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americaswritings · 6 months

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Voices of Roses and Ruin

Warnings: Psychological torture, manipulation, Coriolanus being himself

Summary: Coriolanus is forced to watch the gamemaker use his voice against you in the arena.

Words: around 2k

Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/N: I watched TBOSAS yesterday and yeah don't judge me but young Snow is hot and I shipped him and Lucy Gray a lot (until it all went downhill cough cough). Obviously he's horrible and does many unspeakable things later (!!!). But I think the idea of a love story between a mentor and their tribute has so much potential and when I saw the birds in the film I thought of this idea.

This is written from Coriolanus perspective (I haven't read the book yet. I just bought it and I'm so excited to read it!). I obviously wanted this to be about real feelings, but I tried to stay true to his character so there are some 'questionable' and alarming thoughts and motifs in here.

Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here

Part II | Masterlist

Coriolanus had thought watching you in the arena, alone and scared, hiding from a pack of murders that were hunting for your life was among the worst things he had ever gone through, but nothing could have prepared him for the Gamemaker’s new horrendous plan.

He was tired, just as you were, but refused to go home like most students had done. Instead his head was resting in his hand as he kept watching your sleeping form, as if he could protect you if he just kept his eyes on the screen and on the lookout for a potential threat.

He wouldn’t be able to do anything for you, if the pack of murders found you. He couldn’t warn you or give you advice.

All he could do was sit here and watch and he found himself thinking if this was not the worst torture of them all; being trapped here while you were out there and all he could do was watch.

You were trembling in your sleep, if from the cold or fear he didn’t know, but he kept his expression carefully guarded as he felt his own heart breaking bits by bits.

Even there covered in dirt, with your hair a wild mess and your clothes strained with mud you looked breathtaking to him.

You were pretty, there was no denying that. Everyone else saw it too. He saw it in the way heads turned for you, men‘s eyes raking over your body like you were theirs to take.

He hated it, every part of it.

They all deserved to die.

But it wasn’t your looks that had drawn his attention to you. What had fascinated him. He liked to think he wasn‘t shallow like most people and blinded by pretty things.

No, what has drawn him to you was the way you carried yourself. The confidence you wore like an amour. Yet you were breakable at the same time.

You seemed to be made up of duality; strong but so weak, fierce but uncertain, opinionated but withdrawn, stubborn but helpless.

You were a dangerous little thing and a petite fragile flower at once. Drawing all eyes on you but forgotten due to your ordinariness by most after a moment.

Not by him though. To him you could never be ordinary.

It was frustrating and captivating and alluring.

Naturally, his constant worry for you since you had entered the arena stemmed from his will to get the scholarship. It was what he deserved and he would claim it.

Tht was why he was so engaged in saving you, not because of the deep unease he felt when he saw you in that arena, your eyes drifting around frantically until they passed a camera and he could have sworn they had locked on his for a moment.

It had nothing to do with the way his whole body seemed to light up when you smiled or the invisible pull he felt towards you when you were in the same room as him.

He definitely didn’t want to kiss you and he didn’t dream about you since the reaping, when his eyes had fallen on you for the first time and he had only thought one thing: You’re mine now.

Mine to claim, to showcase, to protect.

He had gone into the mentorship thinking he would use you to serve him and his purpose of getting what he deserved, but as he watched you now, still rooted in his chair although a deep exhaustion weighted down his body, he knew he was serving you.

Being here with you every second of the way. Vowing to protect you. Whatever it took.

You awoke from your restless sleep right before the screaming started. In an instant you were up, your eyes widened in panic as you gazed around, trying to locate the source. With the rest of the students that had stayed Coriolanus flinched in his seat, leaning forward to try and help you figure this out.

As quickly as it had started the screaming stopped and for a moment you were one, both breathing and blinking heavily as your mind tried to make sense of what happened.

And then he heard a voice. His voice. “Follow me.”

He forgot to breathe for a moment as he stared at what was happening in pure shock. You seemed just as confused, turning around in circles as you tried to find him there.

„Coriolanus?”, you whispered and took a step forward, towards the voice. “Follow me”, it whispered again and he watched you do.

No, no, no.

Around him he heard chuckles from the other students, but he drowned them out. All he could focus on was you, following his voice through the darkness. “Where are you?”, you hissed, your eyes darting around. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here for you.”

He sank lower in his seat, wishing himself somewhere else. It wasn’t him saying the words, obviously, but it was his voice and everyone could hear it, see you follow it.

He hoped people would laugh about you. About your nativity and the brilliant idea of the gamemaker to use your mentors voice against you. Hell, he didn’t even care, if they thought you might have a silly little crush on him and the gamemaker used it against you.

Because if people knew the whole truth, he couldn��t imagine the catastrophe that would follow.

The truth that there was something between the two of you, the mentor and the tribute. That it was something he couldn’t explain, but had let him do dangerous things. Break rules. Forget himself.

The truth that this might not be him speaking those words now, but that he had spoken them to you once. Had they been listening all this time?

His stomach twist in terror as he tried to remember all you had shared with each other, all he had said to you. Promised you.

It would ruin him.

“I can’t see you”, you whispered now, being led further into darkness.

Damn it, think! He wanted to yell at you. It’s not me. I’m not there.

There was no reason for him to be there.

Except…there was.

“I’m here to see you. I won’t let anything happen to you!”

“How cute”, one girl hissed in his ear, but he remained stoic. “She’s as dumb as they come”, another said and he wanted to punch her. Enjoy the feeling of triumph when she looked at him in horror and didn’t dare open her mouth again.

“Looks like you’re guiding her straight to her own death. How ironic.”

And it was ironic.

Maybe in his attempt to protect you, save you, all he had done was ruined your one chance.

All he had said to you to make you trust him and then because he hadn’t been able to stop himself were used against you now and all he could do was watch. Keeping his face carefully blank he shut out their voices. They didn’t matter.

Finally he saw you hesitate. Maybe you had remembered his exact words or maybe you realized that you weren’t getting anywhere. That if it truly was him he would have just stepped out of the shadows and shown his face. “Is this real?”

Oh how funny it was to the people around him. He hated them all. Every single one.

Your words hit a mark. They pierced right through his heart, because he had said them to you. Whispered them. Before your farewell, when he had visited you one last time.

Your faces had only been separated by a few inches and he had fought the urge to kiss you right there and then. But he couldn’t.

Because of everything, but also because it felt too much like goodbye. It was stupid, but if he didn’t give into the temptation then, a part of him hoped it meant you would come back to him.

That your chapter wasn’t over, your story just starting. He would kiss you when you won. When there was a chance for a future with you.

Still those words had escaped his mouth, like he needed the reassurance that you felt the same way. That this meant something, so much that it was worth the risk.

