and I dropped off while drawing and it happened again, the one with the bridge this time, not the one with the car, and I, I fell, like I always do, but this time I, I didn’t, didn’t wake up when, when, when it happened. I’m sorry, just, please, can you talk with me awhile so I can remember I’m here?”

“Uhhhh, sure? But, uh, got a feelin’ you mighta mixed somethin up.”

Indrid’s fairly certain Barclay does not have a southern accent. 

“Oh, oh god, I’m sorry, I dialed wrong didn’t I?”

“Guess so? Don’t know any fella named Indrid, and I’m guessin’ you don’t know anyone named Duck, it’s a nickname.”

“No, I don’t” he curls his legs to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. I was still up, been tryin to beat this level.”

“Why didn’t you hang up?”

“‘Cause you sounded real fuckin scared.”

He was. He still is, his heart a deer still running from long-outrun wolves. 

“Are, uh, are you okay now?”

“I will be fine.”

“I mean, I ain’t a therapist or anythin’ like that but, uh, I can try to help somehow.”

“I’m afraid the only thing that may work is continuing to talk with me which, were I in your shoes, I would not want to do. Christ” he shivers, fumbles in the dark for his sweater, “I need a hug.”

“I can do that.”

“We’re on the phone.”

A small laugh, “no kiddin, here I thought we were at a Taco Bell. I was offerin’ to come over or, uh, wait, no, you better come here, think I might still be a little high so I shouldn’t drive.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Nope. I live at 5547 Williamson, apartment 2B. Ring the buzzer and I’ll let you in.”

This is ridiculous, how does either of them know the other isn’t planning on wearing their skin as pajamas?

“I’ll see you there.” 

The walk gives him time to second guess himself, then second guess that second guess, and so on until he reaches the three story building that clearly used to be one, family home. He rings the bell for 2B. No one will come down, Duck is probably asleep, or has realized how dangerous his suggestion is.

“Who is it?” The same drawl from the phone, now through the door.

“Indrid. From the phone.”

“Howdy, Indrid from the phone.” Duck opens the door, looking better than Indrid dared imagine. They’re about the same age, dark hair with fading streaks of blue falls about a round face, a stocky frame looks singularly nice to lay against.

“C’mon up. Tried callin’ you a little while ago to see if you wanted me to order food or somethin, but since you didn’t answer think we’re gonna have to settle for leftover pizza for now.”

“That’s, ah, that’s fine. And that was a landline I called from, hence the lack of response.”

“Jesus” Duck giggles, “you still got one of those?”

“The previous renter left a lot of things behind, and whoever is paying that telephone bill hasn’t stopped so far. Oh, thanks.” He steps through the door Duck holds open, finds a room much like his own; a messy studio full of the elements a single man needs to get by. A tiny T.V is linked up to an XBOX in the corner, and two hanging planters flourish by the windows. 

“Still want that hug?” Duck opens his arms.

Indrid nods, stepping into them, his own arms locked by his sides in case Duck doesn’t want to be touched. The shorter man is warm, his arms solid and strong, one holding Indrid’s shoulder blades so the other can run up and down his back. 

“You can hug back, I don’t mind.”

Indrid hugs his waist, “This isn’t weird to you?”

“Kinda? I dunno, I give damn good hugs and I don’t like seein’ people scared or hurtin, and you seem to need someone to be a little gentle with you. So, what the fuck, may as well hug you; knew I wasn’t gonna feel right if I hung up without offerin’. Besides, that dream sounded fuckin’ awful.”

“It is, its’ that way every time. So is the other one, and the one after that.” Indrid curls inward, as if he could somehow squeeze his nearly six foot frame to fit snugly under Duck’s chin, “I, they aren’t just dreams, either. I have what you call very bad luck with death. My mother died in a car accident when I was seven, with me in the backseat. My father died in a freak bridge collapse, again with me only barely surviving. Then my best friend drowned when we were swimming.” He shudders, images flooding back, “the dreams make me see it over and over in strange, altered versions, versions where I die, and they say you’re supposed to wake up before you die in a dream but tonight I didn’t, I felt my dream self die and I, I, I woke up so frightened.” he gasps, cringes to find tears slipping from under his glasses. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay man, here” Duck sits them down on the bed, Indrid now clinging to him, “don’t worry, ain’t lettin go, you can keep talkin if you need.”

“I get so scared sometimes, like I’m an omen of doom and anyone who comes near me will die. And I know that’s ridiculous because the majority of people who’ve been close to me are still alive, but nights like this I wake up and watch the door and the windows because it feels like death is following me, waiting to grab me, and I’ll die frightened and alone and not be found for days until someone, one of the few who still cares for me, wonders why they haven’t heard from me and, andandand-” it’s sobs now, awkward and painful each time they push out of his chest. 

“Shhhhh” Duck pats his hair and Indrid wiggles closer, hoping his whine communicates the desperate hope he’ll do that again, touch him like he matters. What it does is knock them over, bed squishy under them.

“Hush, hush now, ain’t nothin like that gonna happen. No more talk of shadows, partly because I only sobered up like ten minutes ago and talkin about seein the grim reaper in the corner don’t play nice with that.”

‘“I, I’m s-sorry-”

“Hey, hey I was teasin’, tryin’ to see if I could make you laugh at me a little” Duck strokes his cheek with his thumb, voice warm as a summer morning and soothing as moonlight, “besides, even if somethin’ scary did show, you got the ‘hero of Kepler’ to protect you.”

“The, the what of what now?”

“Kepler’s the tiny town I grew up in. Both my folks were real respected and shit, dad was former marines, everyone assumed I was gonna grow up and fight the good fight. Instead I disappointed ‘em all by wantin’ to look after trees all day.” He mutters, looks sad, and Indrid can’t bear the sight and so he mimics him, places a hand on his cheek and pets it gently.

“Trees do far more good, and need far more help nowadays.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid. Oop, sorry, just kinda slipped out.”

“Nono, I like it, I’ve never had a nickname before. Or, ah, never had a good one, that is.”

“Well, you do now, because I like you and I say so.” Duck pets his side, making his sweater ride up and exposing a tattoo.

“Oh shit, that’s so fuckin’ cool.”

“Thank you, I did the design myself. That’s, ahd, that’s what I’m doing in town. I’m apprenticing to be a tattoo artist.”

“So. fuckin. Cool.” Duck draws a finger along the moth design, Indrid squirming a little when he does. It feels nice; unfamiliar, but nice. 

“You gotta tell me all about it.”

“Alright” Indrid sniffs and Duck, after flopping to the side of the bed and reaching beneath it, produces a tissue, “as long as you promise to tell me about those” he points to the row of succulents on the far wall.”

“Think I can handle that. Fuck, got cold in here.” He drags a blanket up over them and Indrid purrs at the warmth, snuggling up in his arms as Duck nuzzles his neck, “now, where were we…”

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

Indrid wakes up with his glasses smushed to his face, a thick blanket wrapped around him, and the smell of coffee tickling his nose. He yawns, sits up and gets his bearings well enough to not be startled when Duck speaks.

“Mornin, sleepyhead.”

“Good morning.”

“Didn’t seem like you had more nightmares last night.” Duck pours two mugs of coffee.

“I didn’t. Your, ah, your presence helped immensely.”

“Maybe my true callin’ is a teddy bear, good for snugglin and keepin monsters away.”

“Perhaps.” He pads over to the little kitchen to join him. Takes the sugar when offered and dumps a large amount into his cup. 

“Hey, uh, this may be way off base, but, uh, I, uh, I feel like we really kinda clicked. Even accountin for the weird circumstances and the heightened emotions and shit. I coulda talked with you for days, and honestly the reason I kept holding you after that firs hug was because I felt so fuckin comfortable with you. Like you fit.”

“I felt the same.” Indrid stirs his coffee, unsure of how to ask for what he wants. 

“If, uh, if you ain’t busy tonight, do you wanna go out? With me?”

“On a date?” 

Duck suppresses a smile as he nods. 

“I’d like that so much.”

“Hell yeah.’ Duck hugs him and this time he hugs back instantly, giggling when the shorter man kisses his cheek and whispers, “and if you feel like it, happy to be your teddy bear tomorrow night, too.”

[thestarkerisobvious]

The Ghost Of Peter Parker

inspired by the amazing art work by @starker-sorbet​        

A snugglefic for @mrstarksbabyy​

With great thanks for the betaread by @mrstarksbabyy

It was a strange idea, that in March, Peter was still embarrassed by getting an erection around Tony.

