#and if that means believing I am seventeen years old and I have to plan my exit then so be it. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bedofthistles · 11 months

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Unforgiving

Sir Benjamin: I keep all my emotions right here. And then one day, I'll die

Sir Benjamin Merryweather was a pathetic little creature. The once proud and dignified Lord of Moonacre, had fallen in love and had his heart shattered, and chose to let his bitterness and melancholy consume him.

Of course, it wasn’t entirely his fault, after all, he had been handed catastrophe after catastrophe for the majority for his thirty-five years. One had to adopt a hardened heart in order to survive.

The first of the many tragedies he had to endure was his birth. He did not remember his birth, but his birth was tragic nevertheless, and he lived with the consequences of being the firstborn.

Now, one might see this as complaining, to be born into a wealthy family? Born into power? Many would give their left hand for that draw, but with all that luxury came responsibility. Came a heavy burden.

Came a curse.

Benjamin was then promoted to Sir Benjamin at seventeen, with the passing of his father. Oh, now you see, now you know how hard it was for him! At naught but seventeen, thrust into such a position of power!

Or, you may be a critical thinker, thinking: that’s a child that they’ve just placed in charge of a whole county, they can’t do that!

But they can! And they did. And he was.

Sir Benjamin, however, had prepared himself endlessly for the day he would take his father’s place. He just happened to imagine that step happening years down the line.

But that was what happened in Moonacre.

Deny the curse Sir Benjamin did, but that did not mean it didn’t have an almighty effect on all who lived in the valley.

The next calamity was that of the birth of his brother George.

Beloved by all! The happy-go-lucky-spare to the all-too-serious-heir, everyone preferred George Merryweather. Even their father.

Even their mother.

Even Benjamin preferred his brother.

Oftentimes, Benjamin thought it was George who should be given the Lordship, not himself, but before he could even broach the topic with his father, the old Merryweather died.

And Benjamin was fitted for his crown.

(Figuratively speaking, of course, Lord’s don’t get crowns.)

Then of course came George himself!

Sir Benjamin had always believed he was a good older brother, but when George turned twenty, he left.

It was all rather dramatic, as Merryweather’s tended to be.

“Eliza and I are going to London.” He said, his copper curls shining in the sunlight.

“London?” Sir Benjamin bit out, they had long jested about the proper city folk, and how they much preferred the freedom of the countryside. To Sir Benjamin, it was unbelievable.

“I have joined the regiment. I plan to make something of myself.” George said, his mouth thin and set, there was a harsh gleam in his eye that Benjamin could not help but identify as being one of resentment. But that was odd, as his whole life, Benjamin had been the one to resent George.

“No. I forbid it.” Benjamin said, his hands folded behind his back, he issued his brother a stern glare. “You are not to leave Moonacre-“

“Moonacre is dying! I have-“ George swallowed thickly. “I have a chance to do something worthwhile! I can no longer stand and watch Moonacre crumble! I do not have the heart for it. And, I do not have the heart to live in your shadow.”

“My sha- George, what ever are you talking about?”

“What am I but the spare! What am I but scrap? No, I refuse to let that be my destiny! Not any longer.”

George turned and left, his feet stomping against the crackling stone.

“What of Maria?”

George slowed to a stop. His hand fisted at his side. “Or Matthew.”

Sir Benjamin clenched his jaw, and perhaps he should have hoped for his brother to have produced a son, but in his heart, he knew that was not true. Eliza, Benjamin, even Digweed and Marmaduke referred to her swollen stomach and the babe within as Maria.

George did not even have the grace to spare his brother one last glance as he said, “What of her?”

“I‘ll- she’ll-“ Benjamin shook his head to dismiss the choking emotion rising in his throat. “Shall I not even hold her?”

“Come to London when he is born, and you may.”

And that was the last Sir Benjamin ever saw of his brother.

Communication was sparse, and any news of Maria was shared to him by her mother, Eliza.

It was safe to say he did not hear much after her passing.

Then, of course, was his greatest tragedy.

His parent’s passing, his lord hood, and the estrangement of his beloved brother all paled in comparison to how Loveday Minette ruined him.

De Noir

Loveday De Noir was her name.

He had met the young woman on his way into Silverydew, recklessly and foolheartedly digging her way under a fallen cart to save a small child that had gotten trapped under it.

“Madam, please! Stand back!” Sir Benjamin leaped from his steed, Atlas, and knelt down beside her, elbow deep in mud.

“If I do, she will suffocate!” And her voice rang clear and strong like a church bell on a Sunday morning.

Sir Benjamin whipped into action - after a moment of slack jawed awe in the presence of this woman - and fell to his knees as he lifted the broken cart.

“Almost there! Keep going!” She encouraged, her voice low with effort, and with a mighty heave, Sir Benjamin was able to jack the cart, and the woman tugged the child into her arms, falling back into the mud.

The child - sticky with mud, and crying gross tears - clung to the woman’s neck and she graciously petted the child’s back.

“Shh! It’s alright little one!” She said, and Benjamin had been confronted with her face.

Carved by Angels, he was sure, so struck was he by her beauty and her eyes, like the full, blue moon, that he did not realize she had stood and walked away.

“Ex- excuse me! Madam-“ and he cleared his throat. He had run - run - to catch up to her and was now trailing at her side like a lost kitten. “I do not believe we have met, and as Lord of Moonacre I do my best to know all of my people.” A boldface lie, as Sir Benjamin did his best to avoid all of his people.

“You’re Sir Benjamin…” She brought her muddied hand to her mouth, the result being five beauty marks added to her countenance.

“You know of me?” He asked, shocked and surprised despite the fact that it was well known who he was. Being a Lord and whatnot.

“Oh! Please do forgive me!” She curtsied lowly to him, her head bowing as she did. “I- I had not known-“

“Please, madam-“ and His hand was electrified as he touched her shoulder, utter joy shot through him as he found her skin was soft as he believed it to be. “Never have I seen such a selfless act, I would like to invite you to Moonacre Manor, to show my gratitude.”

“Moonacre Manor?” She said, just as breathlessly as before, and she nodded.

Her name was Loveday. And Benjamin, for the first time in his twenty-five years of life, had never felt such a fool.

She was radiant, and kind, and selfless as he so well knew, and loving.

Above all she was loving.

And when she loved him, it was as if all of the world did not matter.

He did not think he was worthy of such love, of such a woman, and yet he had been blessed.

At first, he had felt betrayed.

She had lied to him.

Next, he felt something akin to awe.

She had been the Moon Princess, and he had held her in his arms.

Third, he felt the heavy guilt one only feels when they realize they had just made the biggest mistake of their lives.

He had loved her, and it wasn’t enough.

Last, was a sudden panic that overcame him like ocean waves.

He tore out of the Manor and searched for her.

But, wherever she had gone, was not a place he could follow.

In his heart, he let bitterness convince him she had crawled back to her family, that she had always planned on tricking him. And despite this falsity - that became truth - Sir Benjamin still loved her.

For ten years, he lived as one might expect a sad, broken-hearted man to live.

Then, came the news that his brother was in debt.

It was not George who wrote him - strong with Merryweather pride - but one Ms. Heliotrope.

Dear Lord Benjamin Merryweather,

If I may introduce myself, I am Jane Heliotrope and am in the service of your brother, Colonel Merryweather -

Colonel Merryweather, Sir Benjamin’s brows lifted in surprise and pride, only to furrow with the rest of the letter.

- Governess to his young daughter, and your niece, Maria Merryweather. It has come to my attention (and Sir, I would like to impart to you that I am no gossip! And quite discourage it in the house, but I digress) -

Benjamin rolled his eyes, annoyed that this woman would choose to blather when there was obvious a great matter to be discussed!

- that the Colonel has found himself indebted to many-an-officer! I know to ask for aid is quite beyond him, as he suffers a great deal from pride, but I believe it would be in his best interest if you reached out a hand, and offered your help.

Ms. Heliotrope continued on for a page and a half, but Sir Benjamin had read the important information and disregarded the (of course, if he had kept reading, he would have received his first update on Maria Merryweather for the first time in years).

Sir Benjamin wrote countless letters, written in anger and love, sometimes offering his brother the funds to pay it all off, or offering his home if he needed a place to return. George never wrote to him, and the next letter he received was to notify him of his brother’s death.

Death, they said, as if he was not murdered! Murdered for his copious amounts of debt.

And, that Sir Benjamin had received custody of Maria.

Joy should not have been his main response from the letter, but one could hardly blame him. After all, he had never met his niece, on account of Moonacre always being on the verge of collapse, he was constantly busy, and never had any time to step away. That, and George had never returned to Moonacre, he had never brought Maria home.

But now, she would be coming home.

Sir Benjamin needed to prepare.

He had sent Digweed to clean the rarely used tower, once a nursery for himself and his brother, he knew it was the perfect place for a budding young woman. He instructed Marmaduke to alter the menu so that it was more fitting to the tastes of a young woman. He had even gone into town to purchase her her own mare.

Then, he anxiously awaited her arrival.

Only, she never arrived.

The De Noirs.

Those bloody De Noirs!

They were the bane of his existence! He despised them! And he would see them all hanged!

Sir Benjamin rode hard and fast to Castle Black, and the Coeur De Noir appeared before him.

Sir Benjamin shivered in disgust, that man was almost his father-in-law.

Sir Benjamin demanded his niece, but just as he thought, the Coeur denied even knowing of her existence, and, surrounded by hundreds of armed men, Sir Benjamin could do naught, but turn away in defeat.

When Sir Benjamin came back to Moonacre Manor, alone and without his young niece, Ms. Heliotrope burst into tears, and shuffled off to her rooms.

Mr. Digweed rubbed his hands together and gave his Lord a questioning look.

“I inspected that wretched place from top to bottom!” Sir Benjamin huffed. “Every door, every nook and cranny! And… She wasn’t there.”

“But Sir!” Mr. Digweed’s eyes widened. “Who else-?”

Sir Benjamin held up a hand. “No one else could have taken her, they must have hidden her somehow.”

“So, what now Sir?”

Sir Benjamin shook his head, “I’m not sure, it may be that there’s nothing to be done-”

“Certainly that must not be true!” Ms. Heliotrope cried out, as she had returned from her rooms, upset with herself for her weakness, and refusing to turn away when her dear Maria was in need. “We could contact the authorities-”

Sir Benjamin scoffed, tucking his fists onto his hip bones. “Ms. Heliotrope, if you may give us a moment? So we can figure this out without your sensibilities getting in the way!”

Ms. Heliotrope gaped at him. “Well, I never-! Tell me, Sir Benjamin, what was your plan! Besides running off without a thought about going blindly off into what sounds like enemy territory! Why, Colonel Merryweather would have never been so foolish!”

She was wrong of course, Colonel Merryweather had been rather foolish, up to the point of his death, which had also been over a foolish matter. However, in her defense, Sir Benjamin was also being quite foolish, as he disregarded her completely rational suggestion. Albeit, what Ms. Heliotrope did not know was there was very little the authorities could do when the De Noirs were involved, for two very practical reasons.

Practical reason number one: the authorities feared the De Noirs. Really, who wouldn’t? The De Noirs did not care about the law, or those who carried them out. Sometimes committing atrocities in front of said authorities.

Reason number two: the De Noirs kept the forest clear of other outlaws and criminals. Truth be told, the De Noirs guarded the forest, and kept it safe better than any policeman could have ever hoped to.

Fear was a strong motivator, a good ally, and a proper reason to stay out of one’s business. Even if that business was illegal.

Nevertheless, Sir Benjamin could not go to the authorities for this matter, as the most he would get would be men too afraid to do the right thing. So really, this was something he had to take into his own hands.

But he wasn’t about to explain that all to Ms. Heliotrope.

“Hmm.” Marmaduke hummed, the fact that he was out of the kitchens at all boasted to the seriousness of the situation.

“‘Hmm’ what?” Sir Benjamin asked tiredly, used to his chef’s meddling and, more often than not, good ideas.

“If they choose to remain unhonorable, perhaps we can try their method.”

Sir Benjamin and Digweed’s eyes met and while Digweed shrugged, Sir Benjamin merely turned back to Marmaduke with a single nod to continue.

“I suggest, in order to get Miss. Merryweather back home, we do not ask, but simply take.” He smiled at them proudly, before: “There is one who has lived her whole life in the castle. One who has it in her blood.”

Sir Benjamin glared at the little magic man. “Loveday? Why- No, I will not ask her for help! Besides, I have no idea where she even is!” He had long since buried his feelings deep down inside of his chest never to be seen or touched by sun or moonlight ever again. All he felt was bitterness and anger.

It was that, or unbearable sadness. Sir Benjamin chose the more manly of the options. So, he crossed his arms and furrowed his brow in a frustrated expression.

To bring her up in a moment such as this!

“I do, sir.” Digweed said, lifting his hand like a young man volunteering for war.

Sir Benjamin’s heart leaped, but he fought it down. Besides, he was quite surprised that Digweed knew where she had ran off too. “Very well then, where is she?”

“In the forest, Sir! And, if you ask nicely, I’m sure she’ll say yes.” Digweed smiled, something close to evil and conniving. In Sir Benjamin’s opinion which was of course wrong.

“I will consider it.”

“Oh!” Ms. Heliotrope scoffed, “Sir Benjamin, surely if this is the only option-!”

“It is not the only option!” Sir Benjamin countered.

“Then give me another!” Ms. Heliotrope put on her best Governess stare, the kind that made the most rowdy of pupils obey. “Then we must contact this woman!” She declared, after Sir Benjamin could not think of another option (and how could he, under such a glare?)

Loveday De Noir, the retired Moon Princess.

One might ask how a Princess could enter retirement, but it was simply a matter of her heart. A Moon Princess was pure-hearted, good, loving, kind, honest; her goals, in addition to breaking the curse, were keeping Peace in the Valley.

This is where many a Moon Princess failed.

No matter what family she came from, no matter how hard she tried, the family feud was always too powerful, and hatred eventually entered her heart.

Loveday in no way hated the Merryweathers as a whole, but she had never been able to offer Sir Benjamin forgiveness. She, like Sir Benjamin, remained bitter and angry, unable to move on from the one who had ripped everything she had ever held dear away from her. And in pettiness, remained in the forest, until her eventual death.

For the first few years, Loveday had been comforted by the silence of the forest. By her animal companions, and the lack of men.

For the middle years, Loveday began to miss her old friends from Castle Black, she began to miss the wonderful food from Moonacre Manor, but she never allowed herself to admit that missed Sir Benjamin.

For the last few years, Loveday gave in to resentment, allowed herself to hate Sir Benjamin (despite how much she still loved him, a feeling that went unacknowledged) and banished the idea that she would be the one to find the Pearls and break the curse.

Loveday worked hard on herself - as one must do when one’s hopes and dreams are shattered so completely - grew used to the solitude, and accepted the fact she would die, forgotten and alone, in the forest with only her rescued pets to mourn her (and eat her remains, most likely).

She plastered a smile on her face, sang her songs, shared stories with her hedgehog, and brushed her hair, as she pretended to be quite well.

Loveday was also not a witch, as she had not been blessed with magic, but she did the very best she could to use Nature’s energy to fulfill her needs. Despite hanging up her Moon Princess crown, Nature still seemed to favor her as a daughter. Loveday had a healing hand, a knowledge of herbs that greatly surpassed what was typically known, and she was apt at dealing with wild animals; she had never once been bitten or scratched.

Loveday had spectacular senses, and while she shouldn’t have, she always knew when someone drew near to her cave.

It was a bit surprising, as most people couldn’t even find her cave, but she pulled her cloak over head and snuck out to the mouth.

“Miss. De Noir! Are you there?”

Loveday rolled her eyes before she removed the hood of her cloak and gave Mr. Digweed a forced smile.

“Mr. Digweed! How are you?” She asked.

The poor man jumped, as he had not seen the woman, hidden in the shadows as she was, and clutched his chest. “Miss. De Noir! A bit of warning, there!”

“I do apologize, my good sir.”

Mr. Digweed cautioned a smile before handing her an envelope. “That’ll be a letter for you, Miss. De Noir!”

She looked at it, forcing her hands to remain at her side rather than take it, as she so wished. “What is that?”

“It's from the master, Miss.” Mr. Digweed bent his head down. “I promise, it shan’t hurt you to read it.”

Loveday very much doubted that, as that was all Sir Benjamin had ever been able to do, but she took the letter. Snatched it from Mr. Digweed’s hand, and turned her back as she broke the wax seal.

“Who is Maria Merryweather?”

☾

Maria set the bowl, empty of strawberries, back on the ground, and brushed her hands clean of any juice.

The room, in the daylight, was nearly white with the layers and layers of dust blanketing it. It was disgusting, and if she knew how to use a broom, she would have asked for one.

Maria took a turn about the room, careful not to touch anything, as it was all so dirty. There were booklined shelves, a vanity - complete with a brush and comb set, as well as a bowl of powder - a wardrobe, and another door.

Maria supposed that there were three doors in total in the room. One that, clearly, led out into the hall, the secret door in the floor, and a small, slim door that, if she had to guess, led to a restroom.

She hoped.

The door, thankful, was unlocked, though it didn’t budge without her ramming her shoulder into the wood. She fell into a cobweb, and sputtered as she tried to spit it out, and scratched at her face to rid herself of the disgusting, sticky mess.

Maria groaned low in her throat as she eyed what must have been the bathtub and toilet. The bath was little more than a hollowed hole in the ground, and she wasn’t quite sure whether or not this medieval castle had plumbing at all.

Maria turned sharply on her heel and slammed the door as best she could behind her. But, that sent another cloud of dust into the air. Maria sneezed, and tried to brush the dust from her dress, only to see how utterly ravaged her travel gown had become.

She stifled a scream, and worried over the dust, webs, dirt, and - oh god - what could only have been stains from the gruel they had tried to feed her, as she came to the conclusion that she needed to change lest she developed a dangerous rash.

Maria crawled at the back of her gown until she dug the bow out of her skirt and untied it. She threw it onto the floor, her bustle joining it not too soon after and she made her way to the wardrobe.

“Oh dear.” Maria grumbled as she looked at the outdated dresses. “Things just keep getting worse, don’t they?”

Maria ran her hands over the various gowns, mostly white or other pale colors, and at least counted herself lucky that there were any dresses there, and that they weren’t all black. The De Noir’s took their name too literally, there was a whole host of colors she could personally introduce them to.

Blue for one.

Maria picked a gown that was the same pale pink of a seashell just as the secret door popped opened.

“Princess-”

Maria sheriked, and shut the wardrobe door on herself. “My word! Is the term knocking unfamiliar?”

Robin lifted himself up onto the floor, so his legs dangled down the tunnel, and he leaned back on his hands, disturbing the dust even more. He had the audacity to smirk at her.

Maria’s hand curled around the door and she peered around it. “Well?”

“Knocking? Sure, and I did, you must not have heard.”

Heavens above, she was going to murder him. “When you come next, please knock loud enough so that the occupants of the room may hear it! Now please leave.”

“I have to take you back.”

“What?” And Maria threw the wardrobe door away from herself, fully revealing her stays and bloomers. “Back where? The cell? I’d rather die.”

“That can be arranged.” He grinned, as he removed his dagger from his belt. “My father is looking for you, and he can’t know you’re in this room. I’ll take you back as soon as we’re done, promise.”

“Do you tend to make a habit of making promises?”

Robin shrugged as he sheathed his dagger. “I’ve kept them, haven’t I?”

Maria crossed her arms and lifted her chin to stare down her nose at him. “You’ve kept one. So far. And it depends on how you look at things, my wrists would consider your promise broken.”

His grin faded and his eyes flashed to her arms, where he could see the fading marks. “You’re not dead, you have all your limbs, and you're not starving.” He shrugged. “Promise kept.”

“So far!” She reminded.

“Well, put your clothes back on.” Robin reached out and grabbed the edge of her skirt before he tossed it to her.

She caught it reflexively, before she threw it to the floor and kicked it. “Absolutely not! I would burn that thing before ever letting it touch my skin again!”

“I think he’ll notice if you’re in nothing but your under things, Princess.”

“I shall wear this.” Maria held up the pink dress. “I’m sure a man like him won’t notice the fact that I’ve changed my dress.”

Robin chuckled, “You’d be surprised about how sharp my father can be.”

“Then I shall lie and tell him he is mistaken.” Maria almost stuck her tongue out at him, but resisted, because that was childish and she was more well-mannered than that.

As Maria pulled the dress over her head, she came across one major issue: it was not made for her. The dress was too long, clearly tailored for a much taller woman, and as tightly as she pulled the strings, it still hung loosely on her ribs.

“Would you like me to-”

“If you touch me, I shall-”

“Alright! No need to get upset.” Robin held his hands up in surrender. “You’re struggling.”

Maria looked towards the heavens, trying to keep her decorum. Yes, she was struggling.

Up to this point, someone had always been there to assist her as she dressed. A maid, or even Ms. Heliotrope at times. She had been warned that the Countryside would not hold these comforts, and she would have to learn how to dress herself.

Maria was a quick learner, and had she been on her own, she would have been able to figure it out.

But, she had an audience, so her hands were timid as they tightened the laces of her bodice. She didn’t want to struggle in front of him, but as he had so kindly pointed out, she was.

“I just- argh! - I can’t tie it.” She huffed in indignation, and stomped her foot against the floor. She let go of the ties in favor of crossing her arms. “But I do not want you to tie it for me!” Maria turned sharply as Robin stood up.

He held up placating hands, as if she were feral, and laughed. “Princess, you’re being ridiculous-”

“I’m being ridiculous!”

“-if you’d just let me help…” He began to walk in a slow circle around her, but she followed him, always facing him. He lunged forward and grabbed her arm.

“Let go of me! You- you-!” She beat her open palm against his arm, but the thick leather cushioned most of the blows.

“Bastard? Bully? Oaf?” He grabbed her wrist before she was able to land another blow. “How about this? You turn around. I tie your strings. And you stop hitting me!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Maria attempted to tear her hand away, but his hold was firm. “Let go of me.”

“Stop hitting me.” He lifted his brows.

“Fine.” Maria bit her tongue. He let go of her wrist and she hit his chest as soon as he did. “Last one.”

He shook his head, very much struggling not to smile. “Now, turn around.”

Maria pursed her lips. “That- that would hardly be-”

“You can go parading around in your under things, would that be preferable, Princess?”

Maria shook her head, but turned anyway, very much against herself.

“What do I do?”

“For the love of all- A knot! Tie it into a knot!” Maria buried her flushed face in her hands. “It needs to be tight so it won’t come undone.”

She could feel the strings pulling at her back, the bodice tightening around her chest.

Robin, for his part, tried to think of it like his boots. He tied his boots every morning. Double knotted them, tucked the laces in, and went on his way. The main difference was that his boots didn’t have Maria in them.

She had her hair swept over her shoulder, and her back presented to him, the pale pink of her dress just a shade darker than her skin. He wasn’t thinking when he brushed the back of his fingers against her spine.

She inhaled sharply and walked away from him, nearly tripping on the over long hem.

“Th-thank you.” She said, a hand pressed to her heart, in the hope of getting it to calm down. “I’ll be down in just a moment.”

“You don’t want my help-”

“No! No, thank you, I do not require your help any longer.”

Maria looked over her shoulder. Caught him muttering to himself in a seemingly condescending manner, before dragging his feet to the secret entrance and disappearing down below.

Maria breathed in relief once he was gone, before gathering the skirt in her hands. Underneath the hem were two bustle ribbons, which she tied to the small connecting ribbons at her bust. She adjusted the skirt until it laid properly, the hem now falling just above the toe of her boots, and went to meet Robin down in the tunnels.

☾

The Coeur De Noir paced recklessly in front of the empty cell, his guardsmen watching with wide eyed expressions, none brave enough to offer explanation.

“So.” He growled out, his deep voice echoing over the empty hallway. “She has not returned at all?”

“Well, you see sir-”

“It wasn’t our fault!”