Coriolanus leaned forward in his seat, hope blossoming in his chest. He didn’t know why whatever game they were playing with you hadn’t affected the other tributes yet, but he was sure their time would come.

And right now it seemed you wouldn’t fall for their tricks. Because there could come no answer to your question, as he had been the one asking it.

But he had underestimated the gamemakers.

Instead of a reply there came a scream and then a groan. “Coriolanus?” “Help me!”, he heard himself yelp. What?! He had never sounded like that.

But then flashes came back to him. The bombs. How the arena had collapsed, almost burying him alive. He would have died there, if it hadn’t been for you.

You had saved him.

But how in the hell did they get his voice now?!

“Coriolanus!”

Gone was the glimpse of hesitance and suspicion and you began sprinting into the direction the voice was coming from.

No!

He watched with dread as you ran directly towards the sound. It’s not real, he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear him but desperately hoping somehow his words would reach you.

When you stumbled upon a clearing you jerked to a stop, twisting and turning, your gaze furiously searching for something.

“Coriolanus! Tell me where you are!” But he could only hear his own painful screams, in between pleading for your help. Sounds he was certain he had never made.

What was this?

With a stab of pain he saw your face was tearstained. You were crying. For him. For someone from the capitol.

Was this what the gamemaker wanted?

Whatever you did or said would never matter again.

All everyone would see when they looked at you now was the broken girl in a dark forest, all alone and desperate and crying for a man she never stood a chance with.

A man who knew hunger just as you did, who in a way fought for survival every day too. But they would never see that, because unlike you he wouldn’t let them. Where you had no choice, he still had one. And he was watching that one chance crumble in front of him.

Flashes of a better life filled his mind.

A house. Plates of food. Tigris smiling. His uniform, a real one made from the finest materials hanging draped neatly over a chair. Laughter echoing through the corridors and then a flash of your face as you stepped into the room, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you leaned over the desk to peek a look at what he was working on.

It was the life they deserved, he deserved, if he got the scholarship. But you were there too. Alive and well, just as breathtaking. And you were his.

There had never been the choice between the scholarship and you, because they were one. Your life was connected to it and so his was to yours.

But now he could loose both and he felt the agony of that thought travel through his whole body.

The screaming seemed to be everywhere and he watched helplessly as you bent forward, covering your ears. All he wanted was to get the screaming to stop, wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was okay.

Instead he forced a neutral expression on his face, as if seeing you break didn’t break him the same way and pray for this hell to end.

Part II

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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Run Away To Me (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.

A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone.

“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night.

Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash.

“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up.

“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”

Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods.

Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain.

You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches.

Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.

“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.”

Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow.

Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed.

What was…?

Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall.

A heart fills with senseless hope.

A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor.

Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood.

There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression.

There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”

A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale.

The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.

Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.

“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.”

You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years.

Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.

“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”

“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.”

A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.

The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood.

Your wound—you’d almost forgotten.

“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal.

Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest.

“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin.

Lips tighten along a square face.

“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art.

Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons.

Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling.

“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out.

You ease at that.

“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.”

His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.

“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?”

Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips.

“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding.

Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap.

“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”

You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs.

“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?”

Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in.

“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door.

You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside.

Your form flinches.

“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”

Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches.

A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides.

“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.

No, no, no.

Confusion gives way to deep concern.

A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”

He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.

“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.

“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs.

You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.

“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.”

He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly.

“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.

“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.

“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.”

The very blood in your body heats with warmth.

You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”

“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.

“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.”

Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.

“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb.

Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.

Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver.

“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all.

The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.

“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”

Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him.

Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?

The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle.

Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth.

“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it.

Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut.

“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.

“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.

You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger.

“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”

It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.

Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.”

You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all.

“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off.

You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material.

“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows.

“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”

Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head.

A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing.

You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him.

He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man.

And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.

He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into.

“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.”

You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display.

“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”

“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important.

Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern.

“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”

Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet.

“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids.

“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.”

You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh.

But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure.

“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?”

The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek.

Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.

“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.

“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord.

That was really all that matted.

“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.

“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.”

Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night.

“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug.

Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward.

“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?”

Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree.

Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes.

For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger.

“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.

TAGS:

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animusrox · 3 months

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TOP 10

Past Lives

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

How to Blow Up a Pipeline

Poor Things

Oppenheimer

Barbie

BlackBerry

The Holdovers

The Iron Claw

Killers of the Flower Moon

MY LETTERBOXD Grade A 11. The Killer 12. Beau Is Afraid 13. Dream Scenario 14. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 15. Godzilla Minus One 16. American Fiction 17. They Cloned Tyrone 18. Evil Dead Rise 19. Eileen 20. The Artifice Girl 21. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem 22. Talk to Me 23. Reality 24. Leave the World Behind 25. A Thousand and One 26. Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One 27. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. 28. Theater Camp 29. Carmen 30. Merry Little Batman 31. Priscilla 32. Society of the Snow 33. Infinity Pool 34. Enys Men 35. Sanctuary 36. Rye Lane 37. Skinamarink 38. Monster 39. Anatomy of a Fall 40. Landscape with Invisible Hand 41. Reptile 42. Sisu 43. Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game 44. No One Will Save You 45. Tetris 46. May December 47. The Zone of Interest 48. V/H/S/85 49. Dumb Money 50. El Conde 51. Arnold 52. Maestro 53. Napoleon 54. 20 Days in Mariupol 55. Influencer 56. The Creator 57. Origin 58. Thanksgiving 59. Next Goal Wins 60. The Boy and the Heron 61. Bottoms 62. Wonka

[Press Keep Reading For The Full Graded List]

Grade B

63. God Is a Bullet 64. No Hard Feelings 65. Joy Ride 66. Fair Play 67. Cocaine Bear 68. NYAD 69. Asteroid City 70. Nowhere 71. The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster 72. Divinity 73. The Equalizer 3 74. The Last Voyage of the Demeter 75. Venus 76. Butcher’s Crossing 77. Somewhere in Queens 78. The Persian Version 79. Boston Strangler 80. Polite Society 81. Miguel Wants to Fight 82. The Color Purple 83. The Royal Hotel 84. Saw X 85. All of Us Strangers 86. Fallen Leaves 87. Ferrari 88. Elemental 89. Peter Pan & Wendy 90. Renfield 91. Cat Person 92. Scream VI 93. The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes 94. BS High 95. Blue Beetle 96. Huesera: The Bone Woman 97. When Evil Lurks 98. Dark Harvest 99. A Good Person 100. Final Cut 101. Knock at the Cabin 102. Quiz Lady 103. Leo 104. Air 105. The Super Mario Bros. Movie 106. Batman: The Doom That Came to Gotham 107. John Wick: Chapter 4 108. Beaten to Death 109. The Wrath of Becky 110. Passages 111. Transformers: Rise of the Beasts 112. Gran Turismo 113. 65 114. Sick 115. Sister Death 116. The Blackening 117. Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain 118. Flamin’ Hot 119. Nimona 120. Cobweb 121. Totally Killer 122. What’s Love Got to Do with It? 123. Sharper 124. Unseen 125. Dunki 126. Bird Box Barcelona 127. The Marvels 128. Shazam! Fury of the Gods