Now, on the first day of April, Peter longed to worry about something so simple.

He clung to Tony’s neck, weeping in relief that he didn’t have to decide whether or not to kill Mr. Lovelace.  That decision had already been made by a scolding he had given Tony when he was 15.  He didn’t even know Tony had been listening. 

Tony held him close, not even feeding, rocking him and smoothing back his hair.  He sang very softly, something that might have been Portuguese.  But when he

 tried to kiss Peter’s tears away, Peter objected.

“Don’t take my sadness, I don’t want to forget this.  I need to remember what we’ve… what I’ve done.”

“There are many ripe berries on this bush, sweet Master.  Let me pic a few,” Tony murmured. 

For a while Peter thought he might never want to move.  He was being cradled in Tony’s arms like a baby, being held close, his face kissed.  But as time passed he began to feel silly, so he pushed his way out of Tony’s arms and wiped his face dry with the back of his hands.  “Okay, so killing him is out.  What are we going to do?” Peter asked calmly.

Letting Tony take the edge off his guilt and panic helped quite a bit, Peter realized, as he and Tony strategized, Peter leaning against Tony’s chest, Tony feeding from the vein in his wrist.

“There are at least 4 more cats in the barn, if you can catch them.  I think they know they’re food now…

“They cannot escape me,” Tony said, looking up from Peter’s wrist with an eerie smile.

“…and at least three owls in the barn, maybe four.  But they’re very small.  If I feed you now, and you get to them the moment it gets dark, is that enough for this?”

Tony shook his head and looked up, kissing Peter’s hand.  “I cannot tell,” he said, keeping his lips next to Peter’s fingers.  “First, give me permission to sleep in the ground if I must, and I will return to this room when I am able, but I may needs rest in the darkness for many nights.  Mayhap I may speak to you in dreams.  But if you feed me every night, the way you fed me at Mabon, it will suffice.”

Peter sighed.  “I’m going to have to join 4H and start raising goats, aren’t I?” he mused as Tony went back to sucking on his wrist.  “Wait that probably won’t work – I’d flunk 4H if all my goats mysteriously died.  Rabbits.  I’ll have to convince May and Ben we can really raise rabbits.  Then just act surprised when they turn up missing…”

Tony’s smile was unreadable.  His eyes wandered down Peter’s chest.  He lifted his mouth and he looked as if he were about to say something, but changed his mind, and returned to feeding.

“Look Mr. Lovelace killed his wife with his 44, that’s what Miss Drury said Missy said.  He has a 44, his gun from the army, a long hunting rifle he was taking walks with.  And we already know he can kill a dog from 40 feet away with the rifle  That’s how John Wickam’s dog died.  Mr. Lovelace denied it, but the Wickam’s saw it happen.  That man is crazy, but he’s a damn good shot.

“Miss Drury called Aunt May to let me know Missy was okay.  She was surprised that I didn’t know about it… Miss Drury is, I mean.  Missy said she saw me last night.  She said I didn’t even talk to her, but pointed her to the road she was to meet Miss Drury on.  When she said she was scared to walk down it I held her hand until we saw Miss Drury’s Rabbit’s headlights.  She said I must have been sleepwalking because I never spoke.  Miss Drury said it must have been her guardian angel.  All I know is Aunt May spent the next 20 minutes explaining how no one in our family sleepwalks…”

Tony licked a long, slow stripe up Peter’s wrist, then kissed it tenderly, meaning he was finished feeding.  Then he turned and looked into Peter’s eyes, bringing their foreheads together.

“You told me to take her fear.  You told me to consume it completely.” 

“It was you?”

“She fled to Chimney Hill.  She has no fear of that place.  She has forgotten the story of Tom Dylan, but she remembers that Laura Foster once lived on Chimney Hill.  Then, from the hill to the dead oak, and from the oak to the lake, there was full moonlight.  She no longer fears darkness.  But past the lake, under the trees, she was blind.  She was afraid.  I took it all.  But when she came in sight of the house, she feared to pass.  She still fears the house.  I met her at the path to point her the way.  I knew what you wished.  I showed her nothing frightening.  I showed her you.   

“But she would not take the road east.  She said she was too afraid.  She asked if I was the ghost of you.  But when I smiled at her, and held her hand.  My hand was warm.  She came with me down the road.  Pardon, Master, I know you do not wish her to wish to hold your hand…”

Peter took Tony’s face in both hands and kissed him.  A real kiss, without feeding.  Tony did nothing, at first.  Only opened his mouth a little bit, tilting his head a little bit until Peter let him go.

“Thank you,” was all Peter said.  It was all he could think to say.

“I have served you well,” Tony whispered, and now his long arms were wrapping around Peter and Peter relaxed against his shoulder as Tony kissed his face.  This was normal Tony-behavior, and Peter gave himself a moment to enjoy it.

“I will serve you most masterfully tonight, and you shall make me your beloved.  You shall see all my skill.  If an enemy of the family meets me in battle, the seals of Evorá, what is left of them, will feed me.  I shall make him lay down where he stands, even in the middle of the road, he shall not rise until morning…”

“Wait, that doesn’t sound good.  Isn’t that what you did to the pigs?  When you made them lay down and die?”

“They laid down and died because I ate them.”

Peter shivered a little at Tony’s wicked smile.  He knew he had to be very specific, now.  He knew Tony was proud of his work.

“Well, don’t make him lay down in the middle of the road, he might get run over.  What else can you do?

Tony ran a strong hand over Peter’s thigh, and then over his calf.  Peter might have relaxed and enjoyed the touch under different circumstances.

“These… these are still called muscles?  And what is this now called,” he said, his fingers tracing over Peter’s knee.  It was a lovely feeling, and Peter made a mental note to get Tony to touch him there again when it was all over.

“The cartlidge?”

“The sinew, that which is not meat,” he indicated “meat” by firmly stroking Peter’s calf muscles again.  “The sinew that connects the muscles to each other…”

“The ligaments?” 

“There is light in these,” Tony explained, stroking Peter’s calf muscle with a firm but gentle hand.  “When that light is gone, a man is not inclined to walk very far.  And when the light is gone from this,” he stroked his hand under Peter’s knee, indicating the ligament.  “A man is not inclined to move it at all.  Although Mr. Lovelace is a man accustomed to a great deal of pain.  That alone might not dissuade him.”

“I can take the light from the bone, but if I do, a man will surely die.”

“Don’t do that.  And don’t make him lay down somewhere dangerous, like in the road or something.  Wait, if you did that to his arms, could he use his arms?  It’s important he not be able to shoot.  Can you make his arms not move?  If he couldn’t shoot, that would be something.  He’s still huge though…”

Tony moved his hands and, slipping them into the small place between their bodies, placed both on Peter’s chest. 

“There are two of these,” Tony said, caressing Peter’s chest in a way that was very distracting, even under the circumstances.  “When the light is gone from one,” he whispered, moving one hand away and leaving the other in place,” a man is not inclined to walk very far.”

“What… you mean the lungs?”

“And there are two of these,” Tony said, sounding almost hungry.  He moved his hands and placed them firmly on the Peter’s lower back, indicating, Peter assumed, his kidneys.

“When the light is gone from one, a man is not inclined to do anything.”

“But… you mean… for a while, right?  The light comes back, doesn’t it?”

Tony looked disappointed.  “That is tricky work, but it can be done.”

“Tony, can you make Aunt May be not-so scared?”

Tony smiled sadly.  He looked down at Peter’s chest again, even reached out to stroke Peter’s chest with his knuckles, directly under his left nipple, but he never said why.

“If I could be two places at one time, yes,” he said with a wry smile.  “But I am no longer that strong.”

Peter and May stayed up all night playing yahtzee and dominoes, finally sitting down to watch TV.  For a while Uncle Ben sat in the car with his rifle, while Peter walked back and forth each hour to wake him up.  Finally it was agreed that the whole family would be safer in the house.  A tearful Aunt May complained that they left New York City because of the violence.  She apologized to Peter, who only smiled, threw up his hands and attributed it to “fate.”   

May and Ben discussed how miserable Peter had been when they first moved to Devil’s Holler, how he had cried almost every day for weeks.  Peter tried to keep up his end of the conversation, but, in truth, he was wondering if Missy’s life would have been better, or worse, without him.  At least the girl got to walk down a gravel road in the moonlight, holding Peter Parker’s hand.  He wondered why Tony could make the girl forget about Tom Dylan, but not about Laura Foster.