“-that’s right! It was your rot-”

The Coeur quirked a brow. “Rotten what?”

The two shaking guards paled and looked close to an early death.

The Coeur rolled his eyes as at their cowardice, what had happened to the De Noir Clan? How had they fallen from some of the worst men (allegedly) in the country to the pathetic sods that couldn’t keep track of one blasted girl.

And the disrespect!

The Coeur De Noir knew the relationship he had with his son was far from stellar, that boy still had a long way to go if he were to make a worthy Coeur for the Clan, but for his own men to insult his blood?

That was unacceptable.

“My rotten son?” He asked, reveling in the way they shrunk. “Perhaps you would like a rotting tongue!”

“Oh! Mercy! Mercy, sire! I meant nothing by it!”

The Coeur sneered, “You meant every word, no doubt! It would be wise to keep your opinions to yourself! Now go! Both of you! I’m tired of your excuses! The next I see your faces, it had better be to inform me that the Moon Princess has been secured!”

The two guards bowed in quick succession before running down the hall, but not before bumping into each other like the blithering idiots they were.

Dulac stepped away from the wall, “Should I find Robin?”

The Coeur began to shake his head, but stopped, as his ears registered two voices coming down the hall.

The sound of laughter.

“I think not!”

Robin was laughing. Robin. A genuine laugh, and not the harsh laugh he forced when a De Noir made a crude joke. It was light and airy, and reminded the Coeur so much of his daughter-

“It’s not poison-”

“I don’t care! You may call it whatever you wish! I will not eat it.” The haughty voice of a Merryweather.

The Coeur met Dulac’s stupefied expression with his own confounded look.

A sharp, feminine gasp, and the Merryweather girl was laughing too. “Stop that right now! Stop-”

Then, the two came around the corner.

The Moon Princess gasped sharply, and her expression of mirth molted to one of fear, before she adopted the stony appearance of forced confidence.

Robin’s hand - which had been at her ribcage - fell sharply to his sides. “Father!” He said, voice wavering.

Ah fuck.

Two.

Two of his children falling for Merryweathers! It was unthinkable! It was dreadful! And of course the Coeur De Noir would be dealt this hand.

The Coeur De Noir knew that Robin didn’t care much for women - not like his little whore of a friend Richard, who flirted with everything that walked and could bat eyelashes - but he recognized flirting when he saw it.

Or at least, the flirting style of a teenaged boy who didn’t know how to flirt properly.

And, when the Coeur looked back at the Moon Princess, he recognized the pale dress she wore.

The Coeur De Noir recognized it because he had been the one to give it to his once beloved daughter for her eighteenth birthday.

“Dulac,” He said at last. “Take some guards and remove the boards across the eastern chamber, it would appear that those chambers have a new occupant.”

“Father-”

The Coeur turned a falcon sharp gaze on his son, and the boy was silenced. “Did our dungeons not suit your tastes, Princess?”

The Moon Princess pursed her lips. “Nothing in this Castle suits my tastes.”

The Coeur bit his tongue to stop himself from smiling. “Robin, I’m giving you and the boys a new duty.”

Robin straightened, his face twitched in agitation, but there would be no punishment. Yet.

“The Princess is not to be left unattended, and as there are four of you, I’m sure you can create an easy rotation.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Father, what of our other responsibilities-”

“I expect those to be finished as well.” The Coeur turned his back to them and began to walk out of the prison tower, before the Merryweather called out to him.

“You can’t keep me prisoner forever!”

The Coeur De Noir smiled as he glanced over his shoulder. “My dear, I can do whatever I’d like!”

“Maria, wait!” Robin called out, and he heard a muffled scuffle as he walked away, no doubt the girl was attempting to attack him.

At long last, the Coeur allowed himself to laugh.

The De Noir Clan was properly, and royally doomed.

#moonacreweek2023 #tsom #the secret of moonacre #im having so much fun with these #of course this is the last of the prewritten ones #now its time to bust ass #my writing

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rphelperblog · 2 years

Text

Winter Book Quote Rp Meme

final book in the Lunar Chronicles Series by Marissa Meyer- feel free to edit quotes or change pronouns for rp purposes- part one

“Yeah, but broken isn't the same as unfixable.”

“See that eye roll? It translates to, ‘How am I possibly keeping my hands off of you, Captain?”

“I'm going to make it a law that the correct way to address your sovereign is my giving a high five.'

“Careful is my middle name. Right after Suave and Daring.”

“Do you even know what you're saying half the time?”

“She was prettier than a bouquet of roses and crazier than a headless chicken. Fitting in was not an option.”

“And they all lived happily to the end of their days.”

“What did you bring me today? Delusional mutterings with a side of crazy?”

“She would be brave. She would be heroic. She would make her own destiny.”

“If this emperor thing doesn’t work out, you might have a future career in espionage.”

“May I request a new uniform? A towel seems inappropriate for the position.”

“Right now, a kiss is the going rate for near-death experiences. It's kind of a point system.”

Oh, I fully intend to form an alliance. I just intend to put a different queen on the throne first.”

“You should hate me. I’m an idiot. I made a mistake.”

“You may be an idiot, but I assure you, you’re quite a lovable one.”

"We're not putting rice in my head.”

“I am a criminal mastermind, I am here to take down this regime.”

“I passed out from stress? That’s it?”

“I believe the princess term is fainted,”

"Brilliant speech. Such gumption and bravado."

“She definitely has a crush on you. It's about the size of Jupiter.”

“I don't hear anything."

"Exactly. That's what happens when you *stop talking*.”

“They're the first crew I've ever had and most of them even call me Captain. I'm going to miss them.”

there is an assassin under my bed.”

“It’s not proper for seventeen-year-old princesses to be alone with young men who have questionable intentions.”

“I am your guard. I'm here to protect you and keep you out of trouble, and that’s it.”

“Princess, you have got to stop collecting these rebels.”

“And what about young men who she’s been best friends with since she was barely old enough to walk?”

“She’s our lost princess. And she’s coming home.”

“Oh, stars. I don't know his real name. How can I not know his real name? What kind of alpha mate am I?”

“She shot me in the arm once.”

“You think I’m perfect?”

"I told you I could get him to call me the captain."

"So while I'm not going to tell you that I am the smartest or, by any means, the most experienced person in this room, I would suggest that no one use my youth to believe that I am also ignorant.”

“Fear was a weakness in the court. Much better to act unperturbed. Much safer to act crazy, when in doubt.”

“You’re the only person in the galaxy who would ever call me lovable.”

“I’m the only person in the galaxy crazy enough to believe it.”

“We may be animals, but we will never again live in your cage.”

“People do not put their faith in phantoms.”

“You are the capital U in Unhelpful.”

“When do we start planning a revolution again?”

"I had a picture of him taped to my wall when I was fifteen. Grand-mere cut it off a cereal box."

“I didn’t know if you were dead or being held hostage, or if you’d been eaten by one of the queen’s soldiers. It’s been driving me mad not knowing.”

“Brave, stupid girl,”

“I’m still thanking all the stars, one by one.”

“No. She will never be queen.”

“There is no safer place for me than at your side.”

“Greenwich is a funny word, isn't it? All green and witchy. Like soup.”

“You mean she doesn’t intend to blow me up before the ceremony?”

“She was going to have to train herself not to stare at him quite as often as she was used to. That would be no easy task.”

“You and your taste buds can stop bragging anytime now.”

“It did not feel like home. It felt like a place that had been built to be paradise, but had become a prison.”

“If anyone dies today it will be because they finally have something to believe in. Don’t you even think about taking that away from them now.”

“I would have killed everyone of them to get to you. I would have done anything to get you back. Knowing that we were coming here was the only thing that kept me sane.”

“Just kissing my girl,”

“Do I have permission to take control of you first? Just your bodies, not your minds." "I've been waiting for you to admit you wanted my body.”

“Patience, friend. They're coming for you.”

“She screamed like a thousand birds were picking at her flesh. She screamed like the palace was burning down around her.”

. “There was also a time when I could come visit you without feeling like I was supposed to toss bread crumbs to earn your favor.”

“Bread crumbs? Do I look like a goose?”

“I will not play fetch, but I might howl if you ask nicely.”

“I have returned and I am here to take back what’s mine.”

“I’m going to tell her I’ve fallen for one of my captors and the wedding is off.”

I'm sorry that I'm not sort of pretty anymore.”

“This miserable, awful woman still had no idea what it meant to be truly beautiful, or truly loved.”

“I expected palm trees and red carpets,"

"I need him as much as he needs me. But that doesn't make it love."

“The young princess was as beautiful as daylight. She was more beautiful even than the queen herself.”

“You, my queen, are fair; it’s true. But the young queen is far more fair than you.”

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0721am · 9 months

Text

21st July 2023 neighbouring country

என் அன்பே, பாரிஷ், @thelilacdews

One of the famous quotes by Shakespeare is - "With mirth and laughter, let old wrinkles come." Nah-huh, we are not going to let the wrinkles near us. As active members of Seokjin-the-great community, our Father, Kim Seokjin, blessed us with eternal grace, dad-humour, and beauty. You and I shall age like a fine wine!

Fret not, my dear friend - our journey henceforth shall be smooth as butter. (Yeah, very smooth!)

Happiest Birthday, Barisha! You are admired, loved, and appreciated more than you will know. Well, dearest, I will let you know so that you feel sincere affection. May joy and peace bloom in your heart year along. May your life fill every year with love, sweet devotion, and money!

While searching for some pictures for the birthday post, I landed on the lyrics of 'To You' by Darumdarinda Gang, Seventeen. Darumdarinda was stuck in my head for the past few weeks, hehe!

The verses go like this —

In a swirling day You've given me a piece of happiness You've placed all of the smiles in the world in my hands So even if I run out of breath on a steep road Even when I lose my path during a cold day We're still holding hands with warmth

I had always spoken about holding hands. That's why finding these verses was a pleasant surprise to me. These words precisely capture and convey my feelings. You, who inspired me to go after the happiness and joy I lost over these years, are so dear to me that I no longer find the future dreadful. Well, the future is intimidating but not scary anymore. All of this is because of your constant love and care.

Where you are is where I want to be. Your friendship is not just a word or a simple label; it's a place, a home far away from the darkness that is our chaotic world.

I'm so excited to welcome 25 with you. Deep down in my heart, I feel this year will turn out well for us, although I'm curious about 25. What kind of moments will we share? What kind of happiness will we enjoy? I'm utterly-butterly curious!

Barisha, so much has happened in your life. You graduated, landed a job, and even got a promotion. Many years of hard work are finally paying off. You're reaping what you sow all these years.

You graduated when we had a conflict. I feel sad thinking I couldn't be part of your big day. I'm really proud of you. And I apologize for being a terrible person during those moments. Honestly, I didn't know whether to wish you or not. My experiences taught me to stay quiet. I don't know what to feel about this anymore. One thing is for sure — I do not wish to miss any special moments in your life. Your happiness means a lot to me. Being there for you in your happiness makes me feel alive. I wanted to send you a bouquet for your graduation. Of course, duh, I'm broke. So, I'm sending you a mood board of flowers that have special meanings!

Our birthday perfectly fits in the calendar where the surrounding events are significant to us. BTS's birthday is on 13th June. ARMY day is on 9th July. BTS always plans something for ARMY day. This year, we got SEVEN from Jungkook, our puppy hopeless romantic human. This universe plans for our birthday more meticulously than us. She knew that we deserved the best.

As I always said, you were the answer to my prayers.

I love you for many reasons. Because you're genuine, sentimental, and the most fantastic person on this planet. Because you work at our friendship with as much care and focus as you do when you go on an art-hunting spree. Because with you, I never felt lonely and scared. Because you make world a better place. Because you believe in me. Because you gently held my vulnerable side and protected it with your everything. Because I feel safe with you. Because whenever I forget who I am, you always remind me of things that makes me. Because of you, I connected with many parts of myself. Because you are simply amazing.

I love you to the moon and back. I love you more than your Pogo loves you. Sending loads kisses and hugs to you!

You're the best thing ever happened.

I want to raise a toast!

I met you when I was 18. Now, we are celebrating our 25th birthday together. Seven years of friendship. Six years of celebrations To the happiest memories, more and forever.

Once again, Happiest Birthday, darling! I love you so much, Chingu-yah. VMIN will die of jealousy if they learn about our friendship, hehe. Thank you for putting all of yours into our friendship. Have an amazing day, my sweet love!

— with love, Teeeee!

#yellowrosejour #moonbirthday #hbdbarish #Spotify

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

Text

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Seventeen: The Little Black Book

A tense reunion. A fearful flood. A surprising return.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

-----

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK

The King is just there, no smoke, no noise, and only the displacement of air to announce him.

Martin inhales and holds it. He wants to hurl himself on the King and try to tear him apart.

Yeah, that wouldn’t go well.

“You didn’t wait long,” Martin snaps into the silence, one hand on Jon’s arm.

“I am aware when I am wanted,” says the King in his horrible, piercing rumble, sounding so damned pleased.

Arthur doesn’t know what to do. He clearly doesn’t know what to do. He’s shifting, panting, half-standing, then sitting again, gripping the table as though he plans to either throw it or hide underneath.

Which makes sense, if he knows this is John Doe.

Martin can’t even imagine. What if he went somewhere that Jon went full monster? What if he landed in a place where Jon carried out his scary threat, and became… something else?

Belonged to someone else?

Martin swallows and tries to keep himself between the King and Jon. “Right. So. You need to answer some questions.”

“If you say so,” says Hastur, so gracious it makes Martin’s teeth hurt.

“What are you going to do if Jon finds your Arthur?”

“I have a body for him,” says the King.

Everyone is stunned.

You do? says John.

“It took me many years to craft it,” says the King in Yellow, tentacles waving languidly as if in deep current. “The hardest part was the brain.”

“You….” Arthur begins, and everyone goes still as he addresses this strange, alternate version of his person. “You didn’t just use the old body?”

“It was too damaged, and I had not the means to repair it then,” says the King, and he sounds regretful.

He actually may be regretful.

“But there’s nothing to fear,” says the King. “I’ve taken my time, using the humans of this world; I have dissected and studied every cell, every neuron, every aspect of their genome, every stray soul mooring, and I know how they work. Intimately. The body I have made for Arthur will be his own. I even used his DNA.”

“Well, isn’t that sexy as hell?” says Kayne, stepping out from behind Hastur.

Something in Martin’s soul tugs, and he gasps.

Terror rips through him.

He didn’t want to feel that connection.

Didn’t want to know Kayne could do that.

Didn’t want—

“You leave him alone!” Jon bellows, Jon roars, and everything turns to static.

It’s hard to quantify what just happened.

John sort of knows. The part of him that is, used to be, will always be a god, knows.

The part of him that lives in Arthur and restrains himself and will never hurt this fragile human flesh is fucking confused.

Other-Jon just… blew up? No. Expanded? No.

The Archivist just plugged into that flow of power inside him, and he did it with the singular goal of aiming himself at Kayne.

This will not work.

Kayne is too old, too big, too much—

And Jon is too new, and his aim immediately fails.

Power of some revealing, fear-building kind splashes through the room like someone dumped a bucket.

It is not John’s fear. It’s human fear, utterly alien, and the strangeness of it is worse than anything else as it neatly, perfectly, seamlessly paints over his own.

Kayne stops whatever he was doing to Martin with a shudder. Arthur cries out. Martin gasps, and turns to Jon.

Jon, who stares directly at Kayne, and whatever he’s doing is lifting his hair like electricity and sparking in his eyes like fire and leeching the color from everything but himself.

The very air turns to fear, the ground beneath them to terror.

“There’s no need for that,” says Hastur, calmly, too calmly, disturbingly serene in the middle of all of this as though he’d seen it coming. “He will not take your lover, Jon. I guarantee it.”

“Fuck you, I wont,” Kayne laughs.

But Jon… believes Hastur, and that, perhaps, is where all of this was going, all along.

The power fades. The invasion retreats; Jon’s hair settles down, and his eyes stop glowing, and his cells stop vibrating with unreleased horror.

John is still trembling, though. The fear, wielded like a spear, is beyond violational. It is cruel, and personal, and deep.

It’s not natural to him, but that made no difference.

Overwritten, he thinks.

John is panting.

Arthur is panting.

“Jon?” says Martin, barely audible.

Hastur sounds fucking pleased, and his rumble is too big to ever be called a purr. “And here, I’d feared we were moving too soon.”

“Was that really what all this was for, Hastur?” says Jon, low. “All of this, to get your person back?”

“Can you not relate?” says Hastur, who speaks without shame, and John can see the appeal. “You had to stop fighting that which loves you—that which empowers you. Otherwise, when you step through the way you have made, you will simply die.”

“Maybe I can do it. I don't know,” says Jon. “But I’ll tell you what I do know: you’d better tell your fucking dog that if he takes Martin from me, I will not stop there. I will rip through any reality he takes him to, and he thinks he’ll like that, but he won’t. By the time I’m done, the only thing Nyarlathotep will be able to foment is his own damned screams.”

There is a moment of silence on the edge of the world.

A moment of reverence for Martin Blackwood, who inspired such love that the one who chose him would destroy everything to keep him safe.

A moment of horror, because Kayne surely would not respond with kindness.

And he doesn’t. “Oh,” Kayne says so quietly, and there is a thrum, a weirdness under the floor like a boulder rolling near. “Oh, I hate you so much.”

“Stop it,” says Hastur—and it is a command.

It’s a horrible feeling. A choked feeling, a closing of airways and vision and sound, and whatever this binding is that forces Kayne to obey that which is lesser is unpleasant and unnatural and crude.

But it holds.

Kayne bends over, hands on his knees, panting—and whatever esoteric nonsense is happening to make him appear so human even now, John doesn’t think he wants to know.

Then Kayne looks up and meets Jon’s eyes. “I’m going to enjoy ripping you to tiny, shrieking shreds, over and over again, and you are going to let me because of him.” He points at Martin.

“I’m not, I,” Martin squeaks.

John is still shaken, and so was not prepared for Arthur to suddenly step forward and address the King. “John,” he says. “I want my daughter back.”

Kayne gasps dramatically and covers his mouth with his hands. “You did not.”

Yet another utterly fraught moment of tension and pain and the unknown, and how many more of these can they have before they all just explode?

Hastur hesitates. “Arthur. If the Archivist finds Faroe, I am going to give her to my Arthur.”

And Arthur feels stabbed.

Right through, through the heart, through the soul and spirit.

He makes one soft, inhaling sound, and goes still. If anything so much as nudges him, he’ll sob.

Hastur sounds almost… vulnerable. “I will… I… will see you outfitted. When you return to your home, you will have tools. Perhaps she will no longer be out of reach to you there.”

“Wh… what? You will?” says Arthur.

“As best I can.”

So that’s what he sounds like when he’s actually being gentle, John thinks.

Jon, meanwhile, is staring at Martin. “Did I hurt you?” he whispers.

“Not… not much, it’s fine,” says Martin with enormous eyes. “Just… it was a lot.”

So now Jon looks like he’s about to have a breakdown. “Fuck,” he whispers. “I can’t aim it, maybe.”

“Aim it? Jon!” Martin whispers back.

If John had a face to smack in exasperation, he would.

Panicked, Martin points at Kayne. “Does he have to be here?” he asks the King.

“No, not particularly. It merely seemed fitting,” says the King. “After all, one should be present for one’s own defeat. Besides—he owes a favor, I believe.”

Kayne rolls his eyes so hard there is a sound. “Sure. Whatever. Oh, by the way,” he says, producing a small piece of wood, and begins carving an obscene shape with a knife. “You do realize if you actually managed to remove the Fears from you (which will just kill you, in all probability), you wouldn’t have all these powers anymore?” He smiles. “Sssstripped! Boom, done.”

“Shit,” whispers Martin.

“Oh, yes,” says Kayne, eyes fixed on Martin, and it is an eager, glinting look, polished obsidian in the dark. “He’ll be helpless. Trust me, cupcake. You’re going to learn to love it.”

That’s our knife, says John.

Because it is. The one Martin had used to stab Jon. The one with Arthur’s blood.

“Give me the damned knife!” Arthur bellows.

Arthur! John warns.

Kayne snorts. “Wow. Do you want me to stab you? ‘Give me the damned knife, hur-de-hur!’ But, no. Too easy. I won’t even consider it your favor. Here you go, kitten.” He tosses it.

The knife, stained and dark, clangs and slides across the floor, incredibly loud.

Arthur crouches and feels for it. He’s a mess. He’s in turmoil.

John can’t see why he wanted it so badly. Fuck, he thinks.

And then Martin says, “Jon, what are you doing?” because Jon has the book.

The one wrapped in Hastur’s skin.

The one that yelled at him before.

The one that makes people go mad.

But he isn’t reading it. He’s holding it, frowning at it.

And whatever is happening, it’s making his eyes glow green.

“That’s just cheating,” says Kayne with great cheer. “No fair. I wanted to see him go crazy, just a little.”

“Jon?” says Martin.

“It’s connected,” says Jon, which could mean anything.

Everybody stares at him now (except Arthur, but he certainly does look that direction).

“What’s connected? Jon, you’re scaring me,” says Martin.

“You’re ready,” says Hastur, eager, low, his limbs undulating faster.

Martin suddenly has a horrible feeling.

It’s too like what happened with Jonah—not that he’d been there, but he’d read the damned letter after.

You are marked. You are ready.

“Jon,” he says.

“I can do this,” whispers Jon, and his hair is beginning to rise again, like static.

“Jon!” Martin grabs him by the shoulders and shakes once, sharply.

Jon doesn’t look up. His gaze is fixed on Kayne’s black book, clutched in his white-knuckled hand. “I need to go,” he says. “I feel… it’s like a shining thread, but it’s moving. If I lose sight of it—”

“Bet he can’t wait to set his eyes on the place. The great and dead unknown, never before seen,” drawls Kayne, and Martin knows damn well he just poured fuel on the fire.

Jon looks up at something absolutely no one else can see, and the room goes gray.

Sound dims. Color disappears, vanishing outward from him as if it’s being sucked away.

Martin can’t move. Flashbacks of a Scottish sky going red and serrated, flashbacks of fluffy cows turning to carnivores with red eyes and lowing. Flashbacks of his race back to the safe house, to Jon on the floor, surrounded by broken glass.

Flashbacks—of Jon in his arms, who, until he finally got himself under control and reached that place of constantly fighting, had irises that glowed that flickering green.

It’s the book.

The book wrapped in the skin of a dead god.

“It’s calling him,” Martin says, and embraces him. Tight. So tight, tight enough to make him creak, even as Jon peers over Martin’s shoulder at something no one else can see. “Come back to me. Jon. Don’t do this. Jon! Jon!”

Jon stirs. “I….” He’s breathing hard. “Martin?”

“Look away! Jon!”

Jon gives Martin an absolutely terrified look. “It’s got me,” he whispers.

“I’ve got you!” Martin cries. “Look at me! Just at me!”

“Mister Blackwood,” rumbles the King, low, his growl rising like some terrible quicksand. “Your invitation is revoked.”

“Aww, is that my cue?” says Kayne. and he surges at them.

It happens so fast.

John knows what he sees, is capable of seeing it and understanding it on some crucial level, but he has no ability to protect Arthur from the fallout.

Kayne lunges—

And the Archivist manifests a tidal wave between them, loaded with so much fear that though it has no power to actually stop anything, Kayne makes a sound like a hurricane and retreats.

Fear splashes everywhere, hits everyone, and Martin cries out, and the King cries out, and Arthur cries out, and John—

John realizes he had definitely spent too little time considering just how it was the Archivist had any self-control at all if he’d been relying on his extinguished human will.

He would have had no control—and he clearly had some.

Which means Jon still has his human will.

He shouldn’t. Wasn’t possible. The very process of deification should make it gone, burned out, extinguished.

But The Archivist also has a current (power terror transformation) from beings made of human fear flowing within him, and one of those beings loves Jon like itself.