Grade C

129. Wildflower 130. Freelance 131. M3GAN 132. Strays 133. Sympathy for the Devil 134. Creed III 135. Chevalier 136. The Marsh King’s Daughter 137. A Haunting in Venice 138. The Little Mermaid 139. Silent Night 140. Master Gardener 141. The Flash 142. Fast X 143. The Pope’s Exorcist 144. Saltburn 145. Kandahar 146. Stand 147. Plane 148. Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny 149. Fingernails 150. Quicksand 151. Fool’s Paradise 152. Migration 153. Rustin 154. The Covenant 155. Good Burger 2 156. The Pod Generation 157. Alice, Darling 158. Insidious: The Red Door 159. Missing 160. Shotgun Wedding 161. You Hurt My Feelings 162. The Boogeyman 163. Showing Up 164. Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom 165. Champions 166. Consecration 167. The Nun II 168. Biosphere 169. House Party 170. The Exorcist: Believer 171. Big George Foreman 172. Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves 173. Children of the Corn 174. The Beanie Bubble 175. Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania

Grade F

176. Anyone But You 177. Marlowe 178. Paint 179. Extraction 2 180. It Lives Inside 181. Deliver Us 182. Trolls Band Together 183. Finestkind 184. Corner Office 185. Wish 186. Prisoner’s Daughter 187. Pain Hustlers 188. Foe 189. The Mother 190. Old Dads 191. Ghosted 192. Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken 193. Haunted Mansion 194. Mafia Mamma 195. Five Nights at Freddy’s 196. The Machine 197. Justice League: Warworld 198. We Have a Ghost 199. What Comes Around 200. Legion of Super-Heroes 201. The Boys in the Boat 202. Attachment 203. Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre 204. About My Father 205. You People 206. Meg 2: The Trench 207. Pathaan 208. Rebel Moon - Part One: A Child of Fire 209. Assassin 210. Dalíland 211. Vacation Friends 2

Bottom 10

212. Sound of Freedom 213. Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey 214. When You Finish Saving The World 215. Heart of Stone 216. Family Switch 217. Expend4bles 218. Sweetwater 219. Hypnotic 220. 80 for Brady 221. Spinning Gold

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umbrellacam · 25 days

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Saw a post where someone wasn't sure if Tim being good at computers was a fanon thing or not and friend I am happy to inform you that he's been a computer/tech guy from some of his earliest appearances in the comics.

Detective Comics (Vol. 1) #620 (Rite of Passage part 4) - immersed in the ~web~

Robin II: The Joker's Wild #3 - tabletop roleplaying games and spending hours in the basement on the computer - not beating the geek allegations on these fronts, Timmy

Detective Comics (Vol. 1) #676 - Dick was more into traditional detective work and tended to outsource the computer stuff in these days

Batman (Vol. 1) #514 (Prodigal part 10) - hackin' through all the garbage and garble

Robin (1993) #33 - Robin sneaking in and connecting Oracle with the baddies' mainframe so she can do her thing and steal all their data >:)

Nightwing (1996) #6 - "no you're really talented and well suited to be Robin." "no, you." "no, YOU!"

Tim is definitely not as good as Babs/Oracle, but he's certainly her back-up for computer work in the 90's batfam. They're tech buddies and Robin!Tim is her little assistant sometimes, it's super cute:

Birds of Prey (1999) #19 - happy to play with big sister's fancy high-powered toys

Legends of the Dark Knight (1989) #125 - real cute kid

And Dick will hand off computer jobs to his little brother when he doesn't want to bother Babs 😂 (that outsourcing I mentioned):

Nightwing (1996) #68 - examine them pixel by pixel, eh? welp, sounds like a job only you can do, Timbo, you got this buddy, byyyyeeeee

And then when he'd grown up and been doing this for years, he leveled up accordingly, and did stuff like use his access to the League of Assassins computers to overload the generators in every base he could find, etc. etc.

Red Robin (2009) #8 - yeah that was pretty dumb of you Ra's :)

So yeah, it was a bit of a specialty of Tim's, in large part because he was introduced just at the turn into the 90's, when personal computers were really starting to take off and become widespread. (Robins gotta be cutting edge and all)

Of course, by no means does it follow that the other Bats suck at computers (there is no 'smart one' they are all incredibly smart and capable). This is especially true as reboots and the sliding timescale of comics have moved the DC characters into modern times, where computers run the world and everyone grows up with one in their pocket. The baseline familiarity and expertise that everyone can be expected to have is just much, much higher these days.

It gets exaggerated in fanon as all character traits do, but computer guy Tim is definitely not something just made up out of whole cloth :)b

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ghibli-collector · 6 months

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For anyone who’s already seen Boy and the Heron i found this really interesting article where Ghibli Boss/Producer Suzuki was interviewed recently by indie wire and explains the background of the characters from the new Ghibli film, I’ve copied the full article below or you can click the link to go to the interview but once again it contains so many spoilers

‘The Boy and the Heron’ Is So Personal, Hayao Miyazaki Needed a Year to Grieve Before Pivoting in a New Direction

Miyazaki came out of retirement for his first film in a decade, about his friendships at Ghibli with the late co-founder/director Takahata and co-founder/producer Suzuki.

When Hayao Miyazaki pitched “The Boy and the Heron” (GKids, now in select L.A. and NYC theaters) to Studio Ghibli co-founder/producer Toshio Suzuki in 2016, he asked permission to make the story about himself. This took Suzuki — his friend of nearly 40 years at the time — by surprise; the legendary anime director isn’t known for getting so personal. And yet this aligned perfectly with the notion that Ghibli films are devoted to reliving memories.

“I agree that it is Miyazaki’s most personal film because he actually told me,” Suzuki told IndieWire over Zoom through an interpreter. Not only is “The Boy and the Heron” inspired by Miyazaki’s childhood (he endured the firebombing of Japan during World War II and his father was director of the family’s aircraft manufacturing factory), but also his career at Ghibli with his two closest friends: the late studio co-founder/director Isao Takahata (“Grave of the Fireflies”) and Suzuki.