In the early morning hours both May and Ben fell asleep on the couch, allowing Peter to watch more interesting shows on their late-night channels, his eyes wide.  He was wondering how he could wake up in the middle of the night to enjoy these shows in private when he heard something at the door.  

He opened the door without hesitation to let Tony in.  “Good job,” he whispered.  The vaguely kitten-shaped bundle of fur made a small, vaguely catlike noise before dissolving into smoke and disappearing into the floor.  Then he took his place back on the couch in front of the television.  He knew there was no point in telling May and Ben to go to bed, even though he knew the danger was over.  So he spent the rest of the night combing through old TV guides, looking for more information about the shows he was probably to chicken to watch.

It was amazing, what they could get away with on HBO.

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

Master Post (not THAT Master Post, the big list)

as always please direct comments, questions and constructive crit to @witchwayisright.  

[reviee]

three prologue | 1 | 2 |

summary: Post-war. Canon-divergent. In which Team 7 governs Konoha, much to Sakura’s dismay. —SasuSaku

note: third installment of my multichap fic (im surprised, too) and finally my extremely long headcanon of how sasuke tells sakura about the massacre exists. also, read on ffn for easier viewing, linked in the title.

Sakura finds Sasuke’s chakra signature on the south side of the village before she arrives. She is soothed by the feeling, in contrast to the early days of his desertion, when she felt anxiety at every turn.

“Sasuke-kun,” she calls to him and he turns around, looking so painfully familiar to her, as if they were going to meet Team 7, in the way that they did when they were twelve.

They walk together silently, stopping at an empty plot of land. She recognizes it as the old Uchiha district, emptied after the destruction Pein had wreaked on Konoha. Sasuke quickly forms hand seals, and a stone appears, a sharingan carved into its center.

“I’ve been here before,” Sakura says to him softly, looking around. She pauses, wondering if she should divulge the reasons that she had been here. It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks, if they are to go forward.

She can feel Sasuke’s eyes on her, but they are not accusatory, only curious.

“After you left, I did some studying, on you, Itachi, the Uchiha clan…” to find you, is what she leaves unsaid.

She looks around the field, remembering the old and abandoned buildings that had been here before.

“Most things about the clan were classified, of course, but sometimes I helped Tsunade-sama after hours at the Hokage Tower. Under the properties owned by the Uchiha clan, this was one of them.”

Sakura remembers, as a thirteen-year-old girl, running around frantically attempting to find information on one missing teammate, while her other teammate had also left her behind. For two and a half years she was alone, spending the majority of her time with Tsunade, and only rarely seeing Kakashi.

Kakashi had been embarrassed, she knows now, because he had been naive in his reassurance that everything would be alright. Still, she thinks, she would have liked it if he had at least practiced taijutsu with her. He was, after all, still her mentor.

But, she supposes, she had been Kakashi’s student only insofar as he was Team 7’s leader. To him, Sasuke was his pupil, the one he had passed raikiri down to, and that student had now been using it on his friends.

“There was nothing here, except empty houses,” she looks at the sharingan on the ground, illuminated by dim moonlight, “nothing I could see, anyway.”

“It’s a special seal,” he tells her, “for sharingan users. This is the nakano shrine, where the Uchiha clan held their meetings.”

She nods and they walk descend into the structure. She spots at the far end of the room they enter, a pedestal with a blank stone tablet on it.

“What is it?”

“It is the monument that contains all of the clan’s secrets,” Sasuke replies, “You need the sharingan to read it, and some parts can only be read by those with the mangekyo.”

She nods, unsurprised by the clan’s level of secrecy. Growing up, the disappearance of the Uchiha clan should have been a huge scandal, but she had only heard whispers of a deserter and the word massacre. She knows now that the Hokage must have covered it up and looking at the scrolls had only confirmed that there had been little information disseminated about it.

Even now, she thinks, looking at Sasuke, nobody in the village knew much about the whole clan that had disappeared.

She wonders if it is alright for her to know about this.

“So,” he breaks the silence once again, “you read the scroll I left you.”

She nods. She had a suspicion that it was Sasuke who had left the scroll for her last night, unsealed, but it is good that he is confirming it. She had wondered if this was going to be an open secret between them, or if perhaps he had a point in doing so.

He had known about the truth behind the massacre, she realizes, and Naruto must have, too. Why didn’t anyone tell me, she wants to know, but remembers being left behind, and tells herself she should have expected it.

But, still, she thinks about Sasuke telling her, in his own way, and wonders why.

“I did,” she confirms, “I had no idea.”

He is silent for a moment. “Me neither,” he tells her honestly, “Itachi shouldered the burden all by himself,” he pauses, looking at her.

“That’s what being on the Konoha Council means to me.”

Sakura understands. Last night, she had thought, so this is the truth that Sasuke-kun lives with. She realizes that divulging this information might have been only a part of their roles as council members, but she nevertheless feels connected to him in a way that she hadn’t before.

“Then,” she walks up to the pedestal, standing next to Sasuke, “we should honour his memory.”

“Aa,” he agrees, and picks up the tablet, “I want to fill this with information about my mangekyo, and possibly the rinnegan, as well. There’s only been very few who have awakened the former, and only me who has the latter. For the sake of the clan, I think it’d be prudent to.

“Will you help me, Sakura?”

“Of course, Sasuke-kun,” she replies without hesitation, and he nods.

It is rare for Sasuke to ask her, of all people, for help. He is often reluctant to accept her efforts, even for the smallest injuries, and she understands that sometimes it is because he does not want to trouble her. Don’t bother, he’ll say, as if to tell her, don’t bother with me. But she had never been good at leaving him alone.

“Let’s go, then,” he puts the tablet back down on the pedestal and blows out the torch. “Didn’t you say you were going to cook dinner?”

She grins, thinking about the fresh tomatoes that she had bought that morning, and follows him out.

.

 .

 They eat dinner in silence, but she does not mind because he looks satisfied. She wonders how long it has been since someone has cooked for him and feels happy to be able to do so.

He washes the dishes without being asked to and she dries them. They are synchronized, in a way that Sakura hasn’t felt since their genin days, and she is lulled into a sense that this could be their future.

Sasuke sits on the floor of her living room, his legs crossed primly and his back straight. She kneels in front of him, and watches as he closes his eyes, before she sucks in a breath and places her hands on his face.

“I’m in your care,” he murmurs, and her heart flutters.

Sakura is astonished at the complexity of Sasuke’s sharingan. She had, before the war, briefly examined Kakashi’s eye, which was wholly imbued with what she knew now as Obito’s presence in addition to his own, as two chakras working together. The way it had been implanted had also been rudimentary, but effective, confirmed by the decade of rigorous use Kakashi had gotten out of it. She had been amazed by Rin Nohara’s ability to so rapidly unravel the way that the eye worked, and hopes that she can do the same, for Sasuke’s sake.

She had also seen firsthand how much chakra the sharingan depleted—Kakashi’s inability to deactivate it slowly and continuously burned chakra, even when it had been covered by the headband.

Unlike Kakashi’s eye, Sasuke’s eye is imbued with many chakras: she feels the foreign presence of the chakra that fuels the rinnegan, and the dominance and tightly controlled presence of Sasuke’s own chakra, but most of all, she feels the languid presence of Itachi’s chakra, peaceful and yet overpowering.

She feels the immensity of Sasuke’s sharingan, especially in conjunction with the rinnegan, and understands better how strong he is. It frightens her a little.

They sit like this for a better part of two hours, taking only short breaks so that she could write notes. Sasuke does not say a word, but she is reassured by the sounds of his even breathing. Sometimes she indulges in the sight of the soft lines of his lips, slightly parted, and wonders what it would be like to kiss him. Somehow, despite everything, she feels twelve again.

“Sakura,” he says, catching her wrist in his hand, “let’s stop for tonight. You’re getting tired.”

She blinks and realizes that she has used an immense amount of chakra by intricately tracing his pathways. She lets her arms fall to her lap. Sasuke’s hand lingers for a moment, before he returns it to his side.

She sighs and sits next to him, her back leaning against the couch. She glances at him, blushes, and decides to lean her head against his shoulder. It’s the least he could do, she decides, although she feels slightly apprehensive.

“There’s something else I want to show you,” he tells her quietly, apparently fine with this act of intimacy, and adds, “if you’re not too tired.”

Without lifting her head, she replies, “I’m fine.”

He is silent, and then she feels his fingers on her forehead, just as she had felt them on the day he left for his journey. She remembers the warmth from then, and feels it even stronger now, and realizes that he is transferring chakra to her.