Emulsifier, is all John can think, because he sees that human will and inhuman power merged in a smooth and perfect mixture that simply should not be, and that’s happening because somehow, when Jon was made, the thing that loves him protected those parts of him from being destroyed.

Foolish. Short-sighted. Should have resulted in the death of the Beholding’s Beloved.

But it didn’t.

Like John Doe’s mad gamble centuries before to bind Kayne and destroy the old King, it should not have worked.

But it did.

The Archivist has power, which John showed him how to use.

Jon has his will, and the Beholding makes it strong.

So little time has passed that Martin has blinked only once.

Kayne tries again.

He is no longer remotely human, impossible to look at without eye-bleeds and insanity, and Kayne surges forward in growing and bulbous and ravening form.

John has just long enough to think, if this keeps happening, we’re all going to go mad with fear, but the Archivist doesn’t do what he did last time.

The power is cleaner, and it isn’t a wave, not a liquid, not a splashing, loose-edged thing of mayhem and mess. Instead, it’s a huge and monstrous maw.

Now, John doesn’t know what the fuck he sees.

He feels Arthur react, though, respond to this thing (Hunt, that’s the Hunt, that is the actual Hunt taking form by Jon’s will and the Beholding’s love and the Web’s fucked-up exaltation), and he tries to lunge toward it.

It’s like nothing John has ever felt. Arthur is terrified but drawn, desperate to get away and yet choosing to join.

John grabs the table with his left hand, and Arthur’s entire body jolts off its feet with the force of his aborted leap.

That’s all the time it took. The jaws (invisible but tangible, unseen yet imprinted on the back of everybody’s eyelids) chomp down on Kayne, who would absolutely be able to get away but for his thoroughly understandable surprise.

And then Jon shoves Martin to the right, leaps to the left, and takes Kayne with him into the Dark World.

There’s a moment of silence, of gasps, and shudders.

Martin screams.

Arthur groans.

He feels like he got hit with a blackjack. His heart pounds, and his hands throb.

And he remembers being called.

There’s nothing formed in this memory. Nothing solid, nothing in color, no images; but in that moment, undeniable, inescapable, his heart no longer hurt.

And it’s strange. He doesn’t feel like he forgot Faroe, but… it’s worse than if he had.

The nebulous memory came with a dose of fear so strong that his mouth still tastes like pennies, and yet, it was glorious. It was beautiful. Perfect fear, casting out love.

He can't deal with this now. Nope. Maybe not ever.

“John?” he wheezes, desperate to focus on anything else, and then realizes there is a fight.

Arthur, he says. Fuck, I was worried. But shh—they’re arguing.

“Get the tapes!” Martin is saying, loud, demanding, to the King in Yellow.

“I have no tapes, Mister Blackwood,” says the King.

“Don’t lie to me! You owe him that! After what you put him through, put us all through!”

For fuck’s sake, Hastur, John is saying. What harm can it possibly do? Give him the damn tapes.

Tapes?

Him?

What?

“Do you truly expect me to hand over my last bargaining chip, John?” says the King, serene.

“Don’t do this,” Martin says. “I’ve lost him so many times. You said so many times how special he was, but you won’t even give this one stupid thing that costs you nothing!”

“And if Kayne destroys them the moment he returns?” says the King. “They are not mere sound. I don’t know how the Web recorded Jon’s essence on those tapes, but she did. Even if I recreated them, they would not have the same power. No; no, I think I’d rather keep them safe in case of some emergency.”

“This is an emergency!” Martin bellows.

John sighs.

The King’s tone does not gentle. “Besides, I have no way to deliver them to your lover. Until Jon comes back, they’d just be sitting out, vulnerable.”

“I don’t want them delivered! He’ll need help to find his way back!”

“This is unlike the coffin of your past, Mister Blackwood. The situation is different—and your lover is changed.”

Martin sounds bad. He’s almost unable to speak. “You don’t even care. All those pretty words, and they were lies.”

“Mister Blackwood, I am hardly trying to harm your lover. The fact is that Jon does not understand how remarkable he is—and neither do you. He can do this.”

“He’s in there with Kayne!” Martin cries.

“Kayne is trapped. He needs a way to get out.”

“So what?” says Martin.

“Without Jon, he can’t get out, any more than I could get in. I don’t think he’ll kill him.”

“But he can hurt him.” Martin’s voice breaks.

“I will repair any damages,” says the King.

“If he does what you want,” says Martin, who’s no fool. “And if he doesn’t, you’ll throw him back in like shoving a man who’s drowning back underwater.”

Silence for a moment. “Mister Blackwood. Have you misunderstood the situation?��

“I think I’ve understood it better than you.”

“As I recall, you said you didn’t care what other universes suffered as long as you could save your lover,” the King casually says. “So perhaps, in your infinite human wisdom, you could be… a little more kind.”

Asshole, thinks Arthur.

Arthur, warns John.

“That’s not fair,” Martin says, quieter.

“I think it is,” says the King.

So all of this is awful.

Immovable object meets irresistible force, Arthur thinks.

Are you all right?

“Fuck, John,” Arthur says, louder. “What tapes? What are they for?” He tries to sit up, and nausea immediately proves that a bad idea.

They’re tape recordings of the Archivist’s voice, or something. Martin thinks they’ll help his Jon get back from the Dark World.

Arthur whistles, low.

Martin doesn’t answer. It sounds like he’s pacing.

The King in Yellow sighs. “Arthur. You’ve concussed yourself again.”

He’s fine, snarls John.

Arthur props himself on one elbow and turns his face toward the King’s voice.

Toward… John’s voice. Other-John.

Not his John, sure—but still John.

“John,” he says, not addressing the one in his head. “Will the tapes help?”

“I do not believe they will accomplish anything,” says Hastur, but now…

Now, he sounds less sure.

“They’re… so you’re saying they’re….” Arthur is having trouble with words.

Hastur sighs again.

Thick, warm limbs lift Arthur from the floor, and he remembers.

Suddenly, sharply. Remembers Hastur doing this before, remembers being cradled, being… healed.

“You must be more careful, Arthur,” says Hastur, low and warm. He slides one hand over Arthur’s head, and the ache goes away.

“Thanks.” He can’t recall the conversation when this happened before, but that’s not what matters.

What does is this is not the King.

Not the one who’ll never be forgiven.

Not the one Arthur would leap into hell for if it meant he could drag him there himself.

Arthur has not been put down.

He’s not asking to be.

Better? says John, grumpy, probably because of the whole not-put-down thing.

“Yes,” says Arthur.

The way this feels…

So right. Safe. Good.

It is a choice to remain still, not to panic, not to thrash—but not a hard choice. It’s still John, no matter how much he’d fucked himself up.

“I know I’m not yours,” Arthur says, verbally processing. “You’re not mine, either. But you know what? Before we split, before that fixed point, whatever it was, you were mine, and I was yours.”

Everyone is silent.

“Yes,” Hastur finally says.

“Do the tapes really not matter?”

“I don’t know,” says the King.

“Is their destruction really the concern here?” says Arthur.

A moment of silence. Hastur sounds like he’s smiling. “You’re being clever, I see.”

“I’m not being clever. I’m walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. You can make brains, for fuck’s sake, and you’re going to tell me you haven’t already reverse-engineered the fuck out of those tapes?”

Martin goes still.

The King chuckles. “Ah, I’ve missed you.”

“If you really did, you’d give a damn how Martin feels right now,” says Arthur. “I don’t expect you to care about me, but you’ve got to care a little about him.”

“I do. I intend to keep them together,” says the King.

“Then you know what the right thing to do is.”

“I… Arthur. Your understanding of the situation is simplistic and new. You don’t understand the complexities—”

“I understand his heart just maybe got lost forever in the Dark World, and he thinks those tapes can help,” says Arthur. “I understand he’s yelling at a terrifying monster god because he’s so afraid for him. I understand I’d be doing the same thing, if not worse.” Arthur smiles crookedly. “Let’s be honest. I’d be trying to punch you in the eye, or something. Stupid.”

“Quite stupid,” agrees the King with a low purr that rumbles the room.

“The way I see it, Jon’s going to manage it, or he won’t. Will the tapes matter to that?” says Arthur. “Will they at least comfort Martin?”

“You are trying to be reasonable with me because I have promised you aid,” the King deflects. “Or perhaps to gain more of it. But you are not my Arthur. I am hardly the John you know. My answer remains unchanged.”

Arthur takes Hastur’s nearest limb in his right hand. “I fucking was, for fuck’s sake. Look, you want another reason? How about this—when the other me comes back, if he finds out about any of this, how’s he going to react to the whole tape thing?”

Hastur stares.

Oh, Arthur, says John.

“Perhaps,” says Hastur very slowly, “you have a point. Maybe it is to my advantage to provide the—”

Kayne suddenly comes bursting out of nowhere, tearing between them at top speed.

And right behind him, the King in Yellow’s dead, eaten, other half comes flying after, and attacks.

(part eighteen)

NOTES

Jon, what are you DOING.

Also, Arthur? Well done, my man. Pity the Zombie!King decided to interrupt.

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ask-dgs-221bbakerstreet · 2 years

Note

I’m back. It… looks like things have gotten out of hand here, huh…? The amount of spirits and ghosts here are too familiar for my liking, yipes. Look, I— ugh— I was scrolling through the blog and Prosecutor Gavin was there (he was looking over my shoulder, the prick), and… we saw the whole ghost thing with Lord van Zieks and his, uh, his brother. Now, I… also have a concerning amount of people close to me who I both care about and disdain (…and who are also dead) but Prosecutor Gavin— no, Klavier wanted to talk to you about it specifically. I think he’s the most qualified, for this situation anyway. I’m just— I’m just gonna hand the phone over to him. Please ignore his bad accent that he types out for no reason.

“Ach, Herr Forehead! You are so mean to me and for no reason! Well, good thing you’re too short to see over my shoulder, ja? You don’t need to see what I’m typing anyway. Ah, where to begin? I am Klavier Gavin, a rockin’ prosecutor who is also a rockin’ musician. Although, my heart has and always will belong in the courtroom and it is where it shall stay. I love the law, music, and being a bit of a nuisance to my friends. All in good fun, of course! I’m a simple man, really.

…Hah, I don’t need Herr Forehea— Apollo’s bracelet to know that’s a lie. I’ll… I’ll cut the pleasantries. It’s just a habit to default to being a celebrity. It’s easier that way, I suppose. I don’t really like talking or even thinking about what I’m going to tell you, Herr van Zieks, so please excuse me. Where to actually begin? I’m Klavier Gavin, a prosecutor. Mein bruder, Kristoph Gavin, was a defense attorney… I say was because he has been executed, for murder. I don’t want to get too into it, even though it’s been about… four years? Yikes. I think no matter how long I wait, it’ll still be too soon. So I will just give you the overview.

Eleven years ago, I was seventeen and I was about to enter my first trial alongside my bruder. I didn’t know it then, but… he forged evidence and was planning to win the trial using said forged evidence. His client, however, refused his defense and decided to switch to another attorney. Phoenix Wright. Kristoph, instead of giving in like he should’ve, wanted to— to frame Phoenix Wright for forgery. He was my tip, before the trial, he told me about Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright had forged evidence and he was going to use it to win his case. I believed him, of course, why wouldn’t I? He was my brother. I had… I had no idea.

Kris gave Herr Wright the forged evidence through… underhanded means, and the trial started, and I goaded Herr Wright into presenting the evidence, and I’m the reason why he was disbarred. The defendant… he disappeared, literally, so no one won that day, but Herr Wright? He lost. It was my fault. I believed in Kris and — nevermind, back to the story.

Kristoph, when commissioning his… forgery, needed insurance that he didn’t get caught. He planted atroquinine, a fast acting poison, in a nail polish bottle and an envelope stamp. Nail polish for the twelve year old forger who bites her nails when she gets nervous, and an envelope stamp for her father to send a letter back to him. Both weapons were essentially ticking time bombs for whenever they decided to finally ingest the hidden poison. They both exploded seven years later, thankfully the girl survived but her father… did not.

Kristoph did so many fucking awful things even before that, he got close to Herr Wright to monitor him and… him and his daughter, disgustingly. He killed the original defendant, the one who disappeared, with a bottle to a head and framed Herr Wright for it— as if framing him once for forgery wasn’t enough! He manipulated me! He strung me along to play his little chess game with Phoenix fucking Wright just to finally, what, finally beat him? As if all the awful things he’s done was justified?

I still can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t know when he started playing with me, and that’s the worst part in my opinion. Because he’s my brother, and— and I think you know what I mean, Herr van Zieks. Because he’s the one who bought me my first guitar, he’s the one who carried me to bed when I had a nightmare, he told me stories and encouraged me to go to law and even when he found out I wanted to be a prosecutor he still— supported me? He raised me. I don’t know what part of that was fake and what part of that was real. I don’t know if he actually loved me or not. I don’t know and I will never know because he’s dead, and I’m still here.

I— I’m— My apologies if that got too emotional. I just— finding out a loved one did terrible things… sucks. It sucks! How do you separate the brother that raised you and the man who killed so many people? How are they the same person? …Why can’t I stop loving him? He’s horrible, and yet, he was still my brother. I hate him for doing everything he’s done, for hurting people and for hurting me. Yet, he’s the one who bandaged my knee when I first fell down my bike, and I can’t separate myself from that.

Hah. This— This was an extremely long way to say… I get it, I get what you are going through. Perhaps your brother wasn’t as despicable as mine, but I understand the conflict between the two versions of who you loved. The fact that they’re just one singular person… is hard to follow and makes everything worse. Because how can one person be the one to inspire you and break you down simultaneously? It’s… It’s going to be hard moving forward, but I think— no, I know things will get better. It got better for me and it will get better for you, Herr van Zieks. Don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t allowed to be conflicted, because it’s conflicting! And feelings are— are complicated. Ach, I think Herr Forehead is rubbing off on me.

Anyway, thank you for listening to my thoughts. I hope this helped you feel more at peace with your brother, in a way. I am giving the phone back to Herr Forehead now, I think he’s getting impatient.”

…Ususally, I’d delete whatever none sense between the lines Prosecutor Gavin left behind but… I think I’ll give him this one.

Mr. Gavin was my boss before Mr. Wright, we weren’t close by any means but… he was my first mentor figure in a long time. I think he was trying to use me too, but there were moments where he… seemed happy with me. It’s complicated, I guess. That’s the point of the whole thing.

I hope things go well for you, Lord van Zieks.

- Apollo Justice

Klavier Gavin, was it? ...thank you. This was... something I needed to hear, from someone who understands.

I despise being so conflicted, as you can all likely tell. I thought that... if I could hate him, then I could move on.

With all of the beliefs I hold, I thought that would be easy.

Klint had with noble intentions, despite his actions. That is what I cannot reconcile. Perhaps I will never reconcile it.

I must learn to live with that, mustn't I? For things to "get better".

I've been refusing to live with this for... eleven years, now. Hah. That's far too long. I cannot stay this way forever.

...if only anything could be simple.

#the great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #barok van zieks #gramarye siblings anon #((...well. this one is long. channelling all of my trauma into this!))#ghost asks #👻

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tropicalrpg · 1 year

Text

vii. the one between six and nine

yesterday i realised that not revealing my gender and sexuality was never in my plans. i want to talk about all the love i have felt, my desire. oh, i'll bring up the avant-garde 1970s pornos i've been watching and happily tag that as nsfw, but not today. on the 30th i have a story stored. one of these days, another one.

today, i'm short on time. i wouldn't say i've been procrastinating, i've thought about starting this and it just hasn't come up (it being the act of writing). i've been busier than i expected myself to be, and by busy i mean i've been watching a wizards of waverly place binge-watch recap video. five and a half hours for part two, though i watch it between 1.5 and 2x speed. tl;dr, it's almost nine pm.

yesterday i went on and on about anonymity, my prose stronger than days before and days like today, because it was natural and more confessional than a statement. it was like that other personal essay of mine, day three, i believe, but more natural. and i want to use my anonymity to confess, because i've been meaning to confess, i've been considering going on some type of anonymous confession website, because let me go back to being alone and no one wants to listen to me—

i'm gay, right? i'm gay. men make me go crazy. typical homosexuality.

but i like women, also.

still gay.

_____

my experience with my sexuality is complex. it interacts with an experience with gender that i will never talk about, because i'm tired of talking about it, and fuck gender. i hate gender. so we'll talk about sex; i love that quote, "everything in the world is about sex, except for sex. sex is about power." my experience with sex is also complex, but i don't think i want to reveal that, either; it will absolutely influence readings of my writings. it influences the interpretation of all those around me, so fuck me if i'll let those away from me make me smaller in the same way.

i've identified as bisexual since i realised i wasn't straight, at twelve. i identified as bisexual from twelve years old until sixteen-seventeen. my attraction to men was always crystal clear to me, and my attraction to women felt like the answer. i blew it out of proportion for the first few years. after a couple years, i was old enough to find other queer kids, and i kissed boys and girls alike. after a couple years of that, it all went down the drain.

for a few months, no boys wanted me. for a few months, i went on several dates with a few girls, and none of them went anywhere. i couldn't understand why; they were lovely. well, i could, actually. the one i got along with wasn't a great kisser; the one who was a great kisser i didn't really get along with. and there were other things, but i just didn't feel anything for either of them. i thought i did; on paper, i was excited. but i couldn't feel it. i couldn't want them.

since then, i have not kissed anyone. i've not talked to anyone, gone out with anyone, or had a shot with anyone. i think i talked to one girl, i don't know if she was actually interested, but still it was the one chance i had. and she was beautiful, and we got along great, but i kept keeping myself from meeting her in person, from taking that other step, and i couldn't understand why. i liked her, right? so what was stopping me from taking that step?

it was the last thing that made me realise maybe i was gay. and i am. during the pandemic, i didn't want to say anything for sure. i wasn't seeing real people or being in any social situations, so how could i know for sure that i didn't feel any attraction towards women? i knew i was gay, but i didn't know for sure. i started telling people (two people) i was questioning my sexuality around one and a half years ago, mid-2021. online, to my online friends, that is, i already talked about being gay, because i knew, i did know.

this year, going back to normal or seminormal life, things clicked into place and i now know for sure. i know i'm only into men, i only have a future with men, and while i feel a little bad that my life experience with bisexuality makes it seem like a phase because it was a phase for me, it's just my experience. i'm losing myself in my words. bet that i won't proofread this, either.

... confession time! put me in front of the cameras and give me a script.

a part of me doesn't want to talk about this, because it is information that will reveal more of me than i want to, and it will influence everything, but no one's reading this, so so what? plus, i think problems exist more in my head than in real life. fuck it. it doesn't matter. i can edit or delete this if i have to. everyone makes mistakes.

...

i got to the conclusion a little while ago. i am aesthetically attracted to girls. they're pretty! they're pretty in all their pretty clothes and they're pretty without them. but they're not hot. i am aesthetically and sexually and romantically attracted to men. i want to kiss them and fuck them and i want them to tell me i'm pretty and they love me and they want to listen to me, spend time with me, hold me in bed and be there when i wake up.

... oh, sex is complicated. i've gone on and on enough. i want to fuck a nice, strong, hairy guy. and sometimes i want to kiss a girl, but i don't. never. and i'll turn down pretty girls if they ever ask, and this is something i'm too lazy and tired and swerving from social situations to deeply elaborate on, but i will always say i'm gay even if i want a girl because being something is now public, and i have led too many people on by being bi with a lean to not be gay and into girls.

2022.12.27 + edits

0 notes

burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

indulge me

indulge me: an arrangement

— Being a secret little girl in the modern world is rough, but it becomes much more chaotic when a classmate of yours offers to be your new daddy dom.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, nsfw, ddlg dynamic, college!au, modern!au, daddy!shouto, little girl!reader, I am not well versed in this dynamic please do not use this as an educational source, dom!shouto, sub!reader, biting, marking, mating press, nipple play (both), spanking, oral, gagging, choking, praise, degradation, little space

word count: 13,547

a/n: this is a commission for @bakusbiatch thank you for your endless amount fo patience as it took me 100x longer than ever to write this

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If there was something you knew now that you completely did not understand at the age of eighteen was the entire dynamics of sex. To be fair, after an adolescence of watching porn, reading erotica, and even gossiping between friends, it was, without doubt, that you were entirely clueless about real, healthy dynamics.

First off, the first time you had sex was super uncomfortable.

There was no break or even space for pleasure to build in because you had been so tense, so awkward that you remained rigid and still the entire three minutes the guy fucked into you. You remember his sweat-soaked body collapsing on top of you, his eyes seeing galaxies in the stuffy, now smelly room as he breathed out a ‘Woah.’

You had smiled at him stiffly, letting his softening dick flop out of your dry vagina and curled in on yourself as he snuggled into you, praising the world and everything around it for this moment. It was without saying that you left his cum stained sheets and ran back home.

Sex sucked.

But that was when you were seventeen and made the terrible decision on fucking your friend with whom you had scary sexual tension. You avoided sex to your best ability after that, not so much as caring to allow anyone to touch you because that was disappointing. Why would you go through that when your fingers sufficed much better? Why go through that awkward tension when you didn’t have any moments of awkwardness when reading smut?!

Audios were better.

Words were best.

But, as one does, you fell in love against your will to a boy just a few months older than you. His smile was soft, and his words were kind, but oh, did his touch drive you hot and mad. You weren’t exactly sure how long you had lasted, how much perseverance you had kept when the two of you would fall onto his (thank fucking god) clean sheets, his strong hands and fingers keeping your hips close to his as you kissed him as if you couldn’t live without his touch.

“Are you… are you ready?” he had asked, his shirt thrown into the abyss of his room and the button of your jeans undone, revealing the simple set of panties you had on. “I don’t want to—”

“I’m ready,” you interrupt him, your body practically burning from the inside out with the desperate need and lust for him to fuck you. “I’m ready.”

He stills, his tongue peeking past his lips before a slow, chilling grin spreads against his mouth.

“Okay,” he nods, “can I ask you to do something, though?”

You, in your desperation to get his dick out of his sweats and buried deep into your throbbing cunt, nod.

“I have a daddy kink… I really, really like the daddy little girl dynamics,” he breathes, palms pressing to your knees and dragging down your inner thighs in a teasing, near authoritative way. “Can we… are you interested in trying it?”

Now, although you had largely avoided sex, toys and fingers weren’t nearly enough to replace the overwhelming need to be touched, fucked, and worshipped by another human being. You had fucked plenty of people who had always claimed to have kinks and fetishes. Most of the men you had in bed who said they had a daddy kink only liked being addressed as daddy; that was it. There was no true dynamic, just a play on the power the title brought them.

So, in the naive, childish way you were, you agreed.

You listened to his every command in bed, thrilled and keened under his praise for his princess, for his little girl, and you ate it up, thanking and praising your daddy. The sex ended with you cumming so hard you went blind for a moment, so dizzy from your high. As the both of you drifted off to sleep, you had no clue when you woke up in the morning he would present you with a little girl starter package made by him for you specifically. It was then that you realized that dynamics were an actual thing, and as he presented you a checklist of kinks, toys, and rules he laid out, you realized that nothing you had ever experienced — real or fictional — could have prepared you for this.

The two of you went through the list and rules together, your eyes widening and face blazing with embarrassment as he described his expectations and needs with this dynamic. You nodded, so completely lost in this entire thing that you agreed with most everything he offered and wanted.

The one rule you did have didn’t necessarily surprise him.

The dynamic was to remain a secret, you asserted, unable to budge on this thought. You could be his little girl, but it was to stay in private, never in public. And he tilted his head in thought but ultimately agreed with a smile. He thought you’d one day stop being in the closet over this kink, and you thought the opposite.

And time moves forward; it’s rigid and unforgiving. Two years into a relationship, a year and a half into the dynamic, you and your daddy break up, and you, against all odds, are left scrambling for a daddy you never realized you needed.

What was a girl to do?

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Your head is angled downward, and the hood that sits on your head is not concealing your face as well as you would have liked. It was without saying that you were a woman of pride. You took great care of what you did, how people viewed you, and how you presented yourself to the world. Most days, you always exited your small apartment as an excellent student who was always wearing properly done makeup and stylish outfits.

