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anundyingfidelity · 28 days

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I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part VIII)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 5.1k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: irresponsable parent, one suicide thought, nudity, implied bisexual reader, misoginist thoughts, Homelander (!!!!), SMUT, hate/rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, dirty talking, some degrading, slight choking, bitchy reader.

Notes: i might wrote more than intended here lmao but the smut is here finally you sinners, give this reader a trophy for the strongest bitch ever to resist soldier boy, well deserved!! hope you like it lol, and thanks for reading as always!!

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @soldirboy @deans-spinster-witch @girlsforpjm @artemys-ackles

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part VIII: Tamed

2009

"Baby, how was your audition today?" your mother asked once you entered the kitchen.

Your suit was long gone along with the great smile you put on before leaving early that day. But she was different. She was all honey and candy, putting on the happiest face ever. And you knew it wasn't because of you.

"I'm not doing that shit," you spit harshly. This was your way of delivering the news now.

Her eyes widened as she closed the distance between both. You looked down to your feet, not wanting to see her disgusting face. You felt her hands on your shoulders and your body tensed under her touch.

"Why?! This is your dream, honey! You have to do it!"

You quickly pulled away from her.

"No! Mom, you did this to me!" your voice came out loud and shouting. "I just wanted to be normal! But you always influenced me to do this and go after Vought, I don't fucking want that! Those supes are fucking assholes and everything around them is a damn lie!"

She was startled, you could tell that from the way her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as she placed her hand on top of her heart, pretending to be hurted. It was the first time you talked back to her like that.

Since you were a child, you did everything she asked you to. You never complained, never stood up for yourself. You didn't have a choice, nor an opinion that mattered. Your mother picked everything for you. Your clothes, your behavior, your food, your studies, your dreams... Today, you decided it was over. She was over controlling your life.

Your mother scoffed, a sly smile on her lips as she tried to touch your arm softly. Giving a step back, you shook your head saying 'no'. She sighed.

"Honey, this isn't you. And Vought, this is your dream. The Seven are your dream. Now, why don't you go back and-"

"I said no."

You cut off her stupid words with a straight voice. Her smile dropped in a second and you saw her eyes darkening.

"Y/N, this is not what your father wanted for you. We didn't raise you like this," she hissed through her teeth.

"Don't talk about dad. You don't care about him, you never did. Fuck, you don't care about me!" you raised your voice, fighting the tears in your eyes and the knot on your throat.

You were so sick of being weak. She raised you to be like it. Soft, fragile, compassionate, cute, playing the dumb rich girl with no brain and forcing you to not show your intelligence to others... It was all a façade. It was easier for her to manipulate you if you pretended to be stupid. Since her pregnancy, all you were for her was a cashback. Your father already had an heir, and what could be better if that heir was also part of The Seven, the most powerful supes of the planet. Of course, Vought shares would be higher than ever and your mother would be even more disgustingly rich. And you would be giving everything away for free. It wasn't fair for your selfish mother to suck your life away like this. But in the end, she didn't care.

"I'm not staying here. I'm leaving," you continued, crossing your arms on your chest. "I want my part of dad's inheritance, and I'm gonna be a fucking doctor and show off my brain after decades of hiding it, I've had enough of you stopping me."

"No, no, baby, you can't do this to me–"

"If you don't, I'll sue you and expose you, Vought and Homelander on a fucking trial."

She scoffed. You could see the tears forming on her eyes, but you weren't sure if they were because of you leaving or because you were threatening her money.

"You won't do that. They'll kill you."

"I don't care, I already tried to kill myself. They'd be doing me a favor."

At your confession, her jaw clenched and she tightened her fists.

"Fucking brat. Someday, when you regret running away from me, don't come back. You're just a disappointment for me, ever since you were a stupid child. Everything you are is useless and worthless, and I regret ever putting you in my womb."

Your brows furrowed when she spilled those harsh words, and you fought the urge of hitting her until she passed out.

"Don't think I ever told you, but yeah, you weren't a natural conceive. Yeah, we used his sperm and everything. The point is- I didn't want fucking kids, but your dad, ugh god, he did. And I gave you to him. All I get to say is, I was better without you. Probably if I should've waited just a little, my child wouldn't be a fucking ungrateful piece of shit standing right here," she gave you a grin. A sick one, as her fingers ran through your hair like she used to when you were a little girl.

You wanted to knock her off and run. But you just stood there, biting the inside of your cheek and tasting your own blood as she finally revealed herself to you, her daughter. It was clear you meant nothing to her. And you just wished your dad would be alive. He wouldn't force you into that stupid audition anyway.

"I pity you," she mocked. "But if that's what you wanna do, then leave. And don't you dare to come back."

A loud knock on his door woke him up from a deep slumber. Ben rubbed his eyes, groaning at the stupid sound of your voice calling him from the other side over and over. This was becoming a fucking routine he was starting to hate.

"Fucking shit," he mumbled, removing the blankets off his bare body when the door finally opened and you walked inside, stopping by his side of the bed.