“Sasuke-ku—”

“Just wait,” he tells her, keeping his fingers on her forehead. She closes her eyes.

Suddenly her mind is filled with images—they are hazy, as if she was in a dream, and she realizes it is the Konoha from more than a decade ago. This is the sharingan’s genjutsu, she thinks, and it is so real that she feels the heat of the sun on her cheeks.

She sees a young Sasuke, at four years old, sitting next to Itachi. No, she thinks, these are Sasuke-kun’s memories, and watches as the young Itachi pulls his brother over his lap.

“Big brother will always protect you, Sasuke,” she hears him say, and tries not to cry when she sees the unabashed admiration in the little Sasuke’s face and the tragedy that awaits him.

The scene switches, and she sees a slightly older Sasuke running towards Itachi, who is dressed in full ANBU attire. There is another Uchiha member with disheveled hair leaning against the residence’s front door, presumably waiting for Itachi, and smiling at Sasuke.

This is what his family was like, she muses, before he had lost everything.

“Maybe next time, Sasuke,” she recognizes the words coming out of Itachi’s mouth, before the young Sasuke is tapped on the forehead in the same way she had been.

Her heart clenches.

“Sorry, Sasuke,” the other Uchiha says, “let me borrow your brother for a bit.”

Sakura is filled with a carefree feeling when she sees the young Sasuke’s expression, pouting like the child that he had been. Even Sasuke-kun can make faces like these, she thinks, and briefly remembers similar expressions he had made in their genin days.

He spares her the images of the massacre, she realizes, because they are suddenly on top of a building, surrounded by a vast forest, and she can see Sasuke, around the age he was three years ago, in a black attire. She sees Itachi, bloody, stalking towards him.

“Sorry, Sasuke,” she hears him say with his last breath, “but there won’t be a next time.”

She feels the sensation of Itachi’s fingers on her forehead, the force of the knowledge that he had left with Sasuke swirling in her head.

The scene switches again, and they are now in a cave, and Sasuke is dressed in the same attire he had been wearing during the war. There is a bright light coming from across the room, and she is surprised to see that it is Itachi, with edo tensei eyes.

He is dissipating, she notes, and her mood plummets, now overshadowed by a deep sadness that she has never felt until now.

“…you don’t ever have to forgive me. And no matter what you do from here on out, know this… I will love you always.”

She can feel the weight of Itachi’s forehead against hers, and the complete helplessness that is coursing through Sasuke. She feels as if she cannot breathe, the pain in her chest wound so tightly that she gasps achingly. She realizes that she is suffering for real, that this pain mirrors the one that Sasuke had felt even more profoundly, and that there are hot tears rolling down her face.

Sasuke quickly releases her from the genjutsu. She lets out a small cry as he wraps a strong arm around her shoulders.

He is silent as she cries, his fingers gripping her shoulder reassuringly. Her mind is blank, she cannot even begin to comprehend what has just happened, but she knows that she has never felt anything like it.

Sasuke had shared his memories and feelings of his brother with her, in a way that only members of the Uchiha clan could.

“The Uchiha clan valued love and friendship above all else,” Sasuke tells her, his voice steady and calm, “and feels everything too deeply. When that feeling consumes them, the sharingan awakens. That is the Uchiha clan’s curse of hatred.”

Sakura has nothing to say. The words echo in her head, and she cannot stop trembling. She leans into Sasuke in an attempt to calm herself, and feels him tighten his arm around her, the warmth of his breath on the top of her head.

She falls asleep in his embrace.

[eveningstarcatcher]

Ineffable Valentines Day 26: Love Song

The wind howled outside the window and Crowley shivered into the tartan blanket he was currently cocooned in. Aziraphale was settled next to him, one arm draped around Crowley’s shoulder, the other held his white winged mug, his attention somewhere deep in his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts, angel?” Crowley lay his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, pulling him back to the present.

“Sorry, dear, I’m afraid I was back in 1941.” He chuckled to himself, ruffling Crowley’s hair.

“Any particular reason?” Crowley swatted at Aziraphale’s hand and tried to fix his hair, but gave up when the air was too cold on his exposed fingers.

“It had been an awfully long time since I’d last seen you.” Aziraphale’s tone was far-off and dreamy, once again back in time. “You saved my books and offered me a lift here. I invited you in for wine. Quite a few bottles, if I remember correctly.”

“You do,” Crowley laughed. “I think we were entitled - we had just survived a bombing.”

“True,” Aziraphale chuckled, then grew pensive. “What do you remember about that night?”

“Drinking, obviously. We talked a lot. Didn’t talk about the argument. Good thing, too. I didn’t want to fight again. I had missed you.” Crowley leaned into Aziraphale’s touch as he absentmindedly carded through his red hair.

“I had missed you so terribly. I had been so afraid of you finding another way to get the holy water. I had too many visions of you being destroyed by it. That you would be lost to me. I was so relieved to see you walk, well not quite walk, into the church.”

“I was glad to see you, too, angel. Thought I might’ve been too late, that you would’ve gotten yourself discorporated already.”

“Do you remember anything else?” Aziraphale’s eyes were cloudy, unfocused.

“I remember how you kept the books near you that whole night. Next to you, under your chair, on top of the desk. Just close.” Crowley closed his eyes, recreating the scene in his mind.

“Anything else?”

“No. Should there be?” Crowley shook his head.

“I remember there was music.”

“What music?”

“Here, at the shop. I put on a record. Wanted to ask you to dance. Tried a few times, but I couldn’t get the words out.”

“You wanted to dance with me?” Crowley sat up awkwardly, still wrapped in the blanket.

“Oh, yes. That was the night I finally put a name to what I had been feeling for you. I was rather a mess, I’m afraid. Would you have danced with me then?”

“Of course.” Crowley’s expression was incredulous.

“Even after what I said? Fraternizing?” Aziraphale’s eyes turned grey at the memory.

“Yes, angel. Anytime.”

A small smile played at Aziraphale’s lips at that, but didn't pull him back to Crowley completely.

“What song?” Crowley asked.

“Moonlight Serenade. I played it on repeat for an hour, hoping to work up the courage to finally ask you, but never did.” Aziraphale chuckled. “You didn’t seem to notice that the music never changed.”

“I must’ve been really drunk.” Crowley shrugged, grinning. He had noticed, he had hoped that, given enough time, the angel would find the guts to ask. “Nice song though.”

“I tried again, you know. After the war.”

“I didn’t know.”

“There was another song. It made me think of you. Of us. I wanted to share it with you.”

“You still could, you know. Right now.”

That broke the spell. Aziraphale turned his soft blue eyes to Crowley’s yellow.

“Oh, really?” he was almost glowing with adoration. "It's not too late?"

“All you have to do is ask, angel.” Crowley shifted out of the blanket.

“Crowley, dear, would you dance with me?” Aziraphale stood and offered a hand to his love, who took it with a smile.

“Always.”

Aziraphale led him away from the couch and waved his hand. The gramophone clicked, spun, and crackled as the first notes of brass filled the air.

Crowley placed a hand around Aziraphale’s waist, taking the angel’s hand in his free one. Aziraphale wound his free arm around Crowley’s shoulder as they swayed together.

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again It's been a long, long time

“Wait, this isn’t right.” Crowley snapped his fingers and Aziraphale gasped as he watched Crowley’s clothes shift before his eyes. His skinny jeans, shirt, and jacket melted into a well-tailored suit - black with subtle stripes, double breasted. Under the jacket he wore a dusty blue shirt and red necktie. A wide-brimmed fedora sat atop his head. “Better.” He smirked, seeing a loving smile bloom on the angel’s face as he remembered this ensemble from that day at the church.

Haven't felt like this, my dear since I can't remember when It's been a long, long time

“It had been a long, long time,” Crowley mused as they circled slowly.

“Of course there had been times where we’d gone longer without seeing each other, but that stretch of years felt almost eternal.” Aziraphale spoke softly, his head against Crowley’s shoulder.

You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you Or just how empty they all seemed without you

“Did you dream of me?” Crowley asked.

“Only nightmares.”

Crowley held him tighter.

So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again It's been a long, long time

“Would you have kissed me then?” Crowley’s words were pressed to golden curls.

“I didn’t have the nerve to even ask you to dance, my dear!” Aziraphale laughed, full and clear and beautiful.

“Would you have let me kiss you? The song does suggest it.”

They stopped dancing, stepping apart just enough to see the other’s face, arms firmly planted against each other, an anchor.