Your style screamed confident woman (not little girl, you absolutely refused to wear anything cutesy in public), and you walked with your chin raised and eyes on the horizon.

To see that you were in sweats, an oversized hoodie, no makeup on, and perusing the store's area made for young girls and toddlers, was a shock. You had made sure to come nearly thirty minutes before closing; no one would be here to accidentally see you, no one could see you in your embarrassing shame-picking for your dynamic. All because your newest daddy couldn’t afford to buy you new things since your old ones had your ex’s name or brand all over it.

This was for the best; you reminded yourself as you haphazardly threw the items within the basket, face flaming as you ignored the temptation to simply stand in the aisle and flip through the sticker book and coloring book you recently tossed into the cart. You were fine; you already had your plan of action on what to say when purchasing these items.

‘My sister is pregnant again, and she already has a kid,’ you mentally rehearsed, imagining an excited smile on your face because you are excited for this imaginary pregnant sister of yours. ‘It’s a present for the baby and the brat.’

Solid.

Perfect.

Beautiful.

Making sure to quickly take note of what was inside the basket, you spun on your heel and marched your way through the empty store to the deserted register.

You kept your head down as you placed the basket on the conveyor belt, easy peasy, you would be fine!

“Found everything you were looking for?” a voice asks, piercing through your mental rehearsal just in case you got questions.

You blink, head raising up, exposing your face to the person behind the register.

It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal.

Checking things out at the register wasn’t supposed to be all that embarrassing. I mean, what could top having to buy pads and tampons from a creepy, greasy old man during your very first period ever?! But you had to admit seeing a familiar face behind the register as he began to scan the items in your cart kinda made it a big deal.

Todoroki Shouto read his name tag, and ‘TODOROKI SHOUTO?!’ screamed your heart.

Oh, how to describe Todoroki Shouto, well you didn’t even know where to begin.

Shouto was one thousand percent a supermodel that has yet to be recruited. He could probably be a top star athlete, good enough to go overseas if he wanted. He was a genius. Someone who was somehow friends with everyone he came across even though he was a man of few words.

He stood tall behind the register, the tight black high collared shirt sitting beneath a light blue opened dress shirt. His distinctive red and white slightly wavy hair — all-natural, you believe — pushed back in a way that you would bet to hell and back that he had run his fingers through it. For the past three years in university, you had more than a few classes with this stunning man. You two shared the same major, and he often sat at the back of the classroom, but you were nearly hyperaware of everything he did because his voice was liquid honey and sex and everything that was —

“You can let go of the basket,” Shouto cut through your thoughts, and you gasped loudly, suddenly realizing that you had zoned out thinking about him.

Your hand lets go of the basket, and you slap your sweater-covered hands over your mouth; horror strikes through you like a blazing sword. You weren’t wearing makeup, you were in trash clothes, and you were in front of a man you had lusting feelings over!

NO!

“Sorry!” you squeak, your heart and bile rising up your throat at alarming rates as Shouto merely smiles at you in understanding. “This is all stuff for my sister!”

Shouto blinks, his head tilting to the side as he scans a sippy cup.

“Your sister’s quite young,” he remarks easily, trying not to make you feel stupider—probably.

Tell the lie, y/n, you chide yourself as you shift your weight.

“Ah, well, not actually my sister,” you explain, fingers scratching against your scalp. “My sister is pregnant r-right now, and she already has a little one, so I thought that this would be a good… present?”

Nailed it.

Shouto’s eyebrows quirk, a small smile spreading across his face as he scans the plush doll.

“That’s very kind of you; you must have a good relationship with your sister.”

“O-Oh yeah, we’re very close.”

“And would you say that this is something appropriate to give to a pregnant family member and their child?”

You froze and looked down at the items you had hastily thrown into the basket.

It was a pacifier, sippy cup, baby blanket, choker, coloring books, stuffed animal, candy, and stickers.

You choked, feeling heat exploding in your cheeks all over again; absolutely not. This was not something to give to a pregnant woman.

“My sister is pregnant,” Shouto explains, definitely sensing your poorly concealed stress, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m the youngest of my siblings, so I don’t really know what to buy her.”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Shouto blinked, and before you could start screaming apologies over your rudeness, he began laughing loudly. Your face continued to burn in your utter humiliation and shame, but Shouto only found amusement in this all as he began to place your items away in a bag.

“What are your recommendations then?” Shouto finally asked, his lips pulled back into an easy, teasing grin. “And that’ll be forty-eight seventy-three.”

You shoved your card into the chip scanner immediately, your gaze everywhere but on him.

“I think you should get whatever your sister wants or still needs,” you quickly say, eyes now focusing on the Approved message on the machine. “Every person is different.”

“I suppose,” Shouto agrees, his arms crossing against his chest, and you have to resist the temptation to ogle at the way his muscles become sinfully pronounced. “Well, I won’t hold you up. See you in lecture tomorrow, y/l/n.”

“Bye!” you squawk, grabbing your bag and racing out.

His eyes burn into your back the entire rush out of the store, but you find that you can’t seem to worry about that. You’re much more elated and somehow horrified at the realization that he knew exactly who you were.

Step zero of who knows how many to get Todoroki Shouto to fall in love with you, complete!

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“So, about the upcoming paper assignment, I’m sure you’re all eager to get started on,” your professor’s voice boomed throughout the lecture hall, his arms folding across his chest as he leans against the podium with an easy grin. “I decided that I would be nice and allow for some partnering up!”

Your eyes widened as excited murmurs exploded through the classroom.

Partners for a ten-page paper? You were going to thank god almighty.

But, at the same time, you frowned. This was a class where you didn’t exactly know anyone. It was a course outside of your own major, and with your usual friends not in this class, you knew that you were going to have to go out of your way to find a partner. You withered a bit in your chair, not entirely on board with that train of thought.

“There are an uneven amount of you guys in the class, though,” your professor continued, still sporting that easy grin on his face. “And I decided that instead of having too many groups of three, and because I was so nice to allow partner work, I decided to make the partners. Look at the pinned paper at the door for your partner or partners for the group of three! No, I will not allow trades, and no, I will not allow complaining! Be grateful!”

Hopeful and exasperated murmurs sounded through the room as the professor dismissed the class and frantic movement followed after. Even as old as they were, everyone was desperate and eager to see who a random generator assigned them to. Packing up swiftly, you threw your bag over your shoulder and began walking towards the list.

You wonder who you were gonna get.

“Y/l/n,” a voice spoke softly, lowly by your ear.

You whipped around — one part startled, a second part curious — and came to see Todoroki Shouto standing slightly behind you. His gaze was at the wall for a moment, dropping only when you were looking up at him. He smiles slowly, and you feel your chest tighten.

Oh boy.

“Todoroki,” you smile, attempting to relax completely in front of him. “Any hopes as to who’s your partner?”

“Well, as long as it isn’t Sero, I think it’ll be okay,” Shouto’s eyes crinkle with his deepened smile. “Last time I did a paper with him, we did it completely high—” you choke, eyes widening at the thought of trying to be eloquent enough to write a paper while high. “—It was terrible.”

“Oh, I bet,” you laugh, arms crossing across your chest as the two of you begin inching forward within the crowd, others leaving with proud laughs, curious frowns, or aggravated groans. “But at least it sounds like it was turned in?”

“It was,” Shouto nods, his teeth flashing as he finally tears his gaze from you. “Oh, would you look at that?”

You hum, eyes squinting as you try to read the list through the many heads before you.

Y/l/n, Todoroki S.

“Would you look at that.”

“Seems like we’re partners,” you laugh, relief and horror flooding your body.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

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So, it was decided that with the two weeks given to write the paper and taking Shouto’s job into account, this paper was to be written as soon as possible. The suggestion of working on it together in the same room and not just through google doc was brought up and agreed upon. So with consensus on that, the matter of where it was going to happen was brought up.

“We can do it at my place,” Shouto offered with a shrug, “my house is pretty big.”

“I don’t have a car,” you interject, a frown on your face — you wanted to see his house. “My apartment is five minutes from campus. Is that alright?”

A smile.

“That’s perfect.”

And so, on a Friday afternoon, you found yourself already apologizing profusely as you walked up the staircase that smelled just a tiny bit of cheese. You warned him about the mess of your apartment. About how not to judge you on any and all messes you might have made on your way out! That you would have cleaned up had you known this was happening!

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Shouto spoke, attempting to ease your anxiety as you push your key in the doorknob and turn it. “I really don’t mind a messy place.”

“Ha, well, this is it,” you say, your face feeling disgustingly warm as you breach the entrance to your small one bedroom one bathroom place. “Leave your shoes right there, and we can head in!”

Toeing off your own shoes, you scrambled into the apartment, eyes wide as you attempted to make sure that nothing was crazily messy or out of place. There wasn’t any dirty laundry or undergarments anywhere? No, good!

Shouto locks the door behind himself, a chuckle at the back of his throat vibrating in his chest as he watches you skirt about. He looks down at the shoes you were wearing, white sneakers, and smirks at how small they look compared to his. He never really thought he was that tall or big, to be honest. It was a decent size for someone from his family, but it amused him greatly to see his things pushed against yours.

He looked back up, eyes landing on your flustered face as you stood by a table in the kitchen area.

“Ready?” he asked, hands shoving into his pockets.

“I believe so!”

And for some reason, probably the very same reason that had him entranced by you, Shouto laughs and steps foot into your apartment.

The paper itself isn’t that hard.

It’s an argumentative piece mostly on a Green Act proposal that was currently being debated within the government body. A paper that was fifty percent argument was something you were elated to have, but the other fifty percent was using sources and articles to further back your point. It was now two hours into the paper writing, takeout filling the empty spaces between the table as Shouto’s laughter and your ranting filled the open air. It was nice; he was nice to hang out with.

“I’m just saying we are nearing a universal climate disaster, and I do not want to be wondering when I will die because some fat old men with huge wallets want to continue getting richer!” you yelled, your chest heaving with your lack of proper air. “It’s dumb!”

“I bet if you grabbed ahold of their favorite toupees, they’d fold and agree,” Shouto teases, his grin covered by the mug he’s currently drinking tea from. “I’ll bail you out of prison.”

“I wouldn’t go to prison for that,” you argue, arms folding across your chest as you shake your head in solemn understanding. “They’d murder me and make it look like an accident.”

“Dark.”

“You know it.”

“I’ll avenge you.”

“You better, or else I’ll blame you for my murder.”

Shouto’s jaw dropped, ready to retaliate with something else, but he was interrupted by a loud call from your phone. You frowned, head tilting as you pulled your phone out from your jean pocket and stared at the screen.

Incoming call from: dd.

“I have to take this,” you say apologetically, standing up as you answered the call. You waited until you were in your bedroom before placing the phone to your head, your heart hammering with the unknown. “Hello?”

Shouto heard the click of your bedroom door, and he sighed, leaning back into his chair. His eyes looked up at the ceiling, momentarily bored now that he wasn’t with you. He wondered who ‘dd’ was and if you were alright. He hoped it wasn’t anything serious.

Grabbing his water cup, Shouto frowned, seeing that it was empty. He looked over at the sink where you had initially filled up the water cups. You wouldn’t mind if he filled it up on his own, right? Shouto pushed back his chair and stood, the cup resting in his fingers as he walked over towards the sink with a light hum.

He filled the cup slowly, not wanting to make too much noise. But as he stared at the drying dishes on your dish holder, he frowned at the sight of the pink sippy cup you had bought from the store last week. It was cleaned, obviously used, and he tilted his head.

Weird.

The cupboard was open, and Shouto couldn’t help but look into the dark wood and startled once again when he took in the neatly folded bib and the nearly innocuous pacifier sitting on top of it. Untouched, undisturbed, but used — definitely used.

Frowning, he took a slow, long drink of his water as he stared out towards the small living room you had. There, sitting on the wood coffee table, was the coloring book you had also purchased. That wasn’t adding up… if they were for your sister’s kids, why were they here? It didn’t exactly seem like the place to be holding them.

Shouto thought, trying to figure out just why you had all these things for… well, children.

Was testing products on your own a thing people did?

Well, yes, he supposed so, but these were already licensed products. The coloring book, well, he guesses that was a pretty normal thing! Drawing and coloring were everyday stress relieves — his mother often used that to help herself. But a pacifier, a bip, and a sippy cup? The only thing he could rationalize with that was—

“You’re being fucking ridiculous, daddy!” your voice harshly whispered (maybe ridiculed and mocked) from your room, just loud enough that Shouto heard, and his eyes widened.

Oh.

Ohh fuck.

“You know what, this isn’t working,” you scoff, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as you roll your eyes to the heavens above. “This was a good trial run, but I’m going to have to end this. This is not what I was looking for.”

“Come on, brat, you know you don’t mean that—”

You hung up, your fingers curled in a fist as you growled lowly at the screen. You wasted no time in blocking the number. What a fucking terrible daddy he was. Didn’t buy you anything, didn’t support you, or help you. There was no dynamic in this relationship. It was just a power-hungry dom with a streak for being called daddy.

A fucking poser at best.

Rolling your eyes, you tossed your phone onto your bed and walked out of your room back to the main area of your place. You looked at Shouto, who was sitting in his chair, his face bored, maybe a bit tired, and his face was concentrated on his phone — he was idly scrolling through it.

“Sorry that took so long,” you apologize, slinking back onto your chair, hands rubbing your face. “I tried to be fast about that.”

Shouto peered past the top of his phone, a comforting smile on his face, “Don’t worry about it; it wasn’t like we were intensely working on the paper anyways.”

You smile, slightly embarrassed.

“That’s true, um—”

“I think it’s time—”

The both of you spoke over each other clumsily, awkwardly — both of you obviously thinking of something that wasn’t quite in front of you. Your smile feels less forced now, “we’re done for the day?”

Shouto shifts in his chair, his head dropping slightly in agreement, “I think that would be best. We did a lot today, though.”

“We did!” you agree with a laugh, standing up and grabbing the items off the table, assisting Shouto with getting ready to leave. “We’ll meet back up in two days?”

Shouto nods, “that sounds like a plan.”

You help him pack up, insisting that you could clean up the kitchen without his help. It takes a few minutes, but finally, you have him walking out of your place, a light wave on your hand before he exits onto the staircase. You close the door with a sigh.

Jesus Christ.

Shouto stands in the stairway, his eyes concentrated on his phone where he has a single question typed into his browser.

ddlg dynamics ↳ Let’s talk DDLG, also known as Daddy Dom Little Girl. It’s a submissive/dominant relationship where the dom is known as a “Daddy,” and the submissive is known as a “Little Girl.”

...Interesting.

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Now, you were a pretty paranoid person; you could admit that.

You didn’t like being paranoid, but you were. Most days, you always triple-checked you weren’t being followed, quadruple-checked you had your school assignments turned in and your things in your bag. With your sex life and part of your social life being introduced to the ddlg dynamic, your paranoia grew even more.

Most people weren’t understanding — they weren’t. They assumed this dynamic was simply calling your dom daddy in bed and getting called princess in return! They always believed that, allowed for that. It was socially acceptable to call your dom daddy in bed, but god fucking forbid any other part of the dynamic come into play.

You remember reading comments in articles about grown women sitting in frilly skirts and diapers as part of her dynamic and watching grown adults tear her apart — skin and bones. That was the reaction you feared, you hated.

There was a reason why you enjoyed sitting in your frilly skirts, in your white and baby pink clothes. You loved having your dom come home, tired and stressed, and ask you, his little girl, to sit on his lap while he distressed. You enjoyed the sippy cups that helped to melt your anxiety, and you enjoyed doing chores under your doms watchful eye.

The praises, the rewards were always so uplifting, and the sex was always on an intensity that made you tremble with explosive satisfaction. If your dom wanted you in diapers, you would negotiate appropriately, and you sure as hell didn’t need a fucking stranger’s opinion on whether or not that was ‘normal.’

But no amount of confidence you had in your dynamic had ever eased the bottomless paranoia and anxiety.

Hence why after Shouto had left your apartment and you realized in horror that you had left out some damning evidence to your dynamic. The coloring book on your coffee table and the sippy cup that was obviously used were on full display. You wondered for a few hours, nearly spirling with anxiety if he had noticed — if that was why he was partially stiff as he left for the day. You had only managed to calm down when he had sent you a text later that night that he had enjoyed being over and was looking forward to working together the next day.

The praise was needed, seeping warm into your bones as you rolled over in your bed and knocked out.

You thought that you were in the clear. That that was as far as things were going to go, but your paranoia came back the next day in full force as you sat in a group with Shouto.

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“Do you want a sticker?”

That was the beginning of it all.

You had accepted the sticker without a second thought. Your typical barriers down because the lack of a dom in your life was throwing you for a bit. God, you were pathetic. You had smiled brightly, eagerly nodding as you thrust your hands out towards Shouto, waiting to receive a sticker.

“Good job,” he had said with an endearing smile, “you deserve it.”

It was only then that the weight of what happened settled on your bones, and you froze.

Fuck.

Smiling stiffly, you pressed the sparkly pink star to your shirt and returned back to your assignment, unable to speak up again for some time.

You had hoped that it was going to end there, but it seemed that nothing about your life was going in your favor right now.

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“Do you have a bedtime?” Shouto idly asked one late night when he was over, and you could not stop yawning to save your life. “I think everyone should go to bed at 10 p.m. on a school night, don’t you agree?”

You had choked on your saliva before disagreeing vehemently.

“I don’t sleep until… like, um, three in the morning?” you make up, teeth tearing into your lip as you avoided eye contact.

“Such a bad girl,” Shouto murmured, much too low for you to pick up.

“What?!”

“That’s bad for your health,” he recovered with a smile.

“Oh… yeah, I suppose so.”

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“Y/l/n is a sub; she’s a brat about that,” Shouto said to the group you both were assigned to in yet another class the two of you shared.

You had been idly drinking from your coffee cup and was utterly zoned out when he said that. So when you had picked up his words, you nearly choked at the sentence, your eyes watering and your throat burning with your drink and humiliation as the entire table turned to look at you.

“Oh shit, are you okay?!” Mina asked, eyes wide.

“I’m a what?!” you splutter instead, eyes focused on Shouto and your cheeks beginning to burn with unsaid fear.

“You’re a substitute babysitter for your sister,” Shouto remarked, his head tilted as he feigned innocence. “You were telling me about that the other day, remember? Sero is trying to get into the babysitting gig too.”

You wanted to believe him, you wanted so desperately to believe that Shouto was just somehow landing a missile into every paranoid corner of your life without meaning to, but this was getting out of control. This was too on the head, too obvious to not say that he somehow saw your little things and pieced together the dynamic you’ve come to love and thrive in. But you couldn’t fess up; you wouldn’t give yourself to the wolves of embarrassment and shame over something you knew wasn’t wrong.

“Oh,” you say stiffly, smiling over at Sero, “I’m on an app that is used a lot by small families; I can text you the name?”

“I’d appreciate that!” Sero laughs, blissfully unaware of the rising tension between you and Shouto. “I didn’t think that high school girls had some type of business turf thing; they’re scary and aggressive!”

“It’s a serious job for high schoolers,” Mina waved him off, “this is the only thing most of them can do!”

The conversation between Sero and Mina began to drift off as you were staring at Shouto, unable to break the eye contact the both of you found yourselves connected by. You didn’t want to pull away, too bitter and anxious to. You were currently two weeks without a daddy dom in your life, and you knew that you should be able to have a better grasp on your life than this — you knew you couldn’t lean on this dynamic at every point in your life. But you were sad to admit that you were struggling to keep your head afloat. You felt like you were almost drowning, struggling to keep your composure as you needed a play or a simple scene.

But the confidence in Shouto’s eyes that were hidden behind the sheer curiosity and wonder was making your skin itch, making you want to grab him by the collar and bring him in close and demand to know exactly what he was thinking.

He would not embarrass you.

He would not.

“Can I talk to you, Todoroki?” you asked, practically demanded of Shouto as the group of you began to stand at the table, readying to leave.

If you noticed Mina’s and Sero’s eyebrows shoot up towards the ceiling, you didn’t say anything as Shouto paused in putting things into his backpack. His head tilted, but he nodded his head, “yeah, about what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile stiffly, tossing your own backpack over your shoulder as you turn on your heel and immediately begin walking. Uncaring if he was following you or not. “Bye, Mina, Sero.”

There’s silence behind you before the heady sound of a chair scraping against the floor is heard and the long, quick strides of Shouto following after you. You exit the cafe you had been in, eyes squinting when the harsh rays of sun fall on your face, but you don’t hesitate or pause even once.

There’s no one outside right now; it’s just you and Shouto.

You feel him at your shoulder, and you keep your gaze straight ahead, unwilling to look at him just yet.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you finally whisper, your voice low and angry. You nearly spat them out at him, utterly humiliated and horrified that you were probably outing yourself should he just be that dense and annoyingly able to pick at your anxiety. “Stop it.”

“I don’t—” Shouto began, eyes wide and screaming of innocence that could make you cry.

“I know you saw my things, and I know you pieced it together,” you cut him off, your lips pursed tight. You suddenly stop in your tracks, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you turn to face Shouto. “So if you have a problem with that, I suggest that you kindly fuck off!”

Shouto stands next to you, hair hastily swept backward, hand on the strap of his bag, and his face telling you that you had miscalculated something. You prayed it wasn’t about how he knew about you being a little.

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Shouto admits, his hand raising to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t think you’re weird or strange or bad for being into the ddlg dynamic. I’m actually… I take part in it too. I was trying to subtly tell you that I was into it as well, and well, I heard that you and your last dom broke it off… I wanted to tell you that I was interested in becoming your new dom.”

You blink.

“Eh?!”

“I’m interested in forming an agreement with you?” Shouto tilts his head; there’s a sense of seriousness to his face, his eyes innocent. “I need a little, and if you’re looking for a dom…”

He lets the silence fill the rest of his sentence, and your mouth gapes open as blood rushes to your face at the straightforward request.

“I… I barely know you!” you splutter, your heart in your ears as you can barely comprehend what was going on.

Two weeks ago, Todoroki Shouto was practically a stranger. You knew him about as well as a person knew the barista at their favorite coffee shop. Friendly, but not close. Definitely not close enough for you to say that you would allow for him to see you in your little space, for him to give you a list of rewards and punishments — for possible sex?!

“Most caregiver contracts like this are done between people who know even less,” Shouto shrugs, his arms folded across his chest. “You don’t have to say yes now or even agree, but I like you a lot. I want to pursue a relationship with you, and I assumed that this would be a good starting ground especially if you need it.”

Your tongue sweeps across your lips, unable to come up with a single rationale thing to say.

“I don’t need an answer right now; indulge me, though,” Shouto smiles softly, his gaze dropping for a moment. “Take as much time as you need. We can do a single scene to test it out, and if it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings. Let me know when you’re interested in it, though.”

You can’t say anything; you can only numbly nod as Shouto smiles at you once again.

“Let me know.”

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Todoroki S.: ↳ If you need a list, I’ll send mine over whenever you want. I have my rules, rewards, punishments, and kinks all supplied in it. [received Today 23:44]

Todoroki S.: ↳ If you need a list, I’ll send mine over whenever you want. I have my rules, rewards, punishments, and kinks all supplied in it. [seen 7 Days Ago 23:44]

You: ↳ Send your points, we can see if we’re compatible. [seen now]

Todoroki S.: ↳ I enjoyed the scene we did today; I hope you did too. I’m interested in making this a real thing if you are too. [received Today 20:44]

You: ↳ I did, too, actually, lol. Um, thank you, first of all! We can work on the contract now. [received Today 20:48]

Todoroki S.: ↳ Okay. I’ve already made the first draft of one; if you’d like to look it over, let me know what you think, and we can edit some things around. [seen now]

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It has been two months since the contract was signed.

Two months.