“Miyazaki is Mahito [the 12-year-old protagonist voiced by Luca Padovan in the English-language version], Takahata is the great uncle [voiced by Mark Hamill], and the gray heron [voiced by Robert Pattinson] is me,” Suzuki added. “So I asked him why. He said [Takahata] discovered his talent and added him to the staff. I think Takahata san was the one who helped him develop his ability. On the other hand, the relationship between the boy and the [heron] is a relationship where they don’t give in to each other, push and pull.”

Collectively, it’s a lot to unpack: Miyazaki came out of retirement for the second time after “The Wind Rises” (2013) to make his 12th feature — the semi-autobiographical, hand-drawn fantasy for his grandchildren. It’s about destruction, loss, and rebuilding a better future through imagination, inspired by the novel he adored as a child (“How Do You Live?”).

Mahito loses his mother in the firebombing of Japan and relocates to the countryside, where his father (voiced by Christian Bale), who runs an air munitions factory, marries his sister-in-law, Natsuko (voiced by Gemma Chan). Traumatized, angry, and confused, the boy encounters a talking heron (part bird, part man), who tells him that his mother is still alive and guides him to an alternate world in a magical tower shared by the living and the dead. There he encounters his great uncle, the architect of the tower, and reunites with both his mother (voiced by Karen Fukuhara) and Natsuko.

At first, Suzuki resisted green-lighting “The Boy and the Heron” because of Miyazaki’s age (he’s 82) and the great expense (it is arguably Japan’s most expensive film but has made the equivalent of nearly $80 million at the country’s box office). Yet Miyazaki wore down his resistance with his enthusiasm and impressive storyboarding. The film took seven years to complete, and Suzuki needed to hire some of Japan’s most talented animators outside of Ghibli to handle the task (including supervising animator Takeshi Honda of “Neon Genesis Evangelion” fame). With diminished stamina and failing eyesight, Miyazaki was unable to oversee the production in the same manner as when he was at the height of his creative powers and relied on Honda to draw, redraw, and review under close advisement.

But with the death of Takahata in 20018, a grief-stricken Miyazaki was forced to scale back the role of the great uncle in the story, who had previously been more central to the boy’s life. “After Takahata passed away, he wasn’t able to continue with that story, so he changed the narrative and it became the relationship between the boy and the Heron,” Suzuki continued. “And in his mind, initially, the Heron was something that symbolizes the eeriness of the mansion and that tower, even ominous, that he goes to during war time. But he changed it to this sort of budding friendship between the boy and the Heron.”

Miyazaki first toyed with the idea of exploring the theme of friendship in “The Wind Rises” (inspired by real-life fighter design engineer Jiro Horikoshi during World War II) before abandoning it. “So this time around, when the Heron became the centerpiece of the story, and he came with the storyboards, I was careful for him to not portray me in a bad way,” Suzuki said. “Having said that, I’ve known Miyazaki for 45 years. I remember everything about him. There are things that only I know. There are things that only the two of us know. And he remembers all these small details, which I was very impressed with.”

For example, when Mahito and the Heron sit and chat at the house of Kiriko (voiced by Florence Pugh), a younger, seafaring version of one of the old maids, it is a recreation of the way Miyazaki and Suzuki would meet. “The place that we do our meetings, where we have our conversation is at his studio, his atelier,” he added. “And he has this like large table, but we don’t sit facing each other, we sit next to each other, and we never look at each other when we talk. And what we discussed was very similar.”

During production, Suzuki became impatient to see the new storyboards with the great uncle. It seemed Miyazaki was intentionally stalling while grieving about Takahata. “My question was: ‘So when is the great uncle going to appear?'” said Suzuki. “He built this great character, but he never appears in the storyboards that he would bring me. But it took him actually about a year after the passing of Takahata that he was able to draw that character into the storyboards in the second half of the story.

“And the most surprising thing for me was when I saw the storyboard where Mahito was asked by his great uncle to carry on with this work, this legacy, and he says no — he declines the offer. Miyazaki was someone who followed the path of Takahata for so many years, and I thought it was a huge thing for him [to follow a different path].”

Meanwhile, Suzuki confirmed that Miyazaki has not retired. The film has given the director renewed confidence to keep working on other stories. However, Miyazaki can’t focus on new ideas while “The Boy and the Heron” remains in theaters. “He needs to empty his mind again,” Suzuki said, “and then when he’s emptied his mind with a blank canvas, he usually comes up with new ideas. So we have to wait a little more.”

#studio ghibli #ghibli #hayao miyazaki #spirited away #boy and the heron

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eli-timmy · 2 months

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Dune part 2 - promotion

#lil timmy tim #timmy #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #call me by your name #cmbyn movie #cmbyn #dune #elio perlman #lady bird #dune part 2 #dune part one #dune part ii #dune part two #paul muad'dib #florence pugh #austin butler #paul atreides #zendaya

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pshcomforts · 3 months

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➳ let you break my heart again | psh.

collegestudent!sunghoon x fem!reader (mentions of wonyoung from ive)

“one day i will stop falling in love with you”

synopsis: you’ve been in love with your friend, sunghoon for a long time but he has eyes on someone else.

warnings/content: college au. unrequited love. pure and heavy angst. cursing. no happy ending. written in third pov. sunghoon’s oblivious. reader is introverted. a little bit of jay x reader.

comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)

word count: 3.3k

a/n: part two — ‘falling in love’. fictional characters — dae (jungwon’s boyfriend), min-su (heeseung’s girlfriend), and ji-woo (jake’s girlfriend). shameless part two is in the works i swear!

༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚

current song playing: let you break my heart again by laufey

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

1:04 ─────|────────────── -3:25

it was a gloomy and early evening, and all y/n could hear were the sounds of bird chirps and wind whispers.

she gave a soft sigh as she arrived onto the school campus. “just a few hours today, it’s gonna rain too..,” she murmured with a saddened expression.

the girl soon felt a harsh arm tug around her neck, pulling her close within the person’s chest.

in an instant, the smell of cologne and fresh laundry attacked her senses and she knew who it was.

“you just got here??” her close friend, sunghoon beamed towards her.

y/n’s heart instantly thumped at the processed words. “yeah.. did you?” she took a gulp, eyes trailing up towards the body figure.

she heard him give a low chuckle that caused her insides to churn and twist all in one. “i’ve been here for a while, dummy. we’ve all been waiting for you.” hoon spoke, arms unintentionally linking her closer in his presence.

the girl awkwardly laughed along before swallowing her feelings away. “oh.. well, i’m here now.”

“finally! i’ve been waiting since 8am!”