“I - “ Aziraphale started, then words failed.

“S’okay, angel.”

“I wanted you to. More than anything. And that frightened me.” Aziraphale confessed.

“You wouldn’t object if I were to do it now, would you? No sense in trying to change the past, but we can make up for it now.” Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer by his waist.

“Please do,” Aziraphale breathed, his eyes fluttering closed.

So Crowley did.

He kissed him once.

He kissed him twice.

He kissed him once again.

For @mielpetite‘s @ineffable-valentines Also on A03

[cozy-the-overlord]

Safe and Sound

Word Count:  2836

Summary:  Since the war ripped through her village and took her husband from her, Ainsley’s only priority has been shielding her young daughter from the violence. At night, she fears even that is too much to ask for.

A/N: Here’s a story I’ve had in my head for a long time. Again, it’s based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name. Safe and Sound always captivated me because it’s so different from any of Taylor’s other work-- it’s genuinely eerie, and hauntingly beautiful. This is kind of what I always imagined the music video should have been like. That probably tells you something about my mental state, but whatever. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

The woods were silent and still under the blanket of darkness. Most nights, there was something to pierce the quiet: the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the delicate song of a lonely cricket singing in the distance. But tonight, there was nothing. Midnight smothered the trees with its noiselessness.

Ainsley didn’t like the silence. She sat at the windowsill, absentmindedly looping yarn around her knitting needles as she peered out at the forest. The world was almost never silent, and when it was, it was usually hiding something.

Across the room, Mallory snored softly. It never ceased to amaze Ainsley how deeply her daughter could fall asleep in such a short amount of time. The little girl needed only to rest her head against the pillow and she would be unconscious to the world for the next several hours. Hellfire could be raining down from the heavens and Mallory would still sleep through it.

Something flitted across Ainsley’s line of vision, and her head snapped to the right, half expecting to see a horde of the Liberty Brigade leering outside window, black visors glittering in the moonlight. But there was nothing: just the shadows of trees stretching in the moonlight.

Her heart pounded. She wanted desperately to light a candle, but such a comforting flicker of warmth wasn’t worth the risk of someone noticing the light through the trees. Ainsley didn’t know who was out there, if anybody, but she had heard enough stories from the village to fear what the forest could be concealing.

“We had a rider from a village down south,” Old Norm the shopkeeper had told her a few weeks ago, when she last had to go into town for supplies. “He said the Brigade came at night. Barged into houses and ripped the children from their beds. Blew the brains out of anybody who tried to fight back.”

Ainsley was horrified. “Why? Why would they take children?”

“They need loyal citizens. You know, at their capital,” Norm spat the word as if it were poison. “They like the kids because they don’t fight back.”

“That’s not what I heard.” Norm’s scruffy-haired apprentice leaned over the counter as he handed her the fabric she ordered. “They’re building an army, see?” he said. “They’re using them as kid soldiers. They want to be ready, you know, just in case there’s another war.”

The woman running her hands through the wrapped soap bars had yet another story. “They take them to sacrifice to their heathen god,” she whispered. “That’s how they won the war: on the blood of our babies.”

Ainsley pulled Mallory closer to her waist. “Don’t say such things,” she hissed, covering her daughter’s ears.

“It’s the truth,” she insisted. “They take those from villages that opposed them in the war. They’ll be here for us, sooner or later.” Ainsley shuddered.

To say that her village opposed the Liberty Brigade in the war was to say that a starving man was a murderer for killing a rabbit to eat, but she doubted the Brigade would see it that way. It was all very simple in their eyes: if you supplied men to the old government, you supported the old government. Never mind that the old government sent warlords from the palace to pound on your doors with their rifles, demanding all able-bodied men report for duty immediately.

When they came, Ainsley’s husband had stood from his loom with all the serenity of a man at peace. As she packed his knapsack with shaking hands, he lifted the shotgun from its hooks above the door and blew the dust off the barrel. It was all very quiet, almost like a dream when you’re just waiting to open your eyes and come back to your senses. Ainsley remembered how he knelt next to Mallory, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“It’s okay, little dove,” he said, his smile forcefully bright. “I’ll be home in a little while. You won’t even know I was gone.”

When he stood to hug Ainsley, the smile was still there, but only just barely. She squeezed his shoulders so tightly she thought he might break.

“I love you,” he whispered in her hair. Ainsley’s eyes burned. When she repeated the words, her voice was so hoarse she could barely hear it.

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

She remembered standing on the porch as he walked down to the truck, cradling his knapsack. The monstrous vehicle was already gorged with young men from the village, and she wasn’t surprised to hear him greet someone good-naturedly as he climbed into the back. She wanted to cry, but Mallory was already whimpering, and so she scooped up her daughter and held her tightly to her breast.

He wasn’t coming back. Ainsley knew it, felt it in the overwhelming emptiness in her chest as she watched them drive away with her husband. She breathed through her mouth, hoping to somehow exhale the lump in her throat. She failed. Instead, she clung to her daughter tighter, hoping that Mallory didn’t notice her tears.

That night, Mallory wouldn’t go to bed until she had lit a candle in the windowsill.

“It’s dark outside,” she told Ainsley solemnly. “We need to make sure there’s light so Daddy can see us when he comes back.”

Ainsley forced a wet smile. “Of course, sweetheart. Of course.”

Two and a half years later, Mallory still insisted upon lighting the candle every night.

“He’s gonna be so happy when he comes back!” she gushed as Ainsley tucked her into bed one night. “When he sees the light, and he knows we’re waiting for him! He’s gonna run in and wake us all up.”

Ainsley said nothing. She had long since run out of replies to her daughter’s unhampered confidence. Instead, she kissed Mallory on the head and snuffed out the candle once she was asleep.

Outside, the silence persisted. Ainsley sighed and tried to throw herself into the knitting with a new fervor. Winter was on its way, and Mallory was in desperate need of a new sweater. She had grown so much in the past year, when she tried on her old one it barely fit over her head…

But the disconcerting hush kept pressing against the cabin’s wooden walls, filling the air with noiseless threats. Ainsley’s movements slowed, her eyes drifting back to the black abyss behind the glass. A shiver ran down her spine.

Shouldn’t the quiet be a sign of safety? Wouldn’t it be loud, if the Liberty Brigade were to invade the village? Their tiny cabin was a few miles away, for sure, but Ainsley felt that she would still be able to hear the sounds of slaughter. Why was she so on edge?

She scanned the trees again, jumping at every odd shadow. They truly were isolated here. During the war, she had been grateful for it: raiding parties attacking the village were unlikely to find their way to her doorstep. Now, the loneliness frightened her.

Something moved. Ainsley’s head snapped to it. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

There was a light behind the trees. A small, tiny little ball of light, bobbing behind branches, slowly, every so slowly, making its way towards the cabin. Besides it, another appeared. And another. And another.

Soon, the whole tree line was awash with lights.

A beam flickered across the window. Ainsley dropped to the floor, needles clattering on the wood besides her.

The light traveled across the wall behind her, unhurried yet deliberate. Ainsley frantically gulped air underneath the window.

It’s them! Oh God, it’s them!

Snippets of stories flooded her ears, stories of massacre and kidnapping and blood-soaked teddy bears. Ainsley squeezed her eyes shut and forced them from her head. Mallory. She had to get Mallory out of here.

The light cut out suddenly, dousing the room in shadows. Ainsley could hear voices now outside, as well as the angry hum of a motor. She crawled across the floor to Mallory’s trundle bed.

Placing a hand over the little girl’s mouth, she shook her gently, whispering urgently.

“Sweetheart, wake up. We need to go.”

Mallory awoke with a start. “Wha—what?!”

“Shhhh,” Ainsley’s eyes flickered to the door. Nobody had begun pounding on it yet, which had to be a good sign. “Everything’s alright,” she whispered. “We just need to go now. There are bad guys outside.”

“Bad guys like the ones Daddy’s fighting?” Mallory asked, matching her mother’s hushed tone.

Ainsley nodded. “Get your sweater and your shoes. We’re going to the barn.”

As Mallory stumbled to the chair where she had left her tiny sweater, Ainsley pushed up the moth-eaten rug in the center of the room. The trap door underneath was rusty, and it took a good deal of prying for Ainsley to yank it up. It practically screamed as she forced it open. Ainsley fervently prayed that the men outside were hard of hearing.

Underneath, a ladder descended into a dirt tunnel of inky black.

“Hurry, Mallory!” Her daughter hobbled to her, rubbing her eyes.