Two months of Shouto practically living in your apartment with you, a once stranger seeing you at your most vulnerable. He was a steady hand on your back as you slipped into your desired little space, a constant warmth at your side as you went about your day at home.

It had been weird at first; your anxiety still wouldn’t let up, nearly convincing you many times that this was all but a prank. That Shouto would pull away from you when you least expected it and would expose you to the world. There had been many times where he would hold you on his lap, his arms warm around your back, your favorite stuffed animal sitting on your lap as he promised you that you were wrong.

“Daddy is here to protect you, sunshine,” Shouto murmured in your ear, his warm lips pressing to the small behind your ear. “Daddy would never do that to my baby girl. That wouldn’t make me happy.”

“I-It wouldn’t?” you sniffled, your nose face nuzzling further into his neck as your sobs had finally stopped.

“No, not at all, sunshine,” Shouto smiled against the crown of your head. You felt his lips press a soft kiss there, his warm hands stroking up and down your back. “Do you remember what makes Daddy happy?”

You blink, your wet eyelashes heavy and sticking together as you peer at his jaw as if it could possibly tell you.

“I can’t… I can’t remember, sorry, Daddy,” you sniffle again, suddenly terrified that he would be upset with you. You were such a terrible baby girl.

“What makes Daddy happy is seeing his baby girl smiling, happy, protected, and safe,” Shouto easily relays, pulling you away from his shoulder, his calloused fingers rubbing the tear streaks that still stain down your face. “I promise that I will never do anything to cause you harm, sunshine. I only want you to be happy; you being happy makes me happy like nothing before.”

There’s no stopping the way your bottom lip trembles with the pleasant weight of his words, the way it warms you from your belly and curls to your toes.

“Pinky promise?” you whimper, somehow out of breath.

Shouto looks at your curved pinky that is extended out for him to hold, to seal the other half of a promise he has no intentions of ever breaking.

Smiling softly, Shouto wraps his pinky with yours and twists it gently, locking the promise.

“Pinky promise,” he affirms, placing a kiss to your knuckles.

He was so good to you.

So sweet, gentle, patient, and kind.

He tended to spend the night Mondays through Fridays, giving you the weekend to be on your own. He only ever slept in your bed with your given consent (which was every single time), and there was just something about wearing the silver chained choker on your neck that he bought for you. Dainty and cute, nothing too crazy to draw overwhelming attention.

It had a tiny cherry blossom that was engraved with Shouto on the back.

It was a constant and calming reminder of what you had during the day.

The arrangement was going better than you had assumed it was going to be.

Shouto made for an excellent daddy, but there was one grievance you had. With two months of extreme kinship, so many nights of being curled into his side, getting near-daily cuddles for following his orders perfectly, and a few spanks because you were careless even after he warned you — you had assumed that the sexual part of the dynamic would come out.

You had okayed for him to be able to fuck you, regardless of whether or not you were in little space! You reached your little space more often than not around him because he was so well, but now you were bordering desperation. You wanted your daddy to please you more, to give you the reward you wanted most: his cock.

“I’m home, bunny,” Shouto called out, his voice hinting exhaustion but mostly satisfaction at being home again.

Per your rules and regulations, greeting Shouto with a cheerful ‘welcome home, daddy!’ when he arrived home was a must. It was a clear indicator that not only were you home but that you wished to indulge in the dynamic for the rest of the day.

But you sat at the coffee table wearing an unapproved, not chosen outfit for home.

You were wearing an off-the-shoulder white cotton shirt that was big and soft, pink lace shorts that barely covered your ass but was hemmed with lace and pretty frill. You had thigh highs on as well that were the same pink as your shorts. There was a pacifier in your mouth, your gaze focused on the Disney coloring book in front of you as you colored in Sleeping Beauty.

You turned your head, eyes looking at your daddy with a vague look of disinterest before turning back to your coloring.

“I said ‘I’m home,’ bunny,” Shouto restated, giving you the benefit of the doubt of whether or not you heard him. Typically you were excited to have him home, going to his side immediately and asking a million questions as to what he had been doing and why he was home so late.

“Hmph,” was your response as you placed a sticker onto the coloring page.

Shouto’s eyebrows furrowed; he toed off his shoes and began walking towards you, assessing what was happening.

“Is my bunny mad that I was a bit later than I had promised?” he asked, sitting on the couch behind you, his fingers brushing across your clothes as if he was trying to remember if he had selected this outfit. But the sudden touch that you were craving in a way like no other made your head spin just so, and you resisted the motion of caving.

You wanted to be a brat! Your daddy should be taking care of all your needs! He promised he would be taking care of you better than you took care of yourself! He should know when you wanted his cock!

“Hmph!” you hrmph again, and you lean out of his touch even though you craved it.

Although you couldn’t see him, you could feel the slow, calculating blink Shouto took at this action. There’s a moment of silence before the couch sounds under his shifting weight. You freeze at the feeling of his warm palm on your spine, a whisper of danger. It feels partially like a threat, a reminder of impending consequences.

“What did daddy say about bunny using her words?” Shouto asks, his voice stern, low, commanding.

It should scare you, but the threat in his voice makes your heart stammer and your cunt wet. So, instead of doing what’s right, you stand up, ignoring him yet again as you stick your nose up to the ceiling and try to walk away.

Well, you try to, that is.

Before you can go too far, Shouto’s fingers are wrapped around your wrist, keeping you in place.

“You know I don’t like it when you don’t speak, right?” Shouto asks, his eyes digging into your cheek as you refuse to look at him. Yet another rule he has in place. You had to look at him when he spoke to you or when you spoke to him. It was to help make sure that you behaved properly in public — to make you the best baby girl ever. “Use your words and look at me, princess.”

The word princess rolled off his tongue, and you bit down on your tongue to keep the breathy moan from expelling from your lips. He typically only used princess when you were on the verge of genuinely displeasing him, when he was warning you one last time before a punishment was given. Your daddy was two months without jacking off, exhausted from work, and now dealing with you, his bratty baby girl. There was no way this wasn’t going to end with him forcing you to suck him off or to use you as an onahole (something you had said was okay unless you used your safeword, of course).

You shook in his hold, teeth biting your lip as you stared at the wall, refusing to heed his command.

“I’ll give you to the count of three to look at me and address me,” Shouto says, his thumb stroking the innard of your wrist. “One.”

There was no way you would cave.

“Two.”

The silence between the two of you was heavy.

“One.”

Excitement shot through you at the thought of him finally fucking you into your mattress.

“No dessert tonight,” is what Shouto said instead, and you froze.

You whipped your head towards Shouto, fury, and humiliation painting your face as your jaw drops, the pacifier falling onto the floor.

“No!”

“No?” Shouto repeats, his eyes narrowed, unhappy with the challenge. “Do you want me to take away your video games too?”

“No!” you shriek, hands clawing at your face because this was not going the way it was going. “I want my dessert and my video games!”

“Too bad, princess,” Shouto states sternly, unaffected by your growing tantrum. “You lost them both for tonight.”

“No! Give them back! I haven’t done anything wrong, daddy!” you scream, throwing your arms in your hysterics as Shouto stands up to his full height, looming over you without a single issue. Tears prick at the back of your eyes because you’ve messed up somehow; your daddy doesn’t want you — doesn’t love you the way you love him.

“You’ve been misbehaving this entire time I’ve come back home,” Shouto retorts, his other hand grabbing your wrist and managing to place them both close to his chest, limiting your thrashing actions. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the new outfit.”

“I don’t want those punishments, daddy! I don’t want t-them,” you wheeze, your eyes locked on your hands that are bound so tightly in his hands, and you whimper loudly. “You’re hurting me, daddy!”

“And you’re trying to hurt me,” Shouto calmly points out. “I can’t have you doing that, so I’ll hold onto you until you calm down enough. I’m doing this because I care for my little brat.”

“You don’t care! You don’t c-care!” you sob finally, unable to keep the hot tears from your eyes. “Daddy doesn’t care about me!”

The effect is evident and instant.

Shouto’s grip on your wrist lessens altogether, and your pounding fists finally connect with his chest as you collapse against him.

“Daddy doesn’t c-care…”

“That’s not true,” Shouto breathes easily, his fingers brushing against your sides before his arms wrap around you. “I care so much for you, baby. What’s wrong? Tell me what I can do to make things better.”

A loud sniffle emits from you, and you fist your hands in his shirt, your head shaking.

“It’s been two months, and daddy won’t let me have his cummies,” you whisper, terrified that he would reject you. “Am I not good enough? Attractive enough that daddy wants to reward me with his dick?”

There’s a shift in the air.

“My little doll wants her daddy’s cock, is that what?” Shouto murmured against the top of your head. “My precious, innocent baby girl wants something filthy like that.”

“Mmn,” was all you could manage, your face burning at the implications, the suggestion in his voice.

“And instead of using her words, as we practice, she decided to act like a little brat to get her way,” Shouto’s voice is low, raspy, and deep. Its tenor is just right that it makes the room instantly hotter, your body brimming with excited energy. “I think… my beautiful doll has broken too many rules for me to just give her a good reward. She deserves to be my little doll as punishment for now. I thought she was grown enough to ask for things she wanted.”

You gasp as Shouto’s warm, calloused hands drop down to the minimally exposed flesh between your booty shorts and your thigh highs. It sends an entire wave of goosebumps down your skin, and you shudder as they rise upwards, slipping under your shirt and resting on the soft skin of your stomach.

“Your punishment will be what daddy wants it to be, doll,” Shouto states, his fingernails brushing over your clothed nipples, and you mewl at the touch. “You’ve given up your right to speak right now, and because daddy can’t trust you to not be a brat, you will suck daddy’s dick until I see it fit. You will stand on your knees like the beautiful doll daddy knows you can be. Silent, obedient, and so beautiful.”

The words are a goldmine you’ve wanted to hear this entire time, but you’re upset — rightfully upset — that it took your daddy so long to figure it out! He needed you to spell it out for him to act on it!

“I don’t like sucking dicks!” you complain, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “That’s yucky!”

Shouto raised an eyebrow at that, his eyes flashing dangerously as he absorbed the implications of your actions. He knew he was going to earn this just as much as you were.

“Excuse me?” Shouto says calmly, a single eyebrow arched. “Do you want to repeat that?”

“You heard m-me,” you stammer, trying to remain steady under his steady stare. “If daddy couldn’t catch that, maybe I should be the one giving out the punishments.”

A hot, predatory smirk pulls across his face as his grip on your wrist tightens, and he yanks you just slightly closer towards him.

“Oh really?” he chuckles so coldly you shiver. “So you think you’re in charge here?”

You nod slowly, your pupils wide and blown. Your eyes were transfixed on his mouth, his pretty plump lips practically calling your name.

His tongue swipes across his front teeth, and you watch him in awe, horror, and damning horny anticipation as he sits back on the couch and takes you down with him. You struggle for a bit, terrified as you feel unbalanced, ready to tumble to the floor. But your stomach is pressed heavily against his knees, pleasurable discomfort spreading through your body as you recognize this easy, beautiful spanking position.

“I’m going to give you ten spanks,” Shouto announces, his hand rubbing smooth circles over your soft shorts. “You will count every one of them and thank me for each one. If you mess up, if you misbehave, you will get more until you do as I demand.”

You struggle against his hold, thrashing and twisting as his fingers push the shorts higher up your ass, exposing your flesh to him. But as he did so, you remember that you’re not wearing panties, and Shouto sees that too.

“Mm, you’re not wearing panties,” Shouto says, his voice trying to keep the undying want and lust from bleeding through his tone. “My precious doll is that desperate she couldn’t fully dress herself?”

“I can d-dress— aahhh!!!!”

Your interjection was interrupted by the sharp, well-practiced spank that Shouto delivered to your round ass. You arched against his lap, your skin tingling and feeling pathetically good.

“I said you were my doll right now, and dolls don’t speak unless given permission to,” Shouto clipped, his hand circling your now tender flesh. “You didn’t count, so let's try again.”

SLAP.

“Oh my god!” you shriek at the contact, your head spinning at the craved touch. It wasn’t like his typical spanks, the ones that came down not to hurt but to remind you, to correct you to be better. These stung with power, reminding you that you were getting what you craved, and you felt your toes curl and your cunt beginning to seep with the knowledge.

Fuck, you wanted this.

THWACK.

“Again.”

THWACK.

“Daddy can spank your pretty little ass all day, doll. Do as you’re told if you want daddy’s cock.”

SPANK.

“O-One, thank you, daddy!”

WHACK!

You threw your head back at the sensation, your eyes crossing and your hips bucking backward as you shriek with pleasure. You don’t count, your head swimming with unfound energy, and Shouto tsks.

“You’re so terrible at following directions, aren’t you?” Shouto asks, his mouth hovering by your ear, and you nearly melt when his teeth tug at your cartilage at the same time he serves another heated spank to your perky ass. “Such a dirty brat, getting off on her punishments. But let me tell you, if you don’t start following what I instruct of you, I’ll fuck your mouth and leave you without any cummies.”

You gasp loudly, sobbing as he delivers yet another solid spank for your undoubtedly bruising ass. And so, with a pathetic, desperate nod, you agree.

You count to ten, thanking him each time with a beautiful sob that makes the bulge in his pants obvious to you. Your lips are swollen, bruised, and sheen with saliva from holding back your louder sobs. Your ass seems to be imprinted with the shape of his hand against your skin, and you tumble off his lap at the final thank you.

There’s slick gathered on your shorts, soaking through the pretty pink fabric turning it dark.

“I forget that my beautiful baby girl is a masochist,” Shouto sighs as he stands up in front of you. You gasp on the floor, your head swimming with the building heat between your legs, and you hear an all too familiar, always exciting, sound of a belt being undone followed quickly by a zipper and rustling fabric.

“God, you’re so wonderful, doll,” Shouto sighs as he pulls out his hardening cock to where you’re already on your knees with wide, curious, hopeful eyes. “Already on your knees, ready to choke on daddy’s cock even though this is a punishment.”

You can barely register his words, your eyes focused and fascinated — scared almost — of the cock Shouto has. It’s fucking huge, and it’s thick, slightly curved upward with a pretty flushed tip and bulging veins. You were sure if you could even manage to take more than a few inches in!

“I think I remember something about how you don’t like deep throating,” Shouto hums contemplatively. You freeze, your heart stopping for just a moment at what he’s implying. “Well, it’s a good thing this is a punishment.”

His fingers press into your mouth, making you choke, and with your lips spread wide, mouth open for taking, Shouto guides his cock into your parted lips with a dangerous moan.

There's an immediate ache in your jaw, the size, and girth of his cock overwhelming you without so much doubt. You gag immediately at the weight of it pressing on your tongue, filling your mouth. Heat hammers in your cunt, and you heave against him.

Shouto sighs as if he was in heaven, his hands grabbing the back of your head and slamming your head as far down his cock. So far that your nose brushed against the skin of his stomach, before pressing against it completely.

Shouto moans louder than your panicked gags and chokes, his hips swirling and twisting as he looks down at you with lovesick eyes. “You’re so good at this,” Shouto praises, his fingers wiping away the tears that prick at your eyes. “So good. Daddy’s so pleased with you, taking my cock so well. So beautiful even when you cry on my dick.”

Your throat spasms around his cock, your lungs burning severely from the lack of oxygen. Not a single part of your body able to relax as you desperately sought to breathe. It hurt, but it felt so good. Saliva began to pool from the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin and drooling on your clothed breasts.

Shouto took notice and hummed contently.

“Daddy’s going to count to the number ten,” he informed you, rolling his hips further into your mouth, shoving his cock even further down your throat than you thought possible. “If you can keep your pretty nose pressed to daddy’s stomach the entire time, daddy promises you he will give you the best orgasm you’ve ever received.”

You made a squeaking noise around his cock, your fingers that were buried into his shirt gripping tighter as he suddenly lets go of your head.

“One.”

Resisting the urge to pull off him completely was a near-losing battle.

“Two.”

Your body shook with intensity, the scorching need to properly breathe slamming down on you.

“Three… four…”

Shouto’s hands began to pet your head, soothing the worried lines on your face, brushing away your tears.

“Five… six… fuck, you’re so gorgeous, baby girl.”

You whimper around his cock, and Shouto moans liquid gold in return. He smiles deviously, fingers brushing down your throat.

“Seven… eight…” you choke loudly when his fingers press against your throat, tightening your already spasming throat around his cock, furthering the burning sensation all throughout your body. “Nine…”

You look at him with pleading eyes, wordlessly begging for mercy, for something as he pauses for more than a second between nine and ten. His hips lazily jerk into your mouth, his free hand combing his hair back, messily styling it as he smirks. Your saliva was dripping uncontrollably now, pooling at the back of your throat, on your tongue, past your lips. Shouto sighs, his eyes bright with power, with the knowledge that you were so obedient.

“Ten.”

Immediately, you collapse from his cock. Saliva and pre-cum connecting your coughing mouth to his hard dick still. Your lungs ache, and your breathing is frantic as you try to regain a sense of composure. Your tears meaning nothing so long as the inferno between your thighs is tamed.

“You did so well, baby girl,” Shouto praises, and despite the pain in your lungs, you puff up at the praise. “You did exactly what daddy asked for you, so daddy believes you deserve a reward. Do you agree?”

Unable to speak, your belly tight and warm, and your throat aching slightly, you nod eagerly.

“Use your words, angel,” Shouto coos; he steps out of his pants before squatting before you, his fingers grazing your chin. “Daddy loves it when he hears you speaking.”

“I would love a r-reward, daddy,” you whimper softly.

Your eyes swim with want, with inexplicable needs and desires. Shouto softens when he notices you nosing into his palms; he brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

“Look at how politely you asked that,” Shouto praises, kissing you softly on the corner of your mouth. “Daddy’s so proud of you, sweetheart.”

You keen some more, your wet eyelashes batting in your excitement and undying love for him.

“Now, daddy wants you to go to your room and take off all the clothes you want. Once you’re ready, I want you to call me in, and then daddy will take excellent care of you, okay?” Shouto commands you, his lips pressing softly onto your cheeks, eyelids, and finally softly onto your lips.

You gasp loudly at the touch, your eyes wide but looking incredibly drunk at the touch.

“Okay!” you giggle, pressing forward and taking his lips into another kiss.

He hums before assisting you to your feet, and you breathlessly laugh as you turn around and skip away towards your room.

Your room is neat, as is required of Shouto. Your bed is neatly organized; there’s nothing on the floor or on your chair. Everything is put away correctly and cleanly. Grinning, you take off your shirt followed by your bra, shimming off your shorts, you toss away your clothes into your hamper, leaving only your socks on.

Hopping onto your bed, you grab a stuffed animal before turning to face the door and sing.

“Daddy, I’m ready!!!”

You squeal after saying that, excitedly staring at the closed door, eagerly anticipating the way Shouto would walk in. Your eyelashes flutter when you see the doorknob twist and in comes Shouto, who, unlike you, is completely naked.

Now you knew he was fit, even with your mind beginning to sink into your little space, you knew that Shouto was a handsome, fine man. He was built, muscular, and toned. He was tall, his head nearly hitting the top of the door if it wasn’t for the fact he was leaning against the doorframe. There is a slight smile on his face that screams of his pride, his joy of seeing you like this. And his eyes rake like hot coals against your body.

You shudder.

“Aren’t you cute,” Shouto murmurs, pride evident in his tone. He walks towards you, tongue slipping between his lips as he reaches the foot of the bed. “Such a beautiful princess, but now… what does princess need?”

“I need my daddy to take care of me,” you whisper, eyes hooded and mouth turning dry as he begins leaning onto the bed. “I want my daddy.”

“Such a dirty girl,” Shouto says with a chuckle as you begin to lean back onto your bed, your legs spreading for him. “Such a dirty, gorgeous girl.”

Your breathing stutters as the bed moves under his weight, and you’re practically panting as you watch his body slowly crawl over yours. Shouto looks down at you, his eyes deceivingly bright even with the shadows, and your eyes flutter as he leans down.

You’re expecting a kiss, craving the feeling of his smooth, plump lips on yours. But you gasp in shock, betrayal, and in lust when his lips press against your earlobe. He trails his kisses everywhere, kissing every inch, every centimeter of your face, but never once your lips.

“Daddy, stop teasing!!” you whine loudly, feet kicking on the mattress and hands burying into his hair.

“I’m not teasing you,” Shouto objects, but the grin on his face says otherwise. “Why do you think I’m teasing you? What do you want?”

“I want daddy’s kisses! Give me your kisses!” you cry with a pout.

With a burst of cheerful laughter that warms your heart and makes your belly flip, Shouto presses downward, capturing your lips with his. The contact is blissful, everything and more that you need. You eagerly kiss him back, making noises that are both sinful and so blessedly innocent as your arms wrap around his neck.

Shouto kisses you back with matching intensity, one elbow resting by your head, the other resting on your hip as he allows your tongue to press into his mouth. He lets you greedily take what you want, his thumb on your hip drawing nonsensical pictures. But as you shudder against him, completely overwhelmed by this all. Shouto probes his tongue into your mouth, gliding his wet, hot muscle against the roof of your mouth and the back of your teeth until your panting, unable to do anything but absorb him.

“So pretty, so cute when you’re like this. A beautiful doll for her daddy,” Shouto whispers into your mouth, and you can only moan in response.

“I need daddy,” you speak, your glazed eyes unable to even look at Shouto. “I need daddy so bad.”

“Where does my princess need me?” Shouto speaks, his lips trailing down your slick chin and neck. “Right here?” he asks, sinking his teeth onto your neck and sucking softly.

“A-Aahhh~,” you shudder, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues to place hickey after hickey on your neck, your collarbones, and the spot right behind your ear that makes you melt. “Yes, I need you everywhere… I need daddy’s mouth and cummies in me.”

“Your boobs are so cute, baby girl,” Shouto whispers, and you nearly jump out of your skin when you notice that he’s nosing against your breasts. “So pretty, better than anything I could have hoped for.”

You whine loudly, your body arching off the bed as his hot tongue dips out and licks a pebbled nipple. You pant as he licks again, your fingers burying into his hair.

“Such beautiful nipples, you make your daddy so happy,” Shouto praises, and you gasp loudly as his mouth envelopes your nipple. Your cunt throbs with intriguing want, your socked feet traveling up the line of his leg as his teeth graze and move your nipple in his mouth. “You make me the proudest daddy ever.”

His fingers card down your stomach, trailing and lingering around your cunt, and yet never once touching it. It’s tactical, teasing, and mind spinning. Your clit spasms with needed attention, angry with the teasing, desperate for contact — for attention. You make a noise, something not quite human, unable to pull yourself from your growing fuzzy head as Shouto moves from one nipple to the next.

Shouto chuckles, his eyes of blue and grey flashing up at you dangerously, knowingly.

“Don’t tease me, daddy,” you whisper, hips circling, thrusting into the air where you wish his fingers were.

“Okay,” he promises, and as if he could read your thoughts, his teeth gently bit down on your untouched yet demanding nipple. Your head slams against the mattress, your chest once again feeling alive as if you had been electrocuted. He sucks your nipple, teeth tugging on the sensitive flesh, warm tongue, and spit sinking into your nerves. His fingers taking care of your lonesome nipple, keeping it company with gentle, purposeful rolls as he has you sobbing his name. And when you thought the teasing couldn’t get worse, his fingers finally land where you want it most.

On your clit.

“You’re perfect, angel; I love you so much.”

It happens then, like a warm blanket being placed over you — comforting, warm, making the pain in your body hum with only pleasure, and your body trembles with peaking need.

“I wanna… I wanna do more,” you coo, eyes heavy and feigning intoxication as you look up at your daddy. “I wanna please my daddy!”

Your daddy blinks at you, head tilting before a knowing look flashes across his eyes, and he smiles softly, fingers abandoning their spots to press gently against your cheeks. You don’t even mind, so excited and happy that he’s holding you.

“What do you want, sunshine?”

“Can I please suck daddy’s nipples?” you ask with a hopeful face, “He made me feel so good, and I — I wanna make my daddy feel good too!”