“you have?” her head peered up and she only hoped that sunghoon didn’t notice the blushing red around her cheeks and ears.

he didn’t. the stupid boy was oblivious.

so he only cackled a laugh before furiously nodding his head — “yeah! i need to give you an update on how it’s going so far with wonyoung.”

oh.

y/n’s heart instantly sank to the pit of her stomach, killing all of the possible butterflies that had been formed there. “o..oh…,” she mumbled with a lip bite. “yeah, how’s it going so far?”

she attempted a smile but could only go so far with just her lips forcibly pressing into a thin line.

sunghoon didn’t notice the way his friend who’s crushed on him for months subtly withdrew away from him as he yapped on and on about his progress.

“so me and her..,” “and then we..,” “but she also told me..,” “and i really want her to know that..,” the oblivious boy mumbled on, and all she could do was let him run his mouth with how much excitement surged through him.

y/n laughed here and there, playing the simple mannered jokes to quiet down her aching pain that wished to become present.

but even with her efforts, her tears that caused a shine to display in her eyes were worsening her act. and when she quietly sniffed away her snot, sunghoon immediately noticed and stopped in his tracks.

“hey,” he nudged. “you okay?”

“yeah.. no, yeah, i’m definitely fine! it’s just getting cold so i think i’m getting a little sick.” she muffled back with her head turned away from him.

he didn’t give a response. at least, not right away. it was urgently quiet as he observed her body language, almost as if trying to figure her out.

“are you sure you’re okay?” the male softly uttered. his voice was sweet and reassuring, much like his feelings for wonyoung.

“if you need to, just go back home. your head might hurt if you stay in class.” he added in.

y/n hated this. she hated how caring he was, how unintentionally charming he was. she hated it, and she hated him (lies).

“no it’s fine, hoon.”

sunghoon’s face spoke with disbelief in her words. resting his hand on her shoulder, he firmly murmured, “i’m sure the professor will understand, i don’t want you to force yourself-“

“i said i’m fine.” the girl harshly reiterated.

after the cold shoulder, she felt his hand slip off of her shoulder — causing a burning pulse to ache in her heart. he was the one who withdrew this time, and she felt it.

“you didn’t have to be harsh, y/n.”

sunghoon’s hand was about to fully slip away but y/n caught it in time, fingers dangling onto the forearm with hope and regret.

“sorry, sunghoon, i’m just a little irritated with this cold,” she lied. nothing about her runny nose and teary eyes were about a cold. he was the reason, but he couldn’t know that.

✩ ‘i don’t even think that you care like i do’ ✩

hoon sighed. “i know you get a little mean when your head starts to hurt but don’t take it out on me,” he softly joked, playfully nudging her head afterwards.

the girl rolled her eyes before giving a light smack to his arm. “shut up, i’m just not feeling well.” another lie.

“well just don’t get me sick cause then i’ll get wonyoung sick.”

oh.

his words processed into her ears faster than she thought, and her smile dropped.

but when sunghoon looked back at her to see if she laughed at his joke, she quickly wore a grin once more.

“calm down, you guys are still talking.” y/n said with a stab to the heart.

“not after today, i hope.”

her ears perked up. she knew it wasn’t possible for her friend to like her back, especially with how much he always went on and on about a girl like wonyoung; but it didn’t hurt to have a little hope right?

✩ ‘pretend that we are more than friends’ ✩

“what’s happening today?” she asked, finding it hard to gulp down saliva with her heartbeats in her throat.

sunghoon awkwardly chuckled as he scratched the back of his nape. “i’m planning to ask her out today.”

another heart drop to the stomach.

✩ ‘i should stop’ ✩

‘of course.. i’m an idiot…,’ she thought to herself as she exhaled a heavy sigh.

“what? that’s not a good idea?” the boy asked, catching onto that exaggerated sigh.

“what? oh.. no, it’s a good idea! ask her out!” she beamed, displaying a wide smile. she felt like an idiot. her hopes went up for a second, just for it to be shot down like always.

✩ ‘heaven knows i’ve tried’ ✩

“thank you, y/n! you always help me with her, i can’t thank you enough!” sunghoon yelled, hugging and shaking her around.

y/n lightly laughed. “once is enough..,”

“what?”

“what..? nothing! hey, there’s jake and them, let’s go!” she dragged him towards their friend group and sighed in relief.

“you guys are finally here?” jake teased, displaying his full set of teeth as he laid his head on his girlfriend’s shoulders.

y/n nodded. “yeah, i just came on campus.”

“girl, it’s noon!” her friend, ji-woo yelled in disbelief.

“hey, my class is later, so i’m not late!”

“that’s true, at least she’s planning to go to class.” dae chimed in with a shrug in his shoulders.

“exactly! thank you,” the single friend defensively beamed back.

“that’s a first.” min-su uttered, causing cackled laughter to erupt out of the group.

a few topics of discussions immersed before sunghoon intervened with his own — “so i’m planning to ask wonyoung out.”

everyone immediately shifted their gaze to y/n, who had her head slightly drooped down. they knew she liked him. everyone knew, everyone but sunghoon.

but it wasn’t like they could just tell him for her. it wasn’t their place, and she’d honestly rather keep it a secret with how eager he was to be going out with another girl.

y/n softly shook her head ‘no’ towards her three closer friends who intentionally stared at her a little longer than the members. ‘no, don’t say anything, it’s fine’ — she spoke with that head shake.

ji-woo sighed out before uttering, “you’re really gonna go out with her?”

sunghoon’s head tilted to the side in confusion as he responded with a — “yes? is it that surprising?” he turned his attention to jake to get an idea of what his girlfriend meant, only for jake to just awkwardly smile.

“well, you’re just not the type to be that bold, you know?” dae urged, saving ji-woo’s ass.

“yeah, you’re usually more like the guy who just lets stuff happens unintentionally.” min-su said in an attempt to cover their question up.

“baby, i’m sure sunghoon’s just getting more confident with her.” heeseung replied to his girlfriend, intertwining his hands with hers.

y/n’s head slightly bolted before looking at the male who just spoke. they met eyes before he mouthed a ‘sorry’ towards her.

“hee’s right. she just makes me feel confident in being more out there. she’s so sweet, and talks confidently, and..,” sunghoon chattered on.

and it was then that she realized just how different wonyoung and her were.

wonyoung was extroverted, and y/n was introverted.

she was so outgoing and natural in everything she did, and y/n truly admired her for that. she couldn’t ever hate someone who was so unbelievably sweet like wonyoung.

but the two girls were different, and y/n could see just how much sunghoon and her wouldn’t work out. they were too similar, and he needed someone opposite from him.

her. it was her who was like that. wonyoung brought the best in him, and y/n was at least glad for that.

so as hoon kept yapping on about his plan, y/n disassociated with every thought that flooded her head. she couldn’t bare to hear the same words, so the best thing that she could do was just blur out whatever he was saying.

the group took notice and eventually stopped sunghoon.