“This sweater is too tight,” she complained. “It hurts my neck.”

“I’ll fix it later.” There was someone knocking at the door. Ainsley tried to hide her shaking hands as she lowered Mallory into the tunnel. She fumbled for the door handle before she slipped inside.

The knocking grew more insistent. The wooden walls vibrated. “Liberty Brigade!” A deep voice yelled. “Open up!”

Ainsley dropped into the tunnel, closing the door behind her.

“Mommy?” whispered Mallory. “It’s dark in here.”

“I know sweetheart. Just take my hand.” Ainsley pulled her down the path, the thrumming in her pulse only marginally faster than her step.

Her cattle-herder father-in-law had dug out this tunnel ages ago, as an easy method to get to the barn when the blizzards rolled in. She hadn’t known him long before he died, but he had often bragged about it as his proudest achievement.

“Took me four whole summers to clear the damn thing. I ‘bout thought it would never end. When I finally got it done, I’d spent the whole day running back ‘n forth down there just ‘cus I could!”

Ainsley wondered if he had ever pictured this.

When they finally got to the second ladder, Ainsley made Mallory wait at the bottom while she checked the area. Gradually she pushed the door open, just barely enough for her to peer out.

The barn was deserted.

“Okay, sweet, come on!” Mallory was quiet as Ainsley pulled her up through the tunnel.

“Where are we going?” she finally whispered, shivering in the chilly air.

Ainsley hugged her close. “Out the back,” she replied after a moment. “We’ll go into the woods, towards the village. We’ll have to be very, very quiet, but it will be alright. We can hide with the owls.”

Mallory frowned. “I don’t like it out there. It’s too dark.”

Ainsley donned what she hoped was a comforting smile. “I know, darling. We’ll have to be brave.” She nuzzled her hair affectionately. “We just have to make it until sunrise. Once the sun comes up, everything will be okay.” The Brigade, to her knowledge, never raided after dawn. They’d be alright. They just needed to make it through the night. “Come on.”

The barn wasn’t incredibly distant from the cabin, but it was far enough away to allow for the two to slip into the trees unnoticed by the Brigade. Ainsley cast a quick glance back at the house. The black suited figures surrounded it, guns raised, their glossy helmets glowing in the moonlight. She shook herself and forced her attention back to the task at hand.

Mallory hobbled alongside her, panting softly.

“Are we going to find Daddy?” she asked.

Ainsley forced a smile, although she doubted Mallory could tell in the dark. “Maybe.” She desperately hoped they wouldn’t. Not tonight…

A shout broke through the woods. Behind them, engines revved.

Oh God, they’ve seen us.

Ainsley snatched Mallory’s wrist to yank her along faster. The little girl stumbled, leaves crunching under her feet. Ainsley scooped her up and started to run.

“I’m big!” Mallory protested. “I can walk by myself!”

“Hush!” Ainsley hissed. Trees flew by her head, their clawed branches grasping at her hair. Ainsley ducked down in an attempt to see better. Mallory wailed.

The smell of diesel infected the air, and Ainsley realized with horror that she had taken them far closer to the main road that she intended. Frantically, she cut to the left.

Where was she going? What was the plan? Ainsley could barely see three feet ahead of her, let alone process what was happening. Behind them, trucks rumbled through the forest belching smoke and threats. She gulped air and ran faster, ignoring her burning calves.

Vroom!

Mallory cried out, tightening her grip around her mother’s neck.

Ainsley whipped her head back for a moment. Motorcycles?

Black silhouettes behind white lights weaved in and out of the trees in answer.

She clutched Mallory as close as possible. Faster, run faster! But her legs were giving out, and Mallory seemed to be getting heavier with every panicked step.

The motorcyclists were upon them in a second, zooming by her so fast that she tumbled to the forest floor with a scream. Ainsley curled into the fetal position with Mallory beneath her. Her chest burned with each ragged breath. She was crying, she realized, strangled sobs just falling from her throat. Mallory clung to her shirt and cried too.

The motorcycles continued circling, but their small motors were soon drowned out by the groaning of the big truck pushing its way in from the road. Masked brigadesmen marched forward brandishing their weapons, glossy boots stamping the dirt in unison.

They had never stood a chance, Ainsley realized as the Brigade surrounded them. They had always had the upper hand. She swallowed bitterly. Why did they bother with so many resources on the two of them? Why was it so damn important to hunt down the reclusive single mother and her tiny helpless daughter?

A gun barrel bumped the back of her head. “Sit up.”

Ainsley pulled herself to her knees. She held Mallory as tightly as she could, practically digging her nails into her shoulders. Mallory sobbed quietly into her shirt.

The distortion from the headlights made it nearly impossible to make anything out. Figures moved in and out of focus.

“Hands on your head.”

Ainsley didn’t move. The barrel hit her again.

“Now!”

She couldn’t let go of Mallory. Mallory, who had wrapped her legs around Ainsley’s ribcage like a sloth clinging to a branch and appeared to have turned to stone.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Ainsley whispered.

“No one’s getting hurt. Hands on your head.”

She didn’t believe him, but what else could she do? She raised her hands to her head. Mallory clung to her chest.

The brigadesman behind her called out an order that she didn’t quite understand. Two others appeared in front of her, seemingly materializing out of the shadows.

The barrel smacked her head once more. “Relinquish the child.”

They sacrifice them to their heathen gods….

Ainsley couldn’t remember who had said it, but the words were seared into her brain. Her arms flew to Mallory.

“No, please—”

Something collided with the side of her head. Glossy gloves had Mallory by the shoulders. Ainsley was screaming, thrashing against another pair of arms holding her to the ground. Mallory howled.

“Let her go!” Ainsley kicked wildly. A grunt, and then she was free, scrambling after the man carrying her sobbing daughter away. Somehow, she pulled herself to her feet. “Let her go! Let her go—”

A shot rang through the air, quickly followed by two more.

She didn’t feel anything at first, just a tap on her back, then another, and another. It had been so long since she had heard a gun fire that she didn’t even register it at first.

What she did register was her daughter’s screams.

“MOMMY! MOMMY!”

She had to get up. Wait, she was on the ground? How did she get on the ground? When she tried to move forward her insides burst into flames.

“MOMMY!”

Mallory’s voice was getting smaller now, farther away.

Sacrifice to their heathen gods

No, no, no not Mallory, they can’t take her not Mallory…..

Engines revved. Lights cut in and out. Voices, but they were fading too, fading fast…

She couldn’t hear Mallory any more…

Nonononono……

It was cold here, in the woods. Cold and sticky. Did Mallory have her sweater? She hadn’t finished it yet….

But Mallory was gone. Everyone was gone. It was just Ainsley, laying in this cold, wet, dark wood alone… but it wasn’t that dark. Things were getting lighter, actually. She supposed the sun must be coming up early. Little pinpricks of light pushing through the trees….

That’s why they’re gone, she thought. Everyone knows they don’t raid after dawn.

[lookbluesoup]

Top 5 Pipan moments from your fics so far

I hope you know you could not possibly have asked me a more difficult question and I don’t know if you wanted massive excerpts but guess what you’re getting them. I can’t really RANK these in most to least so they’re just,, a general top 5. I’ll also link to the fics!! This was a great excuse to go back and smile fondly over them thank you

1. From (Comforting Kiss)

Whether he had any memory of his perilous dreams on waking didn’t seem to follow much rhyme or reason. Not that he’d be inclined to talk about it, anyway. But for Piper, helpless except to watch, each experience burned itself in her mind and stuck there like spilled ink.

“This isn’t right.” Blue sobbed, tugging tightly on his own hair. “She wouldn’t have- Nora…”

Nora. Nate’s wife haunted him unmercifully by night. And even in daylight her ghost followed him across Boston, Concord, Quincy… Piper could see that, too. The way Blue would freeze as they passed places familiar to his old life. Ruins, now, but still recognizable in some small fashion to bring the memories rushing back.

Nate lived in the past. He was stuck there. Imprisoned, maybe. And it was the one place Piper couldn’t follow. No matter how badly she might want to.

With a grimace, she abandoned the discomfort of her sleeping bag to sit beside Blue and took his quivering hand. Such had been her habit for a while now. Though it never stirred any consciousness, sometimes the tremors seemed to recede. Sometimes. Maybe the gesture only held significance in its intent. At least it was better than sitting by helplessly and watching him suffer. She hated that. Hated seeing him fight a losing battle night after night.