“You wanna suck daddy’s nipples? Okay.”

You giggle loudly as the world spins, and you gasp when you’re suddenly sitting straight up, your wet cunt pressing against his hip bone. You laugh lightly, a bell-like giggle, and your hands press to his chest. “That was so fun!”

“Was it—?”

Your daddy can’t finish his sentence because you caught sight of his dusty brown nipples and launched forward, capturing the soft tissue in your mouth.

It tastes like your daddy, the salt and unique taste he has. And your tongue lashes at it, your cheeks hollowing as you suck at it some more. It hardens in your mouth, a sensation that has you breaking away from him with a beautiful gasp.

“Am I doing a good job?!” you ask, looking at the pretty pink flush on your daddy’s face as he heaves slightly, flustered and a bit out of breath. “My nipples do that when you do a job, daddy!”

“You’re doing so well,” your daddy informs you, and you laugh excitedly. “Do you want… do you want daddy’s cock now?”

“Daddy’s cock?” you question, heat rushing to your face at the naughty word. “W-What does that mean?”

“Daddy’s cock is how I can make you feel good,” daddy explains, his fingers trailing up and down your thighs, playing with the hem of your socks.

You giggle as he snaps at it playfully.

“You’ve been doing such a good job, sunshine, and daddy’s cock hurts and wants to be in you.”

“In me?”

“Mmhm, and when it’s in you, you can get daddy’s cummies,” daddy smiles softly. “You want daddy’s cummies, remember?”

You think about it, unsure if you had wanted it, but then you remember that you had said it.

“Will daddy’s cummies help me? My stomach feels funny, a-and I feel wet.”

Daddy nods fast, his body shifting so that he’s in a sitting position and your wet chest presses against him. It’s a sensation you’re unfamiliar with, and you make an embarrassing squeaking noise at the feeling.

“I promise it’ll make you feel better, sunshine.”

You think about it some more, your arms wrapping around his neck as you think. But soon enough, you find yourself giggling and nodding, “I trust my daddy!”

“I’m so glad you do. Daddy’s so glad his baby girl trusts him.”

And the next thing you know, you’re back on your back, and your daddy looms over you, spreading your legs wide apart. You look down at gasp at the sight of daddy’s cock.

“It’s so big!” you shriek, “Where is that going, daddy?!”

“This is going right… there,” daddy emphasizes, pressing two fingers into a part of your body that has you speechless. It’s an intrusion you’re almost unfamiliar with, and yet it makes your head spin and your body hot with need and action from him. “I promise it’ll feel so good; I’ll make you feel so good.”

“O-Okay,” you whimper, watching your daddy pull something against the length of his cock before pressing the swollen head to the entrance that made you feel funny in a good way. “I’m ready, daddy.”

“I’m so glad,” your daddy smiles, and with a gentle kiss to your temple, he presses his cock into you.

“DADDY!” you shriek as his cock pressed into you, filling you out and stretching you out completely. The sensation is overwhelming, piercing pleasure slamming through your body as your arms and legs wrap around him in a vice-like grip.

Daddy’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in close as his hips begin rutting in and out of you. The sensation, the rhythm, is constant and is intoxicating. The creak of the mattress and the loud, grateful cries of your mouth into the crook of his neck fills the room. And then he shifts you just a bit, his hips able to thrust further, more profound, into you, and a wanton, nearly voluptuous noise escapes your mouth.

“Kiss me, daddy!” you cry, head thrusting back into the mattress, pleasure saturating so deep in your brain you can’t think anymore. “Kiss me, please! Kiss me, kiss me, kissmekissmekiss—”

His mouth is over yours, hot pants and wrecked breathing is passed between open parted lips. Your tongue pushes against his teeth, unable to find his tongue as your hips swirl and thrust up into his thrust cock. Every thrust sends daddy’s cock deeper into your pulling, demanding cunt, stretching you out, sending you further out in an unimaginable way. Your walls spasm uncontrollably, clenching and tightening without a single input.

But soon, daddy’s shifting up onto his knees, and you can only wildly cry out for him when his arms shift from keeping you close to pressing behind your knees and shoving your knees into the mattress by your shoulders. The most primal, deranged moan rips from your mouth as the stretch sends his cock to a place in your cunt you never could imagine existing. You shake like a child against him, fingers scraping at his back, tearing his skin as your heels dig into his back. The head of his cock buries and brushes against your cervix, making you cry and see colors you’ve never seen before in your life. Your praises for your daddy are endless, and his powerful pounding sends the headboard of your bed crashing against the wall harder and harder.

“How are you feeling, bunny?” Daddy grunts, his face contorted with pleasure and the need to look at you. “Do you feel my cock in you? Can you feel daddy’s cock hitting your cervix?”

“D-Daddy, I-I — ohhh my god!” you sob, your hips pathetically rutting up and down against his cock, stupidly furthering how deep his cock can go, your cervix melting with pleasure, making you oh so dizzy. You can only blabber. “Daddy’s cock is so big, it’s so good! It’s making my stomach feel so funny! I’m so scared!”

“Don’t be scared,” your daddy pleads against your neck, though his speed and strength doesn’t lessen. “Your stomach feeling funny is a good thing; it’s supposed to happen! I promise you, this is how it's supposed to happen. Okay?”

“Okay, daddy, okay, okay, okay,” your voice lessened to a senseless babble. Your sentences blurring together, and your cheek pressed into the mattress, and drool pooled from your lips.

His pace is completely irreplicable now; every maddening powerful thrust of his hips sends the headboard into the wall. The wet slapping echoing throughout the room when he pierces into you almost drowned out both of your senseless cries.

It almost scared you, the sensation foreign, but his gentle reminder that this was normal, that you would be okay, kept you from spiraling. Slick erupts in your cunt, an overwhelming heat that throbs right in your core, coating your thighs and your stomach, and with every slam of his hips, it grows only more.

Intensifying.

Exhilarating.

The temperature of your body sizzles off you in immense heat. His lips press against yours, a maddening escape of lust and need exchanging between your parted lips. Your saliva is everywhere, covering both of your faces — connecting them even when you part. But that didn’t stop him; it only fueled him to kiss you entirely, wordlessly praising you, engulfing you with his mouth, daring you with his tongue.

You were barely keeping up with his snapping hips, your mouth begging for more when he suckled on your tongue.

“It’s feeling so funny!” you suddenly cry as your daddy’s fingers pinch and rub against something between your legs that sends electric waves throughout every nerve in your body. “I feel like Imma pee, daddy! I can’t stop it! I can’t stop!”

“It’s okay, let it happen,” your daddy grunts into your ear, and with that, the calming steady of his voice, you let the heat, the tightness in your stomach you feel like is piss, slam through you.

A tingling, white noise power sensation slams through your entire body. You arch into your daddy, your scream dying on your tongue as your body thumps with a full-body heartbeat. It sends your toes curling, your fingernails scarring his back, and a pathetic, pleasure-derived sob released into your daddy’s sweaty neck.

His thrusting keeps up for a bit, letting your clenching and relaxing cunt finish him until his thrusts border sloppy, and with a final thrust that has your fingers trembling, he stops, collapsing onto you.

You don’t know what happens next, only that for one moment too long, it’s silent with only heaving breathing and incredibly warm body heat. Your eyes close, and you’re out before you even know it.

You open your eyes to a dark room.

Shouto is next to you, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he holds a wet, warm cloth to your body, gently cleaning you up.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, your voice scratchy and nearly blown. “Did I drop and pass out after cumming?”

Shouto jumped at your voice, looking up at your face with a tired but satisfied grin, “You did.”

You laugh softly, not quite humorlessly, not entirely because you were amused. You sit up, groaning at how your lower body screams in pain; well, it seemed that your drop really did hide any pain.

“That was fun,” you grin, eyes closing as Shouto presses the cloth to your neck, cleaning the sweat and saliva there. “Glad I decided to speak up on that — ow!”

You pouted as Shouto retreated his pinching fingers from your ribcage.

“You didn’t speak up; you acted out and then spoke up,” Shouto chuckled, sighing as he leaned backward, allowing for you to stretch your tired limbs.

“I still managed to say my truth,” you grin, taking the wet cloth from his hands and focusing on his body. Shouto sat there, still and silent, as you gingerly cleaned… everything off him.

“Well, if we’re saying our truths, can I ask something?” Shouto murmurs, so unlike his typical confident demur. You pause for a moment before nodding, continuing to clean the broken skin on his body. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? I-I know this is cheesy and all, but I feel like I want you outside of our arrangement, outside of the dynamic.”

You can’t help but laugh, making Shouto look panicked, even if for a bit.

“I thought I was the only one.”

“Sero, psst, Sero!” Mina whispers loudly, hitting her friend in the back of the head with an eraser.

“Shit, what?” Sero hisses, a slight annoyance in his face from being hit.

“Look!”

Sero follows Mina’s pointed finger over where you and Shouto sat, in the middle of your own world despite it being smack in the middle of the lecture. He scanned your bodies more intensely and froze at the sight of purple and red bruises on both your necks.

“Is that—?!”

“YES!!!”

“HOLY SHIT! WE CALLED IT!”

“Sero!” boomed the voice of Aizawa, their scariest professor ever. “Is there something you would like to share with the class?”

Sero freezes, an awkward smile blooming on his face as he shrugs, “I’m just noticing some hickies today, that’s all!”

There could have been no casualties in this admittance; after all, Aizawa didn’t give two shits about hickies on university students. But the loud, panicked “shit!” coming from you was undoubtedly damning.

Shouto snickered, his fingers tugging at the collar of your shirt as his fingers brushed against the collection of bruises, “I think they look nice.”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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laladellakang · 2 years

Text

Not Della Versus the Boys

masterlist | wattpad | requests / ask enhypen

2022.01.06

(italics dialogue = english)

requested!

della period episode

della unintentionally ignoring the boys

della vs the boys argument

della going to txt's dorm

della sleeping somewhere else and woke up in between jungwon and heeseung

woooooo lessgooo

Ah, it's that time of the month.

Or in my case, that time of the... couple of months- what?

Since the insertion of my IUD when I was seventeen, my period has almost completely stopped.

My last bleeding was literally just before I-Land, which has been over a year ago now.

My doctor said that it might stop completely and I was beginning to believe that it was my case but I guess my hormones still wanna act up. I'm glad I still kept emergency pads.

I've completely forgotten how painful it is.

More importantly, I forgot how sensitive it makes me.

Ever since last week, I've been crying a lot more on the smallest shit- it pisses me off a whole fucking lot.

The boys find it cute so they've been babying me a lot more. I guess they thought that it's a result of me opening up to them.

It was cute then, but it ain't cute now.

My period has officially started today. It hurts like shit and I'm extra fucking sensitive.

I'm lucky it came after school ended and I'm even more lucky that there's no work today.

I was planning on telling the boys after a hot shower, a hot drink, and a nap. I needed to recharge.

"Della, what is up with you? What did we do?" Jungwon asked when I just walked out of my room.

"Sorry, what?" my mind was still half asleep. I had an English dream so my mind can't process Korean right now.

"What happened to you? You've been ignoring us," Jay repeated. Oh everyone's in the living room.

"Wait- give me.. Wait.." I held a hand up and let myself zone out for a few seconds. "Okay, I'm awake. What were you saying?"

"What's the matter with you?! You've been ignoring us since you came home- what did we do?!" Heeseung exclaimed, making me jump a bit.

I have...? I didn't eat with them but I didn't think that was 'ignoring.'

"No I haven't-"

"You have!" Jungwon cut me off.

"Guys, I didn't mean to ignore you. I've just been- I'm not at my best, okay? Not today," I sighed, running a hand through my bangs.

"Why? Why won't you talk to us?" Jungwon asked.

"Do you still not trust us or something?" Heeseung sighed.

Okay, hold the fuck up.

"Of course I trust you. Why would you-"

"Then why won't you tell us?!" Heeseung exclaimed again.

"I was going to! I just wanted to take a shower first, drink tea, take a nap-"

"You didn't even eat with us! You dismissed us so easily earlier," oh so Heewon is steering this conversation.

It's rare seeing them like this. They're usually more calm when we argue. The only time they're like this is when they're arguing with the other boys, but never with me.

"I'm sorry, guys. I really am. You guys didn't do anything. I'm just not at my best, I'm on my period."

"How are you on your period?" "That doesn't excuse you ignoring us." Jungwon and Heeseung said at the same time.

I'm sorry, what?

The two looked at each other in surprise while the rest of the boys looked like they were ready to fight the two.

Guess the other five aren't mad at me anymore.

My calm conscience is telling me that they don't understand, that they don't know. Jungwon is a seventeen-year-old who knows nothing about IUDs and Heeseung doesn't have a sister.

But my sensitive, hormonal conscience is way too strong right now.

I scoffed with a sarcastic smile, looking away a bit with a small eyebrow raise.

"Del-"

"I want to be alone right now, okay?" I smiled. "No one come after me."

"Uhh.. oppa? I'm outside your dorm."

After a few seconds, the door opened to reveal a confused-looking Yeonjun.

"Bye, unnie. Thanks for taking me," I waved at Yunji when I stepped through the door.

"Have fun and tell me when you want to get picked up, okay?"

"Okay! Bye, be careful! Sorry for the fuss," I waved again.

"Aish, I'm the one who's sorry for being busy- take care of her, yeah? Yeonjun-ah?"

"We will. Thank you, noona," Yeonjun smiled before shutting the door. "Guys! Della's here!"

The two of us made our way to Yeonjun's room with the four members joining soon after.

"I know we said that you can come over whenever but what happened?" Beomgyu asked, sitting beside me on the bed.

"We got into a fight- well.. I guess I've automatically made up with the others but Heeseung and Jungwon..." I folded myself with a groan. "I'm on my period and they said shit that offended me. It's too much for my sensitive ass right now."

"Can I ask what did they say?" Kai sounded like he was being really careful. He's so sweet.

"Jungwon said 'how are you on your period?'- I have a device that helps pause my period so I haven't had it in over a year- and Heeseung said that me being on my period doesn't excuse me ignoring them," I sighed, sitting back up.

"Oh wow," Soobin mumbled. "Wait do you want warm tea? Are you hurting?" Ah Soobin..

"Thanks a lot oppa, but I'm okay for now," I smiled at him. "I feel horrible. I shouldn't be pissed. I know that they didn't mean to offend me so I just needed to get away or I might say something I'll regret."

"Heeseung said you've never gotten mad at them before," Beomgyu said.

"Annoyed yeah, mad no. It's not my thing," I shrugged.

"You're so chill, it's crazy," Yeonjun chuckled, pushing my head a little.

"But when she's actually annoyed at something like at the company or mean comments for example-" Beomgyu's comment was followed by a chorus of 'woo's. "Scaryy."

"You know- you would've suited with us really well!" Kai exclaimed. "Ahh she should've debuted with us!"

"That would've been so cool," Taehyun looked at him with wide eyes. "Yo! Imagine!"

"It would've been cool but guys- our maknae and only female member date all seven members of Enhypen? Are you serious?" Yeonjun asked with raised eyebrows, causing us to laugh.

"Anyway, Della. You shouldn't dismiss your feelings like that, you know? You're annoyed and it's okay," Yeonjun assured. "I would've been so mad, whether I was on my period or no," the other four made sounds of agreements.

"Arguments and all that are a part of relationships. It's okay to get mad or annoyed. It just shows that you care," Taehyun added.

Ugh, these two and their relationship advices.

"It's us versus the problem not me versus them," I mumbled while playing with my necklace.

"Oh wow! Write that down! We have to remember that!" Kai's eyes widened while Taehyun immediately opened the notes app on his phone to type the 'quote.'

"Us versus the problem..." Soobin nodded slowly.

"I'm sure Heeseung and Jungwon really regret what they said but I'm also sure that you already know that," Yeonjun continued.

"So what's your point, hyung?" Beomgyu asked.

"My point is.." he took a deep breath. "They all love you."

All of us stayed quiet for a few seconds before Taehyun spoke up.

"This is why you don't have a girlfriend."

I didn't go back to the dorm that night. Yeonjun suggested for me to push their buttons a bit. I slept on Soobin's bed while he slept with Yeonjun.

I would've slept on the couch if they had one.

Kai and Taehyun also went to fetch me some pads and a toothbrush from the store. These guys are so cute.

I told Jake where I was and even though the boys were upset, Jake, Sunghoon and Sunoo advised for me to stay here.

In Jake's words; 'Provoke them lmao.'

It worked a little too well.

Because I woke up in between two bodies, Yang Jungwon and Lee Heeseung's.

It's not the first time I slept with two of the boys but Soobin's bed is not as wide as mine so it's.. fairly cramped.

Both of them were still asleep, with Heeseung spooning me and Jungwon's legs tangled with mine. My gut tells me that it's still dark out.

How did they manage to join without waking me up?

I shifted my position so I would face Heeseung, causing the two to awake.

"Lala," he whined while tightening his hold on me. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to dismiss your feelings. I was worried and scared and it got to my head and I know it's not an excuse and I kno-" I cut his ramble off with a kiss.

"I forgive you. I'm sorry for worrying you and I'm sorry for ignori-" this time, he was the one who cut me off with a kiss.

We stayed that way for a while before I pulled away when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry too, Lala. I didn't understand and before that, I was worried and confused and afraid because you've never been like that before and..." I waited for him to continue. "Why are you not stopping me like Heeseung-hyung?" he whined.

Heeseung and I laughed before I turned around to give the younger a kiss as well.

"Better?" I raised an eyebrow when I pulled away. "I'm sorry too, Wonie-" and he cut me off. Just like Heeseung.

"The others said sorry too, by the way," Heeseung mumbled against my shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you," Jungwon pulled away to tell me.

"I love you both, so much," I held both of their faces. "I can never be mad at you guys," the three of us adjusted our positions in a way where we could comfortably cuddle.

"By the way, Wonie- I know you guys are the Twinz but why are you two twinning so much today?"

taglist! @hoonstrology @jaetint @afiaaaa19 @1-800-enhypenbibi @studioreader @woopetals @sarang-wonie @sleepyenhasasha @ilyxion @toriluvsfics @i90snoo @fairydosii @danyxthirstae01 @seulgifted @clar-iii @hiqhkey

#kang della #8th member of enhypen #enhypen 8th member #enhypen added member #enhypen eigth member #enhypen female addition #enhypen female member #enhypen ff #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen x oc #enhypen female oc #enhypen oc #enhypen poly fic #enhypen poly #kpop oc #kpop added member

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venusvity · 2 years

Photo

— TITLE :: TOO YOUNG FOR THIS

— CHARACTERS :: KANG JIAH, SUZUKI AKIKO, KANG YEAWON, SUZUKI KOJI.

— WARNINGS :: None! Just kinda sad. Deals with minors going into the entertainment industry.

— WORDCOUNT :: 2k

— SUMMARY :: In which, you can’t stop the cycle unless you’re spinning the wheel.

— PLAYLIST !

SOFTCORE by THE NEIGHBORHOOD

WHEN THE PARTY’S OVER by BILLIE EILLISH

FOURTH OF JULY by SUFJAN STEVENS

Aki and Jiah sat silently in Jinhwa’s office, both with disgruntled looks on their faces.

“He’s only seventeen,” Aki says, unenthused by the plans her boss just told her. Jinhwa cocks a brow.

“Okay? Taemin debuted at 14.”

“He’s not Taemin. He’s only been training for three months,” Aki argues, looking at Jinhwa like he’s stupid. He has to think this is a good idea. The man shrugs.

“SKE48 debuted a ten-year-old after a month of training,” He says like Aki is the stupid one here, “She’s doing fine. By AKB standards, he’s late. He’ll do fine,” Jinhwa concludes, tapping the girl’s schedule with his pen. “You need to be at their debut showcase. Two Venus members would be great exposure for them–”

“You can’t be serious,” Aki interjects, still bewildered that this is actually happening.

When Aki brought Koji to Korea to start training, she warned him it would take a while for him to debut. Jinhwa rarely took in boy trainees and the boy trainees he has have been collecting dust for years now, only leaving when it’s too obvious that their debut is never happening for them to believe Jinhwa’s lies anymore.

So, when Koji came running to her to tell her he’s going to debut just three months after he started training, Aki was more than skeptical. Then he told her Jinhwa’s master plan of a “Jpop group based in Korea” and how great it would be because they wouldn’t be far from each other and he’d still be able to visit Japan sometimes.

It all sounded too good to be true.

That’s how it always was with Jinhwa.

“Of course I am. Japan loves you two the most,” He waves his pen between the two girls, brows raised. “So, they’ll love your siblings just as much. It makes sense.”

“You don’t have another Japanese trainee you could debut? It has to be Koji? I just don’t think–”

“He’s not going to debut in Cicada,” Jinhwa being the one to interrupt now, sighing through his annoyance. “And that’s the only boy group I plan on debuting for the next five years. It’s either now or never for him,” Jinhwa’s words make Aki swallow, looking away from him with a deep breath through her nose. Her jaw clenches as she crosses her arms across her chest. She isn’t going to win this fight no matter how much she fights it.

She either ruins her brother’s only chance to debut or she lets him rot in Angelico’s basement. She doesn’t win, Koji doesn’t win, no one wins except Jinhwa.

You’d think she’d be used to this game by now but she still tries to fight it every chance she gets.

“It’s at four o’clock tomorrow. Minjun will drive you two there,” Jinhwa concludes, tapping his pen on the desk as he does so. “See ya then.”

That means the meeting is over. No more words can be spoken. If Jinhwa is done, everyone is done.

Jiah stands up without missing a beat, quickly walking out of the office with her head down, leaving Aki sitting alone in Jinhwa’s office for a few beats as she gathers her thoughts. Silently, Aki gets up and leaves as well, trailing behind Jiah who’s walking so fast it’s bordering on a jog.

Aki can hear a sniffle when she gets closer, causing her to reach out and grab Jiah’s sweater, making her stop.

“Jiah,” Aki says sternly as the girl keeps her back towards the elder, bringing her sleeves to her eyes. Aki’s brows knit, pulling her gently towards her. Jiah takes a deep breath, putting her head down as she uses her palms to cover her face.

“She’s only sixteen,” Jiah whispers, keeping her face covered. She’s holding back tears, her voice shaking and from the part, Aki can see, her bottom lip is quivering. “She’s so excited but she has no idea what’s about to happen,” Jiah whimpers, a bubbling sob leaving her lips when she finishes her sentence, causing Aki to wrap her arms around her tightly.

Jiah silently wraps her arms around Aki, letting out another sob.

“I don't want her to go through what I went through, Kiko,” Jiah says quietly, pressing her face into the elder’s shoulder. Aki sighs through her nose, holding the girl tightly to her chest, putting her hand on the back of her head to run her hand soothingly over her silky hair. Jiah’s debut was rough, with many people criticizing her for any flaw they could get their hands on. She was only sixteen when Venus debuted. Aki remembers the comments got so bad, it was advised Jiah not to read them when they were on live. The other girls had to pick out the nice ones to tell her.

It did a number on her, that’s for sure. This career has taken a toll on Jiah, a much bigger one than most of them except Yoonah.

No one’s been able to top the effect the industry has had on Yoonah.

Aki can only hope it stays that way.

Jiah plays with Yeawon’s bleached hair as her little sister sits in a makeup chair, reading over a “Japanese for dummies” book, quietly saying the phrases to herself.

She doesn’t speak a word of Japanese fluently. Jiah knows that. Everyone knows that. That’s why Koji sits on the counter in front of her, helping her.

“Hi, my name is,” Koji says in Japanese, slowly. Yeawon listens closely, her doe eyes watching him.

“Hi, my name is Yeawon!” Yeawon says her tone is so cheerful for such broken Japanese. She looks up at Koji hopefully, smiling brightly. Koji gives a half-smile and a thumbs up, he and Jiah make brief eye contact to silently express how bad that sounded but they don’t say that especially with how excited Yeawon looks.