“hey y/n, doesn’t your class start soon?” dae quickly intervened with an eyebrow raise.

“hm? oh, yeah.. soon.” she blatantly said, no sense of emotion shown.

ji-woo awkwardly laughed as she added, “girl you should start walking.” her chuckle was in an attempt to make light jokes of the situation, but y/n only nodded.

“okay,” she mumbled and got up from the table seat.

“oh, i’ll walk you.” jay uttered, taking the excuse and leaving as well.

sunghoon cocked his head. “what? but i was supposed to walk her. jay??”

“don’t worry, i’ll walk her! her class will be close to mine anyway!” the dark haired boy shouted before catching up to y/n.

“hey,” jay bumped his arm against hers. “you want to talk about it..?”

she sighed as she faced him. his face showed a sickly amount of worry and it only caused her to playfully push his head away.

“does it look like i want to talk about it?” y/n murmured, softly pouting.

jay chuckled. “no, but i’m here if you need me. i know it’s not easy, y/n, and sunghoon’s a little stupid for not seeing that you like him.”

she clicked her tongue as she rolled her eyes. “please, i haven’t shown that i’ve liked him at all. he’s not stupid, he’s just in love with someone else.” when her words actually processed, she felt her heart shatter into a million pieces.

the girl stopped her tracks and lowered her head, causing jay to look back at her with pity.

“y/n..,” he whispered, brows furrowing at her state.

“it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” she chuckled through her pain, tears already flowing down her cheeks. “being in love with someone who only sees me as a friend.”

“it’s not. maybe if you just tell him-“

“what, tell him and make our whole relationship awkward? no. he’s already adamant on going out with her anyway, there’s no point.”

y/n’s head lowered even more, hiding away her puffy, red eyes that were clear in daylight. she let out soft sobs before attempting to shut down her feelings.

✩ ‘promise i don’t mean to cry’ ✩

“sorry, this is gross. i’m not crying anymore, sorry jay-“

✩ ‘but i get overwhelmed and confused’ ✩

in swift seconds, jay pulled her into his embrace and softly squeezed her. “your feelings for sunghoon aren’t stupid. you may be for not telling him any sooner, but your feelings are never invalidated.” he muffled through the hug.

the girl cracked a smile at his words before slapping his arms. “thanks.. that was a little mean but, thanks jay.”

jay beamed a sweet and reassuring smile as he stroked her hair for a second. “what are friends for?” he said.

✩ ‘some day, someone will like me like i like you’ ✩

“are you still planning to go to class?”

“should i..? after i cried..?”

he cackled a laugh, shining a smile towards her before mumbling, “it’s up to you, but i honestly wouldn’t. you can always catch up too..,”

y/n turned her head to look at him. “are you suggesting that you skip with me?”

“who said i was skipping??” the tall male grinned ear to ear as he watched her exasperate a sigh out.

“you cant tell me to skip and not have you skip with me!”

“fine.. i’ll skip with you.” jay sighed in defeat. “but we have to get the others to skip too!”

“deal! i was already texting dae!”

the two laughed before making a weird U-turn from their pathway.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

eventually, their plan to skip only turned into a library study session. and with such short timing, only a few were willing to do it — dae, min-su, ji-woo, and niki.

the rest were either still in class, at home already, or in some cases, asking their crush out.

so when it was just the six in one big table, everything was chaotically quiet.

y/n sat next to her three closest friends while jay and niki silently bickered here and there.

“i cant believe jungwon didn’t come, he’s usually always down for these study sessions.” niki snorted.

“well wonie wasn’t feeling it today so he just went home.” dae butted in, eyes staying glued to his laptop.

jay huffed out a sigh. “this is a little boring.. i thought we were gonna do something more fun when we skipped, y/n.”

“well, we have to catch up for the work we missed.”

“remind me to never skip with you again..,”

the group quietly laughed together as jay continued — “seriously, y/n, what was the point if we were going to do something like study?”

“i just didn’t want to listen to my professor talk,” she scowled.

“let’s go eat somewhere, at least!” the male frowned, eyes rolling at how much she was concentrating.

“i wouldn’t mind eating..,” niki chimed in.

“let’s go!” yelled ji-woo, getting everyone hyped up to leave.

y/n immediately jumped up from her cushioned seat with a beam — “okay! i just have to go pee first.”

“do you want us to wait for you?”

“no it’s fine, jay needs to get the car anyway so just come around the block and i’ll be here.”

a few debates on staying with the girl was made before she ultimately convinced jay to just let them go first.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

once y/n was finally done, she brought herself to the front of the library. as she stepped out, she finally heard the heavy rain drops pour from outside.

the campus was flooded with wet puddles and muddy sidewalks. she exaggerated a sigh as she covered herself with a hoodie.

“should’ve just had someone wait with me,” she mumbled under her breath.

the girl glanced back and forth, from left to right to ensure nothing was in her way, but once she did so, she completely hated the sight she came across.

a few ways down from her once-peripheral vision, y/n saw sunghoon and wonyoung wrapped around each other in a hug.

she immediately found it hard to breathe with how tight her heart began to clench onto every single ache. tears ran through her cheeks as she watched from afar.

the only thing that further confirmed his stated plans from earlier were the dim lights on campus — exhibiting how well hoon was wrapping his arms around her, how well they fit each other like puzzle pieces.

she bit her lips as she tried to swallow back another crying sob, but she just couldn’t help it.

y/n was watching her closest friend fall in love with someone else this entire time, and she’s always been able to somewhat sustain it. but now? now, he would actually be with wonyoung, instead of the girl who’s been in love with him since high school.

✩ ‘if only you knew what i felt like’ ✩

her breath hitched as every memory of her and hoon being potentially more flashed away in an instant. she’d always thought that maybe on some level, she’d get with sunghoon because of how well it went for all three of her close friends to find their special someone from being friends first.

but that little fragment of hope she had left for something possible was now crushed to a pulp.

✩ ‘some day, one day’ ✩

it wasn’t like the movies where the two friends realize their love for each other, and y/n knew that now. because if it was anything like that, hoon wouldn’t have been so excited to tell her everything that he knew about wonyoung.

he would’ve just confessed his feelings, and baam, happy ending.

but yet again, it wasn’t like the movies.

so she harshly wiped her tears away and though no one was around, she couldn’t help but be thankful for the heavy raindrops that blended her tears in with it. a half smile plastered across her face in revelation to that while sighing.

‘happy for you..,’ y/n thought to herself as she pulled out her phone.