The truth was she’d been in love with him for a while, now.

——-

2. From (Loving Kiss)

A deep hum of amusement thrummed out of her as she turned and meandered down the hallway, pretending to occupy her attention with the paintings lining the wall. Soon the noise of the party had faded to a quiet echo, and the sea beckoned close by.

Speeding up, Nate brushed Piper’s hand with loose fingers as he passed, leading her towards the sound of waves rolling over dark sand. Echoes of their contact pulsed up his arm like an electric current. The sensation lingered, and once again he resisted the powerful urge to stop everything else and kiss her into a stupor. The way she was blushing, it wasn’t hard to guess whether her thoughts followed a similar track.

They found respite on the Northern shore, well away from prying eyes.

“Lovely night,” Piper noted in a whimsical voice. Moonlight cast ripples of ivory over the waters, and in the distance the silhouette of Boston stood skeletal and resolute. It was clear and cloudless, the sky above bright with myriad stars. But Piper hadn’t been looking at any of that when she spoke.

“Yeah.” Nate answered, a little too distracted by the windblown curls in her hair to appreciate the view.

She snickered faintly. Her hands couldn’t quite decide where they wanted to be - affixed to her coat lapels, behind her back, against her hips - they danced about as if still within the Castle proper. Nate’s own fingers ravelled together inside his pockets and he hovered stiffly against the rising moon.

Free now to speak their minds, it seemed suddenly that neither quite knew what to say.

——-

3. From (Passionate Shut-Up Kiss)

“And what if I don’t heal?” He barbed, hostile with fear, “What if I’m a blind man forever? When I can’t defend myself and can’t travel and can’t even see your face? Is that what you want?”

It was quiet for a moment - long enough for her to have given him that look. “I don’t care.” She replied testily.

“How can you not ca-”

“Hey, listen to me-”

“Piper-”

She kissed him, hard, tugging her fingers through his hair and down his jaw until his tense body loosened under her in submission. Piper’s nose brushed his own and she breathed softly against his lips. “You’re alive. We still have each other. That’s what matters.” She insisted quietly, fiercely. “The rest is just details, Blue. Noise. Static. I don’t care if you lost your arms and legs to boot and turned into a blind ghoul caterpillar, I’d hand feed you and read you comics and describe all the colours of all the sunsets before I kissed you under them.”

The wound in her voice at the end put Nate very close to tears.

She hugged him tightly and whimpered, “Alright?”

Nate clutched her and nodded weakly, saltwater weeping into his bandages. “I love you, too.”

——-

4. From (Snow Day)

With a soft smirk, Piper sauntered ahead, looking up at the glasslike glitter of ice on the branches above. “…Can’t remember the last time I saw-”

SHF-FLT!

A clump of white powder showered across the back of her head and Piper spun, face awash with disbelief.

Nate’s hands were conspicuously concealed behind his back, his own expression doing its best to mimic her surprise. “Uh - careful, Scribbles. Heavy snow like this is likely to fall off the trees. You, uh-” He nearly lost his composure, “You might get doused.”

Narrowing her eyes, Piper pretended to fall for the ruse. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She waited long enough for him to dismiss the threat of retaliation, which was hard. Then she rushed up from behind, yanking down his coat collar and shoving a handful of ice and snow down his back.

——-

5. From (Dreams Still Remembered)

Dodging the question, her lover probed warily, “…What brought this on?” His fingers ribboned together, as though floating an invisible flip lighter between them. The uneven rise and fall of his vest betrayed Blue’s stiff breathing, “I thought you said you wer-”

“I know. Yeah, I did. Just, what if though? If we had the chance, would you…? Would you want that?”

“I love you, Piper. I don’t need anything else.” Nate shook his head, meeting her gaze emphatically, “Whatever I said to make you think otherwise, I-”

“U-uUGH!” she seethed, fidgeting - more frustrated at herself than him. “You don’t understand.”

He leaned back, considering her for a moment before standing again. Nate moved towards her, but Piper tensed and retreated a step.

“Piper…?”

“I’m pregnant, Blue.”

An apocalyptic silence hit the air. Nate’s eyes were wide and vivid in the candlelight as he reassessed her, taking in every detail of Piper’s face, lingering on the quiver of her lips before glancing down at her belly as though he might see proof of the claim. He just stared. He didn’t say a word, and that was more frightening than anything he could’ve possibly uttered in response to the revelation.

[jeonsdear]

LOST LOVE YOU ARE MY DREAM → YOONKOOK (A)

⤷ pairing: min yoongi x jeon jungkook ; min yoongi x jung hoseok ⤷ genre: angst with a pinch of fluff and smut ⤷ au: agent!au, hybrid!au ⤷ warnings: character death, implied smut  ⤷ word count: 2.461 ⤷ read it elsewhere: ao3 ⤷ masterlist: (x) * summary:   But what if time did not help? What if he could never let Hoseok go? How long could he go on like that and hurt a good man who deserves so much more? * A/N: it’s not too heavy but it’s heavy for me okay and i’m leaving a lot up to your imagination. also sorry to mingi from ateez i love you i promise 

Yoongi walked through the empty white halls, blinded by the bright light. The place had something familiar about it. An icy shiver ran down his spine, and for a fraction of a second, he thought he was back.

Had they come to fetch him?

He looked down on himself and was relieved to see that he was no longer the frightened child, one of many in one room. He was an adult and far stronger than he was then. He had his gun in his hand and wore his uniform. He had a mission here. Something important. He just wished he would remember what the important thing was.

Carefully, he kept on walking and concentrated on keeping his breathing under control. At the end of the hall was a double door. White like the rest of the corridor. He did not know what it was, but something felt off. Wrong. Yoongi was about to activate his headset when he heard a gasping breath followed by a voice that stopped him.

“Yoongi...help me. Please…”

Hoseok?

“Through the door...please move fast!”

Oh god! Yoongi stormed through the hall, through the door, and stopped abruptly in the huge, empty, grey room.

“Please no”, he shook his head as his heart dropped into his gut and his eyes burned.

Hoseok knelt on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. Next to him, in the same position, was Jeongguk. Behind them, Mingi, a 38 in his hand.

Yoongi wanted to point his weapon at him, but when he raised his arms, his hands were empty. What the hell? What was going on? How had Mingi gotten hold of Hoseok and Jeongguk? Why could Yoongi not remember anything?

“It’s time for you to make your choice.” Mingi released his gun and lifted it to the heads of the men at his feet.

“No! Please.” A tear rolled over Yoongi’s cheek as Mingi stared at him blankly, gun raised to fragile heads of a hybrid and a human. Yoongi’s hands shook as a horrible sense of horror washed over him, as if he knew exactly how that scenario would turn out.

“Whatever you want, but please don’t hurt them.”

A malicious grin appeared on Mingi’s face as he turned the gun to from Hoseok to Jeongguk. Yoongi’s heart almost stopped. “Make your choice.”

“Why are you doing this? Hoseok is your brother!”

“Why? Because I’m obviously a psychopath. And you? You are a coward.”

For five seconds Yoongi looked at Hoseok’s dark tear-filled eyes, the sun having left them long ago. Then at Jeongguk’s round fearful eyes that reminded him of all the times those had rested on Yoongi. Then back again to Mingi.

“How about a trade? Me for them. I’m the one you want, right?”

Mingi cooked his head thoughtfully before his lips twisted into a cruel grin. “And give up the opportunity to let you suffer? No….Five.”

“I love you, Yoongi,” Hoseok said, drawing Yoongi’s attention.

“Four.”

Yoongi looked at Jeongguk and his expression broke his heart. Jeongguk smiled lovingly and nodded. “I understand.”

“Three.”

“I can’t do that,” pleaded Yoongi. “Please, don’t.” How could he? He loved Hoseok, but that did not mean he could let Jeongguk go. Jeongguk was exceptional. Yoongi had never met anyone like him. There was so much Yoongi wanted to learn about him and experience with him. The younger was good to him, for him, always there to pick up the pieces, with a warm smile and a gentle touch.

“Two.”

Mingi waved the weapon back and forth between Hoseok and Jeongguk.

“Please,” Yoongi pleaded, dropping to his knees while his eyes blurred with tears and his heart broke. He had never thought he would one day kneel down and beg a madman like Mingi, but he would do anything for the two men in front of him.

“One,”The gun was aimed at Jeongguk’s head, a shot was fired, and Yoongi gasped and cried out a tortured scream, “Not him!”.

It was dark around him. Where the hell was he? What was going on? Was he still in the research facility?