“Good job! You’re getting better,” Koji says with a smile, “If you need any help just squeeze my arm,” Koji smiles as he hops off the counter, causing Jiah to look up, her and her sister locking eyes for a few seconds, smiling knowingly at one another as the boy grabs his water bottle from the countertop.

“I’ll see you backstage, Wonnie,” Koji says, giving the two girls a wave as he walks out. The two girls give quiet goodbyes. Jiah closely watches her sister sink into her seat, a bright smile on her face and her full cheeks lighting up.

Yeawon is so cute, Jiah thinks as she continues to play with her sister’s hair.

“You think he’s cute?” Jiah teases, causing Yeawon to look back at her, head jerking back at her with a bright smile.

“Is it that obvious?” She giggles, causing Jiah to smile and give Yeawon’s shoulder a small shake.

This is a usual moment between the sisters. They tease each other, talk about boys, laugh, and do each other’s hair. There was something different about this time though, they’re not in Yeawon’s bedroom or their family’s home. They’re backstage, prepping for Yeawon’s too early debut that makes Jiah feel like throwing up.

Jiah takes a deep breath, running a hand through her sister’s hair again.

“You think you’re actually ready for this?” Jiah asks. Yeawon looks up at her older sister, nodding.

“Yeah! You debuted around this age. We’ve trained the same amount time, basically,” Yeawon says, causing Jiah to make a face.

“I trained for five years, Wonnie,” Jiah clarifies, “You’ve trained for two.”

“Yeah! But, like, I don’t know. I’m ready!” Yeawon says in that cute yet whiny voice, causing Jiah to roll her eyes playfully, forcing the softest of smiles just to save her sister’s feelings from getting hurt.

“Plus, Koji will help with Japanese. That’s all I’m worried about,” Yeawon explains. Jiah raises her brows, nodding.

“People aren’t going to be nice. Especially to you,” Jiah says simply, causing Yeawon to look up at Jiah with knitted brows, worried. “They’ll see me in you and nobody likes me–”

“That’s not true, Klara. People love you. You’re the nation’s little sister.” Yeawon says sweetly. Jiah sighs through her nose at that title, shaking her head.

“It’s not going to be easy, Yeawon. I just want you to get that,” Jiah flatly tells her, causing Yeawon to blink a few times before nodding, swallowing.

“Okay,” The younger says with a stiff nod, swallowing. “Okay. I get it.”

Jiah gives her sister a weak smile, reaching down and taking her hand into hers.

She wishes she didn’t have to get it.

Aki stands with her brother backstage, watching him pace back and forth, nervous.

“Should I go over it again?” Koji asks, stopping his pacing to look at his sister, who leans against a wall, nodding. Koji doesn’t wait for verbal affirmation, bowing to his sister at a 90-degree angle.

“Hello! I’m run free’s youngest, Koji! It’s great to be here!” He says in what Aki likes to call the “idol voice” which Koji seems to be able to put on naturally. Aki won’t kid herself and say she thinks he’s ready for this life because he’s not, no one his age really is, but Koji specifically isn’t. With only months of training under his belt, she knows the internet will chew him up and spit him out once they stop thinking he’s cute.

She still smiles, nodding before pointing her finger at him, waving it up and down his figure.

“Don’t bow so low though. It looks too much,” Aki advises, causing him to nod, looking at his sister with a small smile.

“I’m excited,” He says softly. Aki feels her chest get tight, but she keeps the same supportive smile that’s she’s been wearing all day on, nodding.

“It’s exciting,” Aki replies, “Just…It’ll get hard. You can’t give up.”

Koji shakes his head.

“I won’t. I’ll make you proud,” Koji tells her with an enthusiastic nod. That only makes Aki’s chest tighter. She clears her throat, putting her hand on his shoulder as she pushes herself off the wall.

“You always have,” Aki says simply, pulling him into a tight hug. Koji immediately hugs her back, holding her just as tight.

She knows she’ll have to let him go. That it’s almost time for him to go on stage and make his debut, but she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to let him go, knowing once she does he’ll be on his own in this complicated and dangerous jungle. There are so many things she wants to tell him: She wants to tell him to smile a lot because if he doesn’t people will think he’s a bitch. She wants to tell him to never look himself up on Twitter. She wants to tell him to never stop smiling when he interacts with other groups or people will start rumors about him hating people he hardly knows. She wants to tell him to never let the mask fall or they’ll never let him forget it.

But she can’t sour it. She can’t do that to him.

She swallows the lump in her throat before pulling away, taking his face in her hands and giving him a proud smile, squeezing his cheeks. Koji laughs, putting his hands over hers for a few beats before her hands drop, hitting his arms.

“You got this,” She says with a nod, “Go blow their minds.”

Koji gives her a nod, hitting her arms as well before running off towards where the rest of his group stands, all looking nervous and anxious to get on stage.

Aki watches for a few beats before looking down.

She can’t shake the feeling of dread in her gut.

#╰ * VENUS : scenarios ⧽ burn it to the ground .#aes!ocnet #deluxeoc #idol oc #fictional idol community #idolverse #kpop oc #kpop fanfic #oc kpop group #kpop au #idol au #kpop addition #bts addition

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

Love Story

Draco X Reader

Request: @dracofeltonmalfoy: your heart breaks at seventeen when you realize that Draco doesn’t love you enough to not marry his betrothed, Astoria. It’s years later and though you’re still hesitant and bitter about what occurred, you still answer the call that Ginny makes to you to help Draco.

A/n: Look at me posting!! And during midterm week no less!! Thank you so much for this request! (I promise I’m getting to the rest of them). And can I say that I am in love with grown up Draco? Like yes ma’am I’ll take them all. Maturity is attractive. Let me know what you think! I love y’all so much.

“You don’t understand,” Draco paced the small room. “I have to marry her,”

“Sure,” I spat. “Marry Astoria. I don’t give a damn anymore Malfoy,” I hadn’t used his last name in such a malice tone in years. I could see the effect that it had on him, his face fell.

“Don’t say that,” He begged softly, “Please, I love you,”

“But not enough,” I raised an eyebrow at him. “What happened to everything that we planned? All of the things you promised me? Where did that Draco go?” My voice became thick with tears. “No, you’re so paranoid about your reputation... I’m not waiting around for you to figure out who you want or who you want to follow. I don’t care.” A heavy silence and I had decided. “Have a nice life, Draco.”

“Y/n,” He called as I stood to leave.

“No,” I snapped. “Just... no. I deserve more than this.”

“I know,” He confessed in a small voice.

That was the last time I spoke to Draco Malfoy in years. At first, I was okay with it. I felt free. I had moved on, found someone new that made what he did to me hurt a bit less. It wasn’t the same, nor what I felt when I was with Draco, but it was enough for the moment. He didn’t last long, and my heart still waited for Draco on some nights, but I had grown up. I had grown confident. I was independent. I didn’t need anyone to tell me they loved me because I loved me. And that was enough. I had healed from having to walk away or face being cut off forever.

I assumed that Draco was happy. His union with Astoria was in the paper. The invitation I received was burned. Why he’d think to invite me left me aggravated and loathing him more than before. But that night I was weak. I cried for Draco Malfoy that night. I almost went. But I refrained. I knew nothing would change even if I did go, so I’d rather be left wondering than left crushed.

The next time I saw Draco’s name in the paper, it was splashed across the front page. A scandal that Skeeter couldn’t wait to publish and get her hands on. Astoria Malfoy caught in an affair with Blaise Zabini. I saw Draco’s stoic face, and though the image moved, and the small child in his arms squirmed, he remained static. I threw the paper down because though it was just a photograph, his eyes still bore into mine, in the same pleading look that he gave me before I left him. I wonder if he knew that I see the photo.

I wonder if he knew that I still loved him even after all these years.

And I had no intention of crossing paths with him. Though I thought about it. A lot. And maybe I had actually written the letter before I burned it... but I decided that no. I was not interfering with his life.

I just never thought that he’d interfere with mine. Well, Harry interfered with my life. Well, Ginny did.

Ginny and I got lunch every once in a while, to catch up along with Hermione. Now that our Hogwarts days and the war was over, an amity fell between the three of us. And it was nice to see some old faces that didn’t cause my heart to rabbit trail into painful memories.

It was a phone call that I had gotten that interfered with my quaint Friday night.

“Are you in town?” Ginny’s voice sounded strained and frantic.

“Yes, why?” I set down my book, standing.

“Can you come over? We... have a situation...” She voiced.

“What sort of situation?” I pressed, going looking for my shoes and cloak. “Harry just did a spell wrong and now he can’t speak English situation or Ron and Harry tried to do something stupid on their brooms and need medical attention sort of situation?” I teased lightly.

“It relates more to the former...” Ginny sounded almost hesitant to give me details. Her voice was suddenly far from the receiver and muffled. “No, Scorpius, put that down! Harry! No don’t encourage him!” That caught my attention.

“Ginny, what in Merlin’s name!?” I demanded.

“Please just get over here, you were better than we were at potions,”

“Ginny,” I baited.

“Thank you!” Was all she got out and I heard a crash before the line disconnected.

Utterly shocked and standing in deafening silence I let out a frustrated growl. After grabbing my carpet bag of miscellaneous counter curses, antidotes, and talismans I took the Floo network to the Potter’s.

And the sight before me was something that I would not have ever imagined. Draco was slung over Harry’s shoulder, looking intoxicated and completely out of it. Nothing like the cold refined man that I knew him to be. Then Scorpius was running around with Albus all trying to be corralled by James and Ginny while Lily laughed in the background, sitting on the counters.

Deciding that Harry could help with the children more than I could, I rushed to his side and took Draco off his hands, supporting him.

“What’s wrong with him?” I bit out, watching as Harry scooped up Albus as Ginny swooped in and caught Scorpius.

“Nothing, well, he’s been drugged but we’re sure it should wear off in a few hours.” Harry appeased, almost nonchalant.

“Drugged?” I demanded, leading Draco to a well-loved recliner.

“I’m finnnnne,” Draco slurred, his fine blond hair hanging into his eyes in a complete mess. “You have such pretty eyes Y/n,” Draco’s head lulled back against the recliner back as his half- opened eyes gazed into mine.

“Yeah, okay,” I smiled sweetly and gave an alarming look to Ginny—Harry having disappeared into the house with the three other children. “You’ve got to be bloody joking,” I hissed, nearing her.

“I know! Harry was filming him. You should have heard him on the way over. Wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“Get him upstairs.” I begged, exasperated and rubbing my face. “I’m going to find Harry.”

“What? Why?” Ginny’s eyebrows furrowed as she set Scorpius down now that he was calmed with the lack of the other children.

“Because no one makes fun of Draco!” I shouted, not realizing the depth of my words, or how much I sounded like I did back at Hogwarts... when Draco loved me.

Ginny and I both seemed to grasp this as I went red and sighed, going to find Harry. After throwing his phone out the third-floor window, I headed back down a level to where Ginny had taken Draco to a spare room. I found Draco asleep in the bed and Ginny leaning against the doorjamb.

“He’s still asking for you,” Ginny muttered. “He wants to know where the ‘fairest maiden has gone and when will she return’” She raised an eyebrow at me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned, distressed. “How am I supposed to deal with him like this?”

“You probably know better than any of us.” Ginny pointed out. “Isn’t there a counter curse? Or something that you have or know?”

“In all my years I’ve seen nothing close to this. It’s like he’s drunk and on Veritaserum and Amorentia and believe me there is no legal potion out there with that sort of affect.”

“So... what do we do with him?” She asked.

“Wait it out? That’s all I know to do.” I paused. “I’ll stick around and make sure he doesn’t start to die or anything... but I can’t fix him,”

Ginny nodded and gave me a pity look. “Are you going to be okay?”

“That is not the question to ask right now,” I muttered, shrugging off my cloak. “Go on up to Harry and your little ones. Make sure Scorpius is alright, I’ll look after him,”

“If you need anything,” She baited.

“I’ll call,” I smiled.

Alone in the room, I sighed and stared at him before heading to the edge of the bed and sitting gently on the edge.

“Draco?” I asked softly, trying to hide the hurt that sparked in my chest.

“Y/n, my fair maiden,” He slurred, trying to get up.

“No, no, you need to lie down,” I scolded, pushing him back down, pressing my hand to his forehead—he didn’t have a fever.

“As my lady commands.” He mumbled, causing me to withdraw my touch.

“Don’t.” I inhaled sharply. “You need to sleep Draco. You need to get better.”

“I’m already better with you here,” A dopey smile crossed his face.

“Oh my god Draco!” I snapped, standing, pacing the small room. “Stop saying things like that! You don’t mean them, and I don’t want to hear it!”

When I didn’t get a response from him, I looked over and he was fast asleep at an awkward angle. Sighing, I brushed the stray strands of silky hair from his face and slowly righted him, taking off his shoes and socks positioning him in the center of the bed. After I laid a blanket over him, I sat in the lone chair that was in his room and taking my book from my bag, started again.

It neared eleven at night, and he still hadn’t woken back up. My book finished, I sighed again and stood, stretching. Leaving his room, I saw Harry nodding off in his chair downstairs, Scorpius in his arms, also asleep.

“To bed with you,” I smiled, helping him up.

“Draco?”

“Still asleep.” I informed. “I’m gonna change and I’ll be back to watch him.”

_______________________

Draco blinked, his head pounding, trying to keep up with the blurred image around him. The first thing he noticed was the blanket over him and his shoes were gone and that you were asleep in the chair next to his bed and this bed was most certainly not his—neither were you for that matter. His memory was fuzzy, and he didn’t remember much, and he didn’t like not remembering.

In an attempt to get up, he woke you, not sure why some part of him cared. He didn’t ask to be taken care of like a child. He processed that he was at the Potter’s for some godforsaken reason, and that you were next to him. Some part of him wished he was just having a really awful nightmare.

“Draco?” You asked sleepily.

Who else would it be?

“Yes,” He spoke quietly.

“Are you... you again?” You mumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He snapped, defensive that you were there, or anywhere near him. The nightmare continued.

“You were drugged... were acting weird for a while... I had to throw Harry’s phone out a window.” Your words made some sense... except the last part.

“Why would you do that?” He mused, enjoying your half-asleep state.

“He recorded you... was making fun of you... wasn’t right...” You stretched and rubbed your face yawning.

“I see,” There was a pang in his heart at your words. Something reminiscent in them. Maybe this wasn’t a nightmare after all.

You nodded and stood, staggering slightly. “How long have you been there?”

“What time is it?” You asked weakly.

“Five in the morning,”

“Mhmm... twelve hours? Finished my book.” You gestured vaguely and yawned again. “M’gonna head back home.”

You started to walk towards the door and almost fell. He was there to catch you though. Your hands clutched at his shirt, running the fabric through your fingertips.

“Okay, yeah. You’re going to stay right here,” Draco muttered. “Because I am not dragging you down those stairs or back home.”

“I’m fine, I’ll get Ginny to take me home,” You yawned gesturing vaguely, your eyes still didn’t open all the way.

“No, you’re not. You’re sleep deprived, and whereas I can handle it, you can’t.” However long he had been asleep—twelve hours apparently—had given him enough rest to be completely awake and alert.

“You’re bossy.”

He chuckled at your sleep ridden words and moved you to his bed, tucking you under the blanket he had been under. You smiled and inhaled them deeply, relaxing instantly. He wondered why you thought of him as a reason to relax.

When he got up to leave, your eyes opened partly.

“Where are you going? You need to rest more. You were drugged.”

“I’ve dealt with worse drugs Y/n,”

“Mmm I don’t think you’ve ever been like that. I’ve seen you high and drunk and that was... something else.” You mumbled. “Please rest Draco. Stay with me and sleep.”

Your words were like daggers to his heart. Were you aware that you were saying them? Surely you couldn’t be, because surely you wouldn’t ever mean them. It had been too long since you ever murmured those words.

“Am I not allowed to find to where my son has gone?” He mused, knowing you’d let him go for that and then be too far into sleep to notice that he didn’t come back.

You hummed in agreement he supposed. Just as he went to close the door, he heard you jumbled words again.

“Why would you say that?” There was hurt and confusion in your tone. “Why would you...?”

Not knowing whatever that was about, Draco closed the door softly behind him and sighed. He felt disgusting. He wanted nothing more than a warm bath and some fresh clothes and for Merlin’s sake a comb. But those things would have to wait, because bright blue eyes blinked up in the early morning as they always did.

“Good morning my little birdie,” Draco smiled, pulling Scorpius into his arms. “Quite a change of scenery here isn’t it?” He mused, to a nodding giggling Scorpius.

“Draco, you’re awake,” The tired voice belonged to Ginny, who sounded surprised even in her weary state.

“I am,” A quiet pause. “Thank you... I’m not quite sure what happened last night but...”

“Do you have any memory at all?” Ginny asked, taking out a jar of applesauce, setting a bowl and spoon for Scorpius.

“I... no. I was at the Gala, next thing I know, I wake up and Y/n is asking if I’m me again,” Draco thanked her and began to spoon feed Scorpius the apple puree.

“Are you, you?” Ginny asked, leaning against the counter before setting off to brew a pot of coffee.

“Quite,” He clipped. “What does that even mean? What happened last night?”

Unbridled terror set in Draco’s chest as Ginny recounted the night back to him. The only thing that kept him from breaking something was the toddler in his arms, clinging to him.

“I... I was asking for Y/n?” Draco asked, his voice shaking.

“Honey, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say even intoxicated and drugged, you knew she’d be there for you,” Ginny raised her eyebrow at him. “You wanna explain that?”

Draco shot her a cold look and went back to aiding Scorpius eat. Maybe that had been why you asked why he would say something like that... and that was a valid and honest question: why would he? He had gotten over you. That was that. He moved on.

Not that he loved Astoria. No, he could never see her as more than someone who drove you away from him. And perhaps that was the reason behind her affair. Maybe it was because she knew that he didn’t love her, and she didn’t love him. Some part of him wished that she had just been honest with him... then it wouldn’t be such gossip in the Wizarding World. They could have divorced and gone on their own ways. But perhaps not. The marriage was arranged. It would take more than a divorce to end it. Perhaps the scandal was for the best after all.

“Thank you for your hospitality, but I’m afraid I have to go,” Draco said softly.

“Draco,” Ginny chided. “You can’t just leave her here,”

“I can do as I please,” Draco snapped harshly before remembering himself. “Thank you, once more,”

Draco only hesitated when he went to fetch his shoes from the spare room, and caught sight of you sleeping soundly, a soft smile on your face. Something in his chest distorted a bit more.

_________________________

I woke in the late morning, semi remembering why I was at Ginny’s, then it all came flooding back. I didn’t even have to ask where Draco had gone because I knew he had gone. I knew he’d leave at the first chance he’d get.

Apologizing and thanking Ginny, I headed back home to shower and don clean clothes. Ginny gave me a worried look and said to call if I needed anything. I assured her I was fine and wasn’t going to have an emotional breakdown. Crying while I showered meant nothing.

I was fine.

Monday at work, Harry found me in the staff room fixing a cup of tea.

“You’re going to have to talk to him eventually,” Harry nudged my shoulder as we stood at the mini coffee bar, not even having to specify who he thought I should speak to.

“I’m not gonna follow him around like a lost puppy Harry, I’m done with that.” I shifted the weight on my feet. “He’s grown, he can handle himself,”

“Well I get that, but you can... act human at least. You’re shutting him out completely.” Harry pointed out. “And I don’t think either of you want that,”

“I wouldn’t know what he wanted,” I sighed in vain. “It’s not that easy Harry,” I pressed, cradling my mug in my hands. “I haven’t worried about him before, why should I now?”

“Because when he was drugged all he could do was ask for you and you dropped everything to make sure he was alright and slept in a chair for a night to keep an eye on him?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“And maybe it was the drug and maybe I’m a decent person,” I refuted.

“All I’m saying I’ve been his work partner for a better half of five years and I’ve never seen him like this. He’s shutting everyone else out since the affair... everyone but you,” Harry’s green eyes reaffirmed his words.

I stared at my tea and didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to believe Harry’s words. I didn’t want to entertain the idea that maybe there was something left between Draco and I. But no matter how much I didn’t want to, I still thought about it all day during work, despite my best efforts.

How fitting it was that it was raining as I stepped onto the London street. Typical of London, no doubt, but it seemed as a sign all the same. Going to cast a shielding charm I froze when I saw in my peripheral pale skin and near white hair. I tried not to pay him any mind, but it seemed that whatever intentions I had were stopped by the words Harry had said earlier. My eyes wandered out to the city streets as rain started to fall slightly harder.

“Y/n?” Draco called my attention, his use of my name barely having any life in it.

“Yes?” I tore my attention away from the view.

“It’s raining,”

“Stellar observation,” I commented, remembering my shielding charm, creating an umbrella over me.

“Perhaps you would like to get out of it?” His voice was hesitant. “I suppose I do owe you for Friday night,”

That caught my attention and I finally turned to look at him. His was reserved, guarded. Yet there was something in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. A hope. A wish. A fantasy that I had written myself out of.

“You don’t owe me anything,” I finally whispered.

A sad sort of smile played at his lips. His eyes still didn’t leave mine as if we were transfixed on another, the stars wishing us to remain connected.

Screw the stars.

“Have a nice evening,” I ushered out before Apparating back home.

It was that night that I gave in. For the first time in almost ten years I gave in. There was a small fabric box tucked into my closet, collecting dust. Green and black with silver engravings. Tears streaming down my face, I sat on my bedroom floor and opened it.

It was every letter he wrote me. I should have burned them long ago, but I never did.

My Dearest, Y/n,

In the midst of this darkness, you are the only light I need. I’d face a world full of demons for the sake of you, my angel. I know it is dark now, and this path isn’t ideal, but I will fight for you, I will fight with you. Stand by my side my dearest angel. Be the fairytale maiden in this narrative and let me be your hero. I’ll never leave you, my love. And when morning light comes, I shall be in your arms again and my world will be complete.

Look after my heart, I’ve left it with you,

Your Draco

My Beloved, Y/n,

Do you know what my paradise would be? You and me, away from it all. Free and able to love and live freely. Rainy days and warm cups of tea. Even without a fire to keep us warm, the warmth of your smile will keep me from freezing even on the coldest night. And though it may be nothing more than you reading a book or watching the sun rise, you’d be my goddess, the reason I existed, the one that I praised and prayed to each morning and evening. My paradise would be you and I, in a heaven of our own when I could worship you in every way, in every language known to man.

Your Draco

My Darling, Y/n,

How this summer grows longer with every day that passes. I wish that I weren’t away in Paris having to accompany my parents. I’d much rather be in your arms. And each night I watch the stars and the moon, knowing that you are doing the same. We are watching the same moon after all, no matter how far apart we are. That gives me more hope that you are true, and not a dream that I’ve let run wild.

And just as the night that I could not see the moon because of the clouds, I know that even now, though I do not see you, I know you are still there and that you still love me. You are my moon, my darling. You are my stars, my night sky. You hold every bit of majesty and wonder as they do.

I shall be back soon my love,

Your Draco

Though the pile of unread letters was still tall, my vision was blurred by tears and heart wrenching sobs that broke from my chest. Hugging my knees and hiding my face in my arms, I wept. For the first time in years, I let myself mourn Draco Malfoy. For the love that I had for him. For the love that we shared. For the boy I knew in Hogwarts and for the man I resented. For the Draco Malfoy that called to me while drugged and inebriated. For the Draco Malfoy who had tried to make amends. For the Draco Malfoy I had turned down.

I mourned the girl in the mirror as well. For her broken jaded heart. For the years she spent alone and in denial. I mourned the girl who would still do anything for him if he’d only ask. I mourned the girl who was tired of trying to be strong on her own. I mourned the girl who craved companionship even though she was confident in herself.

I cried for the lovers in the letters. I held them close to my chest and cried. Tears dripped off of my cheeks and onto the faded aged parchment. Senseless words left my lips as I tried to rationalize these emotions. As I tried to make sense of this feeling—something that I had neglected for too long.