✩ ‘i will stop falling in love with you’ ✩

beads of water from the rain plopped on her phone in a quick pace while she texted a family member — ‘can you come pick me up?’

she bit her lips before leaving to her shared group chat with her beloved friends.

y/n <33:

hey.. i just remembered that i have an exam next week so i have to study for it

go ahead and eat without me tho!! my brother’s already on his way so don’t worry abt any of that! :)

jungwon’s bae 🩶:

You have an exam??

Why didn’t you tell us!

Just come out anyway 🥰

hee’s fav 🤍:

yeah one day won’t hurt!

jake’s girl 🫂:

jay’s taking forever but yeah, just come y/n!

y/n’s eyes glistened when she felt another wave of emotions hit her. they didn’t even know she was going through such a thing, and it hurt that she couldn’t tell them yet.

y/n <33:

no it’s okayy, another time!

a buzz to her phone was made before she found her brother pulling up. she ran to the car with a shaky breath, and soon, they drove away from the heartbreaking sight.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

when the girl got home, she immediately ran to her room and sobbed her eyes out. she broke down in a crying mess after holding it in in front of her brother.

tears streamed down her cheeks and snot filled her nose with every hiccup in her throat.

“i’m an idiot,” y/n grumbled in a scratchy whisper.

just then, her phone rang like crazy and she peeked over. her three friends were calling, most likely to call and talk like they do every night, but she couldn’t do it. not right now.

so she declined it, and a few other buzzed calls from them.

y/n ignored the flooding texts of concerns and playful frustrations before coming across a few from sunghoon.

hoonie 🤍:

You busy??

I have to tell you how it went, y/n

Text me back as soon as possible! I have such good news 🙂🙂

her heart sank. of course he had good news, she was there to witness it. but she was a good friend after all.

✩ ‘until i do, i’ll be thinking of you’ ✩

y/n <33:

oh really?? what happened?

✩ ‘then of course i’ll let you break my heart again’ ✩

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★

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oizysian · 3 months

Text

Part II: Daddy Issues

I Set the World on Fire masterlist

Warnings: non-con touching, talk of sex, slapping

Word count: 2.3k

My breath was shaky as we exited the car, my hearing and smell the only senses I could rely on. The blindfold that covered my eyes soaked up my tears, my hands were tied behind my back and my footsteps were tentative as I walked with the woman who had kidnapped me. She had a tight grip on my arm as she led me along and I tried my damndest to pick up some sort of clues with my remaining senses.

Leaves crunched beneath my feet as we walked and the air smelt crisp. The only sound to be heard was birds chirping and our footsteps, so I had nothing to go on to identify where I was.

We stopped and I heard the sound of a large door opening, creaking with effort and age.

“Let’s go.” The woman said and gave me a nudge, and I started walking again.

The crunching of leaves changed to clicking of heels as we entered. There were multiple people now and it felt as though we were walking forever when I heard another door open and then close behind us after we entered.

“Now what do we have here?” The voice was smooth and sensual and it sent a tingling down my spine.

“Surprise! How’d I do, Natasha? Delivered with no damage.” The woman next to me said and I scoffed, inching away from her. “Don’t worry, she’s friendly - not trained, but friendly.”

“Fuck you.” I spat and I heard the women laughing.

“She’s a real charmer,” the other woman commented, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Take the blindfold off of her.”

The blonde woman sighed and did as she was told, removing the blindfold and stuffing it in her back pocket. I squinted at the sudden brightness of the room, trying to make out the image in front of me.

A woman - a very beautiful woman - sat on a very expensive looking couch, lounging in a pencil skirt and a button up shirt that showed way too much cleavage. My heart sped up at the sight of her, fear overtaking me for the most part, but I couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t attractive.

“You’re even prettier in person.” She said softly, getting up from where she was sitting and approaching us.

She ran one of her long fingers down the side of my face, then grabbed my chin gently and tilted my head from side to side so she could see all of me.

“Exquisite.”

“What do you want?” I finally voiced, trembling in her powerful presence.

“Leave us.” She looked at the blonde from over my shoulder and when she didn’t move, the woman spoke again. “Yelena. I’ll call for you when I’m done. Go.”

I heard her huff from behind me and she walked out with whoever else accompanied us. Once the door slammed shut, the redheaded woman looked me over once more, a hunger in her gaze.

“Just beautiful.”

“What do you want from me?” My voice wavered, my breath getting caught in my throat.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I shook my head.

“Revenge.”

I backed away from her, almost losing my footing as I attempted to escape. I made it to the door and banged on it with my shoulder, feebly trying to break it down. I could hear her laughing and I did my best not to cry as I realized I was completely trapped - there was no escape.

“Maybe it would help if I untied you.” She teased and I grunted, slumping against the door as she approached me. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I looked up at her, my bottom lip trembling as I accepted my defeat.

She helped me to my feet and smiled.

“Let me start again. I’m Natasha Romanoff.”

I stayed silent. This woman had me kidnapped and was now trying to be my friend?

“And you’re Y/N.”

I panted softly as she spoke, my eyes hard with defiance.

“Lena was right. Not trained at all.”

“I’m not a dog.” I snapped and she laughed.

“No, but that’s how you’ve been treated, isn’t it?”

Her words hurt and I’m sure it was very visible on my face that she had hit a sore spot. She cupped my cheek, lifting my head up to look her in her eyes.

“I won’t treat you like she did.” She stroked my cheek with her thumb. “I’ll give you the world.”

“You’re a monster.” I said, trembling.

She blinked at me, her breathing heavy.

“You want to see a monster?”

Fear shined in my eyes at her words.

“I can show you a monster.” She said, turning me around so my face was pressed against the door. “Let me demonstrate,” she said, pausing to grab at my hips and tug down my pants. “How a monster gets what they want.”

I screamed, wriggling under her weight as she held me down, her hand threading through my hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging on it.

“Monsters just take.” She hissed in my ear, giving my ass a slap before running her hand along the swell of it. “If I want this,” she grabbed at me and I cried out in pain. “I’ll just take it. That’s what a monster does.”

“Please!” I squirmed under her, unable to control my body’s reaction to her. “Stop!”

“A monster,” she continued. “Wouldn’t ask for your consent. A monster doesn’t listen to ‘stop’.” She brought her lips to my ear and panted softly against it, her breasts pressed up against my back. “A monster would rip your panties off and stuff three fingers inside your cunt whether you wanted it or not.”

She brought her hand around to cup my sex, undoubtedly feeling the heat through my panties.

“You like monsters, don’t you?”

I shook my head, tears still cascading down my cheeks.

“Oh no?” She pressed her hand against me and I jerked back into her, my ass grinding into her crotch. “You’re telling me no, but your body is screaming yes.”