“Hyung!”

Yoongi jumped out of bed, so fast he hit his shoulder against the wall. He whirled around, his heart pounding wildly, and his gaze slid frantically through the room before turning toward the man in the middle of the big bed. The moonlight, falling through a narrow slit of curtains met dishevelled dark hair and cast a glow around the man’s head.

“Jeonggukie?”

The younger slid off the mattress and held his hands before him as he cautiously stepped closer to the leopard hybrid. His face etched with worry. “It’s me, hyung. Jeongguk.”

It had only been a dream. No, a nightmare, a very real and very plastic one that now came back in all intolerable detail. What had he done? “Oh, God.” He slid down the wall hiding his face in his hands. Jeongguk put a hand on his shoulder and Yoongi just could not look at him. He still saw the picture in from of him of, Jeongguk’s lifeless body in a pool of blood, his bright dark eyes unfocused, his blood dribbling down between his lips that still smiled lovingly at him.

“Hey, c’mon, talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

Yoongi shook his head. How could he explain to Jeongguk what he had done? He knew it was just a dream, but what did that say about him? About them both? God, it had all been so real. He grabbed Jeongguk and hugged him so hard that he could hear the younger groaning, but he could not let go of him. He had to be sure that Jeongguk was real, here in his arms and alive, not executed for his words. “I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?”, Jeongguk gasped, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “You know, I love a big hug, hyung, but somehow you’re crushing me right now.”

Yoongi relaxed his grip, but he did not let go. He still could not meet Jeongguk’s eyes, so he buried his face in his partner’s neck.

“That bad, huh?” Jeongguk gently stroked Yoongi’s arm. He did not deserve that much tenderness.

“Yes,” Yoongi replied, involuntarily squeezing Jeongguk harder. He felt like a child. But he could not bring himself to tell Jeongguk what he had done. Mingi was right. He was a coward. Since standing in front of Jeongguk’s door last year, telling him that he wanted to see how it could develop between them and that he wanted to look ahead, he found himself unable to do just that. Jeongguk was so patient, the most patient guy Yoongi had ever met, but how long could that go on? He had told him that he only needed time, and that was true. But what if time did not help? What if he could never let Hoseok go? How long could he go on like that and hurt a good man who deserves so much more?

“Hey, look at me.” Jeongguk gently took hold of Yoongi’s face and Yoongi looked up. At the sight of kindness in Jeongguk’s face, he felt a lump in his throat.

“It was a bad dream, okay? Whatever it was, you’re here now, with me. You’re safe, okay? You know I will always protect you. Right? It’s okay!” Yoongi nodded and wished he could believe it. But both of them knew, no matter how capable Jeongguk was, no matter how strong and fast and intelligent, he was just a human. And Yoongi was a hybrid. And so was Mingi. Hoseok had been a hybrid and even he fell victim to Mingi. Yoongi wanted to believe the younger, wanted to believe that he would catch the older when he fell. Wanted to believe that Jeongguk would not turn his back on him.

Despite the bad feeling in his stomach, he let Jeongguk lead him back to bed and tried not to feel guilty about his subconscious decision. He did not want to think about how he had chosen his ex-boyfriend over Jeongguk. Over the man holding him in his arms and who stayed awake a long time after Yoongi had long since fallen asleep. Whenever he woke up throughout the night, he looked around the room wondering what the hell he was doing in Jeongguk’s bedroom - but then he just had to feel or see the younger agent next to him, and a small voice in his head told him he was right where he had to be. He dove into those feelings of comfort to forget the remnants of this terrible dream. It was okay. He was here with Jeongguk. Everything was in order.

Remarkably, he managed to get a few more hours of sleep. He woke up before Jeongguk, which was not unusual. It was always like that. Now that he was thinking about it, it was sort of cheesy because not only was he always up first, he wanted it that way. It had become his routine. He woke up, watched Jeongguk sleep for a moment, grinning like an idiot. The guy always looked like he had done three rounds with the blanket and lost. It was wrapped around his waist, with one leg on top, one arm pressed against the body, the other under the crumpled pillow, hair sticking out in all directions and stubble on the face. He was sexy. Yoongi leaned over and pressed a kiss on Jeongguk’s bare shoulder. The curvature of his back, which led to the plump butt under the blanket, was tempting. God, he loved Jeongguk’s butt. On the other hand, there was not much that you could not love about Jeongguk. Love? He quickly pushed the thought aside. What was wrong with him? He really liked Jeongguk, and he had no problem treating him lovingly or showing him how crazy he made him, but love was something completely different, something he did not want to explore. He had loved Hoseok, and one knew where it had lead to. No, when Hosek died, he had taken with him all the love Yoongi carried. Hoseok had taken with him a part of Yoongi he would never get back. Jeongguk was important to him, and Yoongi was sure that if he let him, he could need and want to be with him. But love? He could not imagine this to ever happen to him again.

Annoyed by the direction of his thoughts, he got out of bed, grabbing boxer shorts and a T-shirt and went about to tackle his morning routine. He had about fifty minutes left before Jeongguk staggered into the kitchen like a zombie looking for banana milk. Yoongi had never met anyone who loved banana milk as much and needed banana milk as much as Jeongguk did. The morning after their first sex together, Jeongguk had been fresh and alert, and his enthusiasm had led to a hot blowjob for Yoongi in the shower. Yoongi quickly figured out that was a one-time thing. The effects of his medication due to his injury at the time, Jeongguk’s excitement to finally being able to work after weeks of recovery, and his eagerness to turn Yoongo on had been the cause of his state. Since then, his partner had not given any signs of life until he had his first cup of banana milk.

A shuffling sound followed by a long groan reached Yoongi’s ear and he turned around and watched amusedly as Jeongguk sat down on the chair. His hair had reached almost the length of man-bun potential and right now it stood up in various places, making him look like the little devil’s cousin. On one flushed cheek there was a cushion print.

“Morning,” Yoongi greeted him cheerfully, his tail swinging behind him and softly thumping against the counter. Jeongguk looked at him without lifting his head. He grunted and Yoongi chuckled. Yoongi put the mug he had been preparing in front of his partner and Jeongguk wrapped his fingers around the mug, shuddering once from head to toe. Weirdo.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, closing his eyes and masking the same face he had during sex. The sight made Yoongi’s blood head straight into his groin. Curious, he decided to ask.

“If you had to choose between banana milk and-” “Banana milk.” “You don’t even know what I wanted to say,” Yoongi laughed but Jeongguk only shook his head. “No matter. Banana milk.” “Me or banana milk?” “Banana milk.” “Wow. Okay, sex or banana milk?” “Banana milk.” “Your brother or….” “Banana milk. I would absolutely trade Seokjin hyung for banana milk.” He took another sip and sighed contentedly. “Okay, maybe I would not trade him for banana milk. Although…” He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No, you’re right, that would not be right.”

Yoongi did not mind that he came in second after the banana milk, all he had to do was wait for the right moment. At first, the sweet liquid still dominated his lover’s thoughts, but as so Jeongguk had emptied his cup, they ate breakfast and did the dishes. Then they went upstairs, brushing their teeth, and on the way to the chair at the end of the bedroom, where his clothes and toiletry bag lay, Yoongi took his shirt off. As expected, Jeongguk lunged at the older, wrapping his arms around his waist and stroked Yoongi’ chest with one hand as he pushed the other under the elasticated waistband of the boxer shorts. He placed kisses on Yoongi’s shoulders, the tip of the tongue tasting the pale skin, teeth nibbling.

“Still thinking about trading me for banana milk?” Yoongi asked in a smoky tone.

“Maybe I was a little premature. You know, if banana milk siren keeps me in its sweet claws, you can’t trust me. I’m weak, it ashames me.”

Yoongi stifled a moan, tail wrapping around Jeongguk’s arm as the younger took ahold of Yoongi’s hardening cock. Jeongguk slid down on his knees and nibbled on his buttocks while Yoongi pushed himself into Jeongguk’s hand with a deep rumble.

“What can I do to make amends?” Jeongguk stuck out his tongue to lick the spot on Yoongi’s butt where he had just bitten.

“We don’t have much time,” Yoongi objected, trying to steady himself by sinking his fingers in Jeongguk’s long hair.

“How about I blow you in the shower? I know how much you like that.”

Like was an understatement.

When Jeongguk took him by the hand and went with him to the bathroom, Yoongi could only remember how much more fun the morning hours were when Jeongguk was there. And for a little while, he forgot about his inability to love the younger.