The hour was late as my fire burned lower and lower in my hearth. I sat curled up under a blanket on the floor with a mug of tea. Watching the flames, I let myself reminisce about the past. About Draco. About what could have been. A small smile lingered on my lips as gentle tears fell occasionally.

The rest of the week, I didn’t run into Draco. Not that I sought him out. Or that our departments ever crossed. Or that I cared.

I did however run into a former Malfoy in Diagon Alley a week after having to babysit Draco.

“Astoria,” my voice was calm and gentle as rage lurked beneath.

“Y/n,” she seemed almost happy to see me as she came forward to hug me. My cold step back stopped her, her eyes finding my judgemental gaze. Her demeanor changed.

“Of all the people I know, I thought you’d understand,” her voice was guarded and hurt.

“Thought I’d understand?” I nearly gasped, surprised at my anger towards her. “I know Draco like I know my own mind. I hope you’re happy because you’ll never find someone that trusting and kind again.” Our glares combatted another as tension grew between us.

“You walked out on him same as I did.” She accused. “Who do you think had to pick him up from that?” Her words were sharp as I took a breath in.

“I walked away because he had to marry you!” I snarled. “I’d never walk out on him if I had another choice!” We were starting to draw attention of passersby. I didn’t really care. “I chose his happiness over mine,”

“Oh really?” She didn’t seem convinced.

“I chose your happiness over mine, even.” I realized. “He had to get married. He had to marry rich. A pureblood. Someone his parents approved of. He desperately wanted their approval...” my voice fell as the memories came flooding back. “That made him happy back then, doing what he thought was right...”

“You should be thanking me then!” Astoria exasperated. “I gave him his happiness!”

“Are you serious?” I demanded. “You broke his heart! You left him with a child alone! You publicly humiliated him! In clearing your name from the Malfoy’s you’ve ruined his life! And you think he’s happy now!?”

“How about we ask him?” She countered; her gaze fixed on someone in the distance.

I whirled around, meeting curious jaded blue eyes as he strolled down the lane.

“Draco,” The soft gasp left my lips.

“What’s the meaning of this?” His voice was calm despite the firmness it held as he addressed me, not Astoria.

“Nothing,” I answered softly. “It’s nothing,”

“Sure, defend his honor and call it nothing,” Astoria sneered.

“You don’t get to talk,” I snapped, turning back to her. “You’ve done enough.”

“Y/n,” Draco chided softly, taking a place beside me. “I can handle this,”

“Draco,” I argued, looking up at him only to be silenced by a steady pleasing gaze from his eyes.

“Astoria,” He finally greeted, and I could see his guard go up. There was a warning in his single word and something passed between them.

“Draco,” She nodded then turned to leave without another word. He went to leave as well, and I caught his arm.

“Draco, hang on,” I called.

As he faced me, a sadness lingered in his eyes. I wondered about Harry’s words and how he was shutting everyone out. Everyone but me.

“If that offer is still open...” I tested. “I’d love to get out of the rain with you,”

Calculations ran through his eyes and I could see each one. For a moment I thought my request was a lost cause. That he was about to turn me down as I turned him down not a few days ago. Our eyes locked and the stars seemed to draw us back together. Now... now I felt something different. Something new in my heart towards Draco. It wasn’t what it had been before, but something morphed, changed, unyielding.

“Alright,” He nodded with a sigh.

“If you don’t want to... you don’t owe me anything Draco,” I rushed out, taking a small step back.

“Publicly defending my honor might count for something,” He mused softly. “Shall we?”

“I think I mentioned tea,�� A soft chuckle left my lips as we entered Florean Fortescue Ice Cream Parlor.

“This is a favorite of Scorpius’,” Draco murmured. “I’ve grown accustomed to it...” He paused. “You used to like it as well,” A small smirk lingered on his face. “Has that changed?”

“No,” I admitted, flushing a bit pink.

“Butter pecan, waffle cone?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Waffle bowl,” I amended. “I’m not a child,”

“Oh, I’m sure,” He let out a soft laugh and ordered for the two of us. He hadn’t changed either, he still chose mint chocolate chip in a sugar cone.

“So, where’s Scorpius, he’s not old enough for Hogwarts, is he?” I asked as we sat at a small table outside.

“Merlin, no,” Draco chuckled. “He’ll be six in January, and at the moment he’s with my mother. She watches him while I’m away at work,” He said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“How’s he doing with—um...” I asked timidly,

Draco’s smile sobered as his gaze dropped to the table to the used napkins that had gotten the stickiness off of our hands and left colorful wrappings from the cones.

“Or not,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t my place,”

“Still the apologetic I see,” A sad sort of smile hit his lips. “And he’s taking it hard... harder than I am, I think. I knew she didn’t love me... I don’t think he ever understood it all...”

“I’m so sorry,” I offered.

He shot me an amused look.

“I mean it,” I insisted. “It’s not fair for either of you...”

“Thank you,” Genuine gratitude held in his voice.

“Oi, Malfoy! Lunch ended twenty minutes ago!”

I heard a familiar voice and turned to see Harry walk into the small shop. As soon as Harry saw me sitting across from Draco, his demeanor changed and a grin grew on his face as if to say: ‘I told you so,’ but to which one of us I wasn’t sure.

“Hi Y/n,” Harry said cheerfully.

“Not a word, Potter,” Draco and I said simultaneously before catching the other’s gaze. Harry and I began to laugh, and I heard the gentle sound of Draco’s true laughter—something he rarely did, even when I knew him, but I cherished the sound all the same.

“I’m glad you two got to catch up, I am, but Draco, Mulligan has my arse because you’re missing,” Harry air-quoted the last word.

Sighing, Draco stood. “Y/n,” Was all he said as a goodbye before he and Harry set off.

I sat and stared at the empty space he left for a while, wondering what was going on between us. Was something going on between us? My heart said yes but my mind said no. I had forfeited the right to have anything with him. I walked away.

But still I wondered.

The next morning my phone kept chiming. Again, and again it wouldn’t stop with notifications and calls. I groaned and grabbed it off my beside table and squinted at it. A lot of the notifications were from friends and people I rarely talked too. One of them was from Ginny. I opened that one.

“How was your date?” It read and showed a picture of Draco and me at the ice cream parlor yesterday. We looked happy. The headline read:

Malfoy Moving On? Head Auror Caught with Old Classmate Sweetheart After Scandal

Then it dawned on me. This made the news. National news.

Scrolling through my phone, I found a number that I had but never called before. I had gotten it from Harry and Ginny long ago for emergences if Harry got injured on a case. I don’t think he knows I have it.

“Hello? Auror Malfoy,” A slightly tired voice answered, and it drew a smile on my lips before I remembered why I called.

“Draco,” I began, not knowing how to start this conversation.

“Y/n? How did you get my number?” In his weariness his tone was a lot harsher and blunt. His words stung.

“Harry gave it to me in case I needed it if something went wrong on one of your cases,” I explained softly. “I can delete it if you want... I was just wondering if you’ve seen this morning’s paper yet,”

“I have not,” He replied.

“Oh,” Anxiety grew in my chest. “Call me when you do?” I squeaked out. “Or don’t. Yeah, bye,” I quickly hung up and screamed at the ceiling, throwing my phone across the room. “Stupid Draco Malfoy!” I shouted at no one. Staring at the ceiling I wasn’t aware of how long I sat there.

Then my phone started ringing across the room. Of course, it was Draco.

“Hello?” I answered timidly.

“When can you be at the Manor? We need to talk,” Nothing scared me more than those four words.

“I—uh... half an hour?” I fumbled for words. “Draco—” The line disconnected. “Draco!” I yelled in frustration.

My body trembled as I got ready, knowing that that last time we had “talked” had ended our relationship and set us on different paths. I hoped to the stars that that wouldn’t happen again. I... I liked having Draco in my life. I wanted to be there for him, because according to Harry, I was the only one he would let in. Then there was the matter of whatever happened the night he was wasted and calling for me.

Taking the Floo network, I stepped into Malfoy Manor—a place I hadn’t been in over ten years. Draco was waiting for me in the grand foyer, appearing quite unkept, his hair a rumpled mess and his dress shirt still untucked, the tie hanging loosely around his neck.

“Hello,” I offered softly.

He hummed a greeting and motioned for me to follow him. I thought that I was going to throw up with the amount of anxiety bubbling in my stomach. I didn’t like this at all.

Leading me into the grand kitchen he nodded to the island bar where two mugs of tea had been set out. My heart panged as I looked at the warm liquid that held the right hue of creaminess and I wondered if Draco remembered how I took my tea after all this time.

“I’m having Mulligan and Granger take care of it,” was all he said as he took a careful sip of his tea, his gaze fixed upon the newspaper on the counter before us.

“Take care of it?” I pressed, frowning.

“The photos. The newspapers.” He filled in.

“No, I get that,” I almost rolled my eyes, “But why? It’s just gossip...”

“Why?” Draco almost snapped. I looked to my tea ashamed. He took a breath.

“Do you regret it? Yesterday?” I barely spoke.

“Why would I?” He acted if I were the insane one here, “We went out. We enjoyed each other’s company. It was fine.”

“Then why would you tell Mulligan to— “

“I didn’t.” He stopped me. “He told me he was doing it. He was supposed to have stopped it from ever happening.”

“You knew. You knew this was going to happen,”

“Yes, or something like it, and I tried to stop it. The press has been... unforgiving of my name and business as of late and I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it,”

I nodded and looked down till I heard him sigh.

“Especially not you,” He tacked on.

“What?” My sleep deprived brain was trying to catch up.

Draco pursed his lips and stared at the photo of us smiling at another on the front page.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe that I have forfeited the right to ask anything of you or hope to include you into my life in any way,” Melancholy riddled his words and my heart fell as I yearned to reach out for him.

“So, you’ve been avoiding me?” I didn’t understand the frustration I felt. “I... You—God above Draco.” I hissed. “Why don’t you let my make that choice myself? I forfeited that right just as much as you did,”

“I don’t see how,”

“I walked away from you... I made that choice.”

“But did you have a choice?” Draco countered softly.

I didn’t have a response for that. Not a good one that I could defend well. Sure, I could claim I did and that I made the choice... but back then, our hands were tied. There was fear and war and uncertainty, and perhaps I didn’t have a choice after all.

He spoke before I had the chance to form a sound argument.

“As you know work with Harry as well.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged.

“And that a week ago Friday was a bit of a disaster for the both of us,”

“Wouldn’t be one of my least favorite nights, but a disaster... sure.” I drawled, raising an eyebrow. He ignored my taunt and pressed on.

“Harry suggested that I take you out to make it up to you. Hence the invitation that one day and then our date yesterday,” His explanation made me pause.

“That was a date?” I asked, anxiety growing in my chest of where this could go.

“I mean... it fit all the perimeters of a date.” He was testing the waters as much as I was.

I let out a short laugh.

“I suppose it did,” I nodded to the paper in front of us.

“He also said that perhaps I shouldn’t have to be inebriated to figure out and express my emotions toward you—or anyone for that matter,” He tacked on, a mumbled mess.

“I... you—”

“You asked me why I would say something like what I said,” Draco gave, pressing on, not giving me a moment to process. “I doubt you remember it—you were half awake—but... No matter how much I’ve lost the right and privilege, I want you in my life, Y/n. Apart of it, if you’re willing,”

They talked about time freezing around you and how everything comes into focus. And that there are moments when all of the heartache and pain will one day count for something, and perhaps this was it. This was that moment. That point that I could make all of the pain and tears mean something beautiful. Something not quite new, but no longer old and forgotten.

“I... I want you in my life too,” I whispered the confession. “It’s... it’s really nice... to have you back,” My gaze dropped to the counter and the tea in my hands as guilt pierced through me.

“Can... can you ever forgive me? For all the hurt and pain I’ve caused you? Have I done too much that there’s no hope?”

“I... I never blamed you.” I admitted. “Or if I did, I don’t now. But Draco, we’re both different people now. I... I need your patience. Because as much as I want to say yes, I... I don’t know. I don’t know what hurts are going to come back up or what scars might reopen... If you’re willing to deal with that...”

“If you’re willing to deal with the rumors and gossip and stuffy life that I lead... I’ll wait a thousand lifetimes for you to be ready again,”

________________________

The kindness and forgiveness in your eyes brought him back. Way back. To the Yule Ball when you had been introduced to him. It was a dance of formalities and posture. He knew that you were a bit of a flirt, but after spending time with you, he could see that your bright over-friendly personality earned you such a reputation.

When Draco was younger, when he was at Hogwarts, when you were by his side, he thought he knew three things that would never change.

The first was that he was a Malfoy. He had to marry rich, marry whoever his parents picked out for him. There was no debate about that. It was the way things were. Keep the pureblood line going and the wealth in the family, if not expound upon it. He was the only son of his parents and it was his duty to carry the name on, carry it higher. He was a Malfoy.

The second was that as soon as he saw your face, that all changed. There was no one quite like you. He had never met anyone who matched him heart and mind and yet somehow you were kind and gentle at the same time. Your intelligent eyes that made him forget his name. He knew there would never be a day that he didn’t love you. That freedom you gave. He loved you.

And thirdly: he was betrothed to Astoria Greengrass.

That was about a decade ago. Now, only one of those things held true. Blinking away the memories and thoughts, he met your intelligent determined eyes once more. Everything came crashing down around him. The truth.

Draco didn’t have to marry rich. He had and the girl he married had an affair with another man and he was free from the obligation. He was no longer engaged to Astoria. He no longer had to entertain her listless petty stories or her frivolous shallow needs. He had a son. That kept the family name going, that kept the pureblood line alive.

But Draco still loved you.

And God damn him if he wouldn’t find every way to express that to you.

Maybe that was the reason behind his further actions. It was the reasoning behind why he reached out to you, stroking your face softly as he did long ago. He caressed your cheek as if it were precious marble, a sculpture given to him by the gods.

And for the first time in ten years, Draco didn’t have to fantasize what it would be like to kiss you again. He didn’t have to desperately cling to how your lips felt against his. He didn’t have to deny how much he missed you.

Frozen under his touch, Draco worried that perhaps this was something he should regret. That he should stop. That he should deny still.

But your hand came up slowly, not to push him away but to hold him close as he held you, cradling his face as if he were the most precious thing to you. Your fingers curled into his hair, causing the butterflies in his chest to set flight. Your soft sounds were met with his steady purrs.

His tongue danced with yours in a forgotten waltz. Even after all this time you still tasted the same: sweet, alluring, and faintly like chai.

But you pulled away all too soon for his liking.

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day, Malfoy,” A smile curled on your lips.

“‘Til death do we part,” He jested lightly, earning a slight giggle from you as you pulled away and rebalanced yourself on the barstool.

“So... are we doing this? Like actually doing this?” You asked, fear lurking in your voice.

“I will do everything I can to make this right. To do this properly. To give you what you deserve,” He couldn’t quite understand why you laughed this time.

“I know you love your rules and traditions, but Draco I don’t need any of that and I don’t want any of that. I just want you. To get to know you again. To get to know Scorpius. I want my friend back,”

The desperate plea in your voice mirrored in your eyes and maybe he understood you a bit better and maybe himself, because he wanted that as well. He wanted you in his life. Woven into it. And possibly the first step to having that, was to get to know you again.

So, he would wait. He would learn. And he would love you till his dying day.

“That would be enough,” Draco smiled softly and took your hand into his.

A few months of dates and quiet nights and lunches together in the break room and the rumors in the papers seemed to fade and the shock value seemed to wane to others. But Draco was still amazed that you decided to stay by his side. That you let him back into your narrative. That you completely adored Scorpius more than his own mother ever did.

As you crouched beside Scorpius and a peacock on the Manor grounds as the three of you took an evening stroll, the smile you gave him made him believe that the past ten years were nothing but a terrible dream. A trial to prove that he had earned this reward.

Though you had asked for patience, it turned out that he needed some as well. Draco had no idea how deep seeded the betrayal from Astoria and his supposed best friend affected him. There were times that he grew angrier than he meant to. There were times he was harsher than he wanted to be. There were times he was more distant than he needed to be. There were times that he was more reckless than he should be.

And there were times when something lingered in your eyes that he didn’t quite enjoy. Fear, or hesitancy. There were new boundaries that you had, and he had learned to respect. You weren’t the same girl he knew at Hogwarts. You were independent, confident, self-made, but still kind and gentle. You didn’t depend on him for everything. You didn’t lean into every touch. You didn’t smile at every jest. His perspective of you changed, and he loved every change made.

A weekend when Scorpius had gone to his parent’s house in Paris for a weekend was the night that Draco truly felt alone for the first time in a long time—since you had been back in his life. As the hour grew later, he paced his study, debating on going to see you, knowing well you’d still be awake.

As the ghosts of his past came to life and overpowered your gentle voice in his mind, Draco was decided. Drawing his wand, he apparated straight to you.

“What in Merlin’s name!?” You demanded, wand drawn, looking frantic, only relaxing when you saw that it was him.

“I... couldn’t sleep. Everything is...” His voice was small, like a frightened child.

You lowered your wand as he stood in the doorway of your bedroom. Running a hand through your hair you sighed softly. He knew he was asking a lot—too much even. It had been a boundary of yours. You weren’t ready to sleep with him—innocently, not sensually—yet.

“Well, come on then,” You smiled softy, sliding over in your bed. “Just like old times,” His memory flickered back to the sleepless nights in the dorms at Hogwarts behind drawn drapes.

“This isn’t me trying—” Draco started, not wanting to push your boundary. He’d sleep on the couch for Merlin’s sake. He just wanted to be near someone who cared for him.

“I know,” You replied softly, reading him like an open book, as you were always able to.

“And I don’t—”

You rose from your bed, going over to him.

“Still trust me?” You whispered, your hands running up his arms, earning a shudder from him.

Draco nodded; his gaze transfixed on you. He knew what the question meant. It had been a routine of yours at Hogwarts. When he couldn’t seem to get a grip on the day and came to you at night, you were always there to care for him.

And you were there now.

Slowly you unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it to the floor. Going over to your dresser, you pulled out one a shirt that he recognized as his and placed it in his hands. He gripped the fabric tightly.

“You kept this?” His eyebrow furrowed.

A shrug left your shoulders as you neared your dresser again, opening another drawer. “Cotton or fleece?” The question was soft.

“Cotton,”

“I have flannel?” You offered, pulling out a pair of plaid sweats.

“That’ll do,” Draco smiled as you handed him the pants; he gripped them tightly as well.

“You’re safe,” You encouraged, stroking his cheek. “No one’s going to hurt you. No one expects anything of you. You’re alright here... You’re with me,”

“You knew I was coming,” It wasn’t an accusation.

“Eventually, yes. You hate nights alone.” The warmth of your eyes was intoxicating.

“I prefer it when you’re here,” He admitted.

“Then go change and we can get some sleep, yeah?”

That night had been quiet. It had taken some time, but eventually you laid in his arms, holding onto him as he held onto you. Silent tears fell for the both of you—of fear and acceptance and a new beginning. A step forward.

..........

Draco paced the floor, keeping a close watch to his temper as you arrived, looking confused and worried. And with the scarce information that he gave to you, it was well placed. Without a word—fearing that it might not be a kind one— he led you into the den, to where Scorpius was sitting on the couch, looking guilty and repentant.

“Scorpius,” Draco’s voice was concise and controlled. “Would you care to explain exactly what you told me to Miss Y/n?”

Some anger leaked through. A gentle hand on his shoulder reminded him to find calmness. A gentle smile on your face appeased and welcomed Scorpius as he began to speak.

“I... well... mother left. And papa had these letters... I found them and...I didn’t know who she was... but I thought—” the young boy stammered. “Father always has potions on hand down in his study... I thought that—if I just... he could be happy again,” Scorpius’ voice broke as he started to cry.

Your face crumpled softly, and Draco could see that you yearned to reach out to Scorpius and gather him into your arms but you refrained.

“So, you’re the one who drugged Draco,” You understood his son’s words, not nearly as upset as Draco had been because something else held your attention. “You kept my letters?” You seemed baffled. “All this time?”

Draco scoffed and his face remained stoic, but his cheeks tinged pink, affirming what you had said. And possibly it was the right thing to call you over to deal with this because with calmness and kindness that he never could find, you reprimanded Scorpius.

“Do you understand how dangerous that was?” You scolded. “Potions are not something to be played with or mixed. You could have really hurt your father.”

“I know,” Scorpius cried out, tears falling. “But—he... I thought I could get some answers. Find out who he loved—”

Your eyes met his with wonder and curiosity. There was no escaping that one. Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to avoid it.

“Okay,” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, his face folded into a pained expression. “We’ll talk about this later young man, now go start your studies.”

“Yes sir,” Scorpius nodded and disappeared into the house.

“Draco don’t be hard on him,” You pleaded, reaching out to him. “He’s just a kid,”

“I know,” Draco sighed, taking your hands. “That’s why I called you. I knew you’d handle it better than I ever could.”

“I’m not his mother, Draco,” You reminded him softly. “I don’t have authority here,”

Draco held his tongue before he really did ask you to be Scorpius’ mother but Merlin he wanted to. And maybe you could see that in his eyes because you looked down, flushing.

“He does seem truly sorry,” You changed the topic quickly before something was confessed after all.

“I think so,” Draco looked to the door from Scorpius had exited. Sighing softly, a hopeless chuckle left his lips. “As livid I am that he got into my stuff, and that I was drugged by a six- year-old, it brought me back to you,”

“I suppose it did,” You smiled. “As long as he promises to keep from your stuff, and to come to talk to you instead of taking matters into his own hands... I don’t see any harm.”

Draco nodded and pulled you into his arms, finding comfort in your solace and steady compassion.

“So...” You drawled, pulling away from him. “You kept my letters?” A mischievous smirk fell upon your face as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” He admitted, defeated. “I know, I know. It’s wrong and—” You burst out laughing, causing him to pause.

“I kept yours too,” Beaming at him, you reached up and stroked his cheek. “Granted I didn’t read them until again the day we got caught in the rain...”

Draco chuckled softly and drew you in for a kiss, marveled that you were even standing in front of him.

______________________________

There was a day that Draco did ask me. Another four words that made my heart soar and want to scream from the rooftops that he was truly mine. It had taken some time, make no mistake. It was redefining what it meant to be married and figuring out what it meant to marry for love and not advantage, but we made it. There was love, patience, and a strong foundation.

“Ginny, I can’t do this,” I whispered, tearing my eyes away from the mirror. “I... I’m not a wife... I—”

“Hush,” She ordered and fixed a hair that was out of place. “You’re the perfect one for him,”

“But... me? Getting married? I can’t.”

“You love him, don’t you?” She tested, and I nodded, not trusting my voice. “And you can’t see a day without him in your future?” I nodded again, fighting back tears.

Ginny’s face softened. “I know,” She took my hand. “It’s a lot and it’s scary sometimes, but you deserve this. You deserve a happily ever after with a man who is willing to do what it takes to give it to you,”

I looked down at the floral lace of my dress, blinking away the moisture in my eyes.

“Maybe you’re right...” I murmured.

“Of course, I am,” She smiled and picked up my bouquet, offering it to me.

Cannon in D began, and the door opened. My veil hid the water in my eyes and the fear on my face. Fears that faded when I saw him at the end of the aisle. He looked just as nervous as I did. It made me smile. It was so like him to be nervous about this. I almost laughed.

I took Harry’s elbow and inhaled deeply.

“You look beautiful,” He murmured.

“Thank you,” I mumbled back as we made our way down the aisle.

Harry placed my hand into Draco’s, and I felt secure. I felt safe and sure of my future. My eyes darted to Scorpius who I had seen grown up the past couple of years. He waved to me and I giggled before turning back to Draco.

There were tears in his eyes as he beamed down at me, our vows exchanged, and rings placed.

“Don’t you cry,” I scolded quietly. “Because then I’ll start crying,”

“I’ve waited so long for this day,” He defended. “I’m allowed to cry,”

I laughed as my husband leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, sealing our promise to each other.

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