I thrashed underneath her, no matter how I moved I was pressing myself against her. I couldn’t escape and I couldn’t control myself. I bit my lip and tried to control my breathing as her hand released my hair, but trailed down to the nape of my neck, grabbing me and holding me against the door.

“You’re wet for me. How would Wanda feel seeing you like this?”

“Fuck you!” I screamed and she let out a soft chuckle.

“Take a look over there, printsessa.” She directed my gaze over to a video camera that was set up in the corner of the room, watching us, following our every move. “I’m gonna send Wanda this video and she’s gonna hear you cumming for me over and over and -”

“You bitch! Wanda!” I sobbed, still struggling against her.

“I’m not a bitch. I’m a monster, remember?”

I could feel the ropes burning my skin as I struggled, my legs spread apart and shaking as I tried to keep myself standing.

“And if I can do this to you,” she snarled. “Imagine what I can do to Wanda.”

“No, please!” I cried. “Don’t hurt her!”

I stopped moving against her, and she let me go. I slid down the door and fell in a heap at her feet, still crying softly.

“What do you want me to do?”

She knelt down next to me, brushing the hair from my face gently.

“Give in to me. That’s all you need to do.”

•

Several Days Later

“You bitch! Wanda!”

Wanda gritted her teeth as she watched the video sent to her of Y/N, visibly shaking with rage.

“No, please! Don’t hurt her!”

Her heart broke as she listened to her plead for her safety. She had been such a bitch to her and here she was sacrificing herself to protect her.

“Find that Romanoff bitch.” Wanda said to Dimitri, her voice low and dangerous. “I’m going to kill her.”

“Do you think that’s wise, Wanda?” He spoke to her softly, gently.

“She has Y/N!” She yelled as she stood from her desk, barely holding back from the temptation of destroying everything in the room out of white hot rage.

“Exactly, she has Y/N. We’re at a disadvantage. We should see what she wants.” Leo suggested and Wanda stared daggers at him.

“She wouldn’t have gotten to Y/N if you were doing your goddamn job!”

Dimitri gave Leo a look, one that Wanda did not fail to miss, and sat back down in her chair, rubbing her face with her hands.

“I don’t care what she wants - whatever she wants she can have it.” Her breath hitched. “I just need Y/N back.”

“We’ll get her back.” Dimitri spoke with determination in his voice.

“Go.” She said softly, not even bothering to raise her head. “I don’t want to see either of you again until you have some news for me.”

Leo turned and left without a word, but Dimitri lingered, clearly having something on his mind.

“I said go, Dimitri.” She said as she finally looked up at him and she saw the odd look on his face, nearly causing her to go pale.

“Wanda …” he started and she interrupted him before he could finish.

“You know something, don’t you?”

•

“No more tears, printsessa,” she cooed softly, stroking her thumb along my lower lip. “She’s not coming for you.”

I jerked my head away from her, still unable to believe that.

“That’s not true.” I whimpered softly, sniffling as she grabbed hold of my face again so I would look at her.

“She’s not coming. So open that pretty mouth for daddy. Just like before.”

Defeated, I opened my mouth and she slid her fingers inside. I wrapped my lips around the intrusive digits, my tongue swirling along the length of them, just like she showed me.

“That’s my good girl.” She purred, stroking my hair with her free hand. “Get them nice and wet.”

Tears trailed down my cheeks as I sucked on her fingers, my mind wandering as I did as I was told. What if Wanda wasn’t coming for me? What if she didn’t care and did leave me here with Natasha?

She pulled her fingers out of my mouth and before I could react, she slapped me across the face, knocking me back onto the bed.

“Stay with me, printsessa. I want you here with me.”

“Yes, daddy.” I cried, scrambling to my knees so I could ask for her forgiveness.

I hated giving into her, but I didn’t have a choice. It was either me or Wanda and I didn’t want to imagine what she’d do if she got her hands on her.

I would daydream that Wanda would come for me, get me out of this hell and we could be together again. But, she hasn’t come yet, and I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve been trapped here with Natasha.

Days blended with nights and now I wasn’t sure what time or what day it was. She kept me in a darkened bedroom with no windows, and I wasn’t allowed to leave the room under any circumstances. I was a prisoner and she made sure I knew it when I acted out of line. But when I was good, she treated me more like an equal; letting me feed myself, not being tied to the bed, and being allowed to go to the bathroom by myself.

So, more often than not, I obeyed her, let her have me in all the ways she wanted me just to hurt Wanda. It wasn’t always entirely unpleasant. Some nights she was gentle with me, and some nights she just wanted me to cum to hurt Wanda. I fought her so many times, struggling against my body to not cum for her, but I couldn’t control myself and every night she won.

Natasha was an incredibly powerful woman, and everyone she surrounded herself with knew it and respected her. To me, she was just a monster. She didn’t feel, she didn’t love, she just wanted and took. I didn’t know what she wanted from Wanda, and I couldn’t imagine what she could’ve done to this woman to have her go to these lengths to torture her.

Was she even suffering? Did she even care about what was happening to me?

She reached behind me and slapped my ass hard, causing me to fall face first into her, her other hand steadying me before I toppled us both over.

“This will be easier for you once you stop thinking about her. She doesn’t care about you.”

“Stop.” I cried, rubbing my face against the softness of her shirt.

“She doesn’t care like I do. I’ve taken care of you - fed you, bathed you - I’ve even made you cum.”

“Stop it.” I sobbed against her.

She stroked my hair gently, almost soothingly.

“She gave you to me. You’re mine now. She doesn’t care about you.”

I knew she was saying these things to test me, to see if I’ll disobey her and be defiant, but I didn’t have the strength. I was completely drained of everything. It was beginning to seem real, the fact that Wanda gave me to Natasha. The reality that I would have to live like this forever and that this was my life now began to sink in.

I cried, my tears soaking into the fabric of her expensive shirt. She shushed me softly, brushing the hair back from my flushed face.

“Once you give in to me completely, things will get easier for you here, I promise.”

She knew I would give in, it was only a matter of time. I didn’t know what she wanted from Wanda, but it was clear that Wanda wasn’t willing to trade it away for me, and I belonged to Natasha.

“Yes, daddy,” I whispered, taking her hand in mine and bringing it up to my face, rubbing my cheek against her palm. “I’m yours.”

“Say it once more for daddy.”

I looked up into her darkened eyes, swallowing roughly as I pushed back the tears that threatened to fall once again.

“I’m yours.”

•

@marvelogic @casquinhaa @mathxa @oh-thats-cute @ornorr @milkeeteaa @souanick @nothanksbye07 @romanoff101 @dracarys8287

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