"C'mon, Soldier Boy, get your ass up. You didn't wash the dishes last night."

Ben rolled on the bed and looked at the clock in the nightstand. He grunted. "It's fucking 6 A.M."

"Yes, and I have shit to do before I leave grocery shopping," you said, looking around his room. There were clothes everywhere you knew needed a good wash, an open bag with weed on top of the desk, joints and cigarettes, and a bunch of toilet paper littered on the floor you didn't want to know about. "One of them is watching you to make sure you clean the cave you live in."

Ben groaned, cursing under his breath, but stood up from the mattress with a wide grin. He noticed you always did your best to keep your eyes upon his face. Even if it wasn't the first time you had to see him like this, he enjoyed the way your body and face reacted to his naked form. So he got used to sleeping with no clothes on, knowing you'd always come to get him for breakfast. He could get used to it. Except for the part where he had to clean shit. That's why you were there. It was your fucking task to clean everything. Women's duties. But he had to endure the fucking times.

He got to complain to you every single day, every morning, and it was becoming already part of his routine too. But you somehow forced him to clean shit up and then he had to wait for his food, for his weed, lube and more clothes and shit you brought every time you were out. At some point, he thought he could be used to you feeding him up, but he still had a mission and it didn't matter how many times he had been sneaking into every room in your place, checking inside your office, how many times he had been searching through your bedroom on the drawers and smelling your lingerie, he still found nothing. He was pretty sure there was something else he wasn't really seeing yet. And Homelander on the TV along with those fuckers Victoria and Dakota Bob wasn't making his personal mission any easier, nor having no clue of where this kid Ryan was.

"Put some pants on," you said, interrupting his daydream.

"Whatever," Ben rolled his eyes and walked past you, taking a pair of pants from the carpeted floor.

"God, you're so fucking stoned," you mumbled watching as he dressed himself. "Get this mess cleaned after the dishes, I don't want to greet this shithole every morning."

"And what's in it for me, doll?" he asked, passing by your side and getting inside the bathroom.

He never bothered to shut the door closed while taking a piss, and this was, also, something you got used to seeing and hearing. When he finished, he came back with a smirk, stopping his tracks right in front of you.

"Nothing. There's nothing for you, stop acting like a dog begging for a bone."

"Yeah, well I'd like your pretty bones better.”

He gave you a wink and walked out the bedroom. God, he was so damn annoying. You followed him quickly and climbed down the stairs just to make sure he would start washing the dirty dishes from the last dinner you had.

“Make sure to scrub them correctly,” you said as you looked at how he turned on the sink.

Ben grunted in frustration, looking at you from the corner of his eye. It was always the fucking same with you, giving him directions he already knew the whole time.

“Fuck, woman, you’re so fucking annoying. I’m no damn pussy, I can do this without your ass here.”

The way he answered made you grin, getting closer to him until your arm was pressed against his own. “Yeah, I know you’re not stupid. I’m just making sure I’m taming you well.”

Ben’s eyes widened a little, clearly surprised by your boldness but not too much. Because the one who should be taming who, was him towards you. His macho self wouldn’t let a woman treat him like that. It didn’t matter he was hitting on you since the moment he met you in the facility, like doctor and patient. Ben was pretty sure that, besides his own personal payback, you would fall for him eventually. And once you do, because he was pretty sure it’d happen sooner or later, he would give you the best fuck ever. He turned his gaze to you as you looked at him with innocent eyes.

“I’d shut my mouth if I were you, sweetheart,” Ben warned in a low voice, taking in your figure standing so close to him that your warmth could be felt all along his body. “I don’t wanna screw you yet.”

“I take that as a challenge.”

The sun was almost setting down as you drove back home. It took you more than expected to complete the second shopping trip of the week and you were getting tired and spent. Sleep was becoming a privilege at this point. The past nights you had confined yourself to the lab down the bunker, and just now, you felt the cure was ready. Almost ready. The most important component was missing and you were still considering things you might regret later.

The low sound of the radio accompanied your thoughts as you traveled on the road, and the ways you’d like to tell Soldier Boy about all the mess you were getting into under Grace’s supervision, who had just called two fucking times in days. But part of you was afraid Ben wouldn’t understand the importance of a cure. He was a supe, and without his powers, he was fucking nothing. Just like Homelander. Even if he had made it clear that he hated his own son, you doubted to trust him and you felt the same hateful feeling towards you coming from him. At this point, you knew you were just putting up a stupid act.

And you started wondering if it should’ve been easier if you just let him between your legs and take what he wanted. He was a simple man; he saw a fuckable female, he wanted her. Surely you also knew when a man, woman, or anyone was attractive, but you just didn’t want that. You didn’t want him to feel like he won this battle. It was too fucking much, and you stopped sleeping around with strangers a couple of years back. The problem was, Ben wasn’t a stranger anymore, not to you.

Suddenly, a figure landed a few feet away from you on the highway. You hit the brake of your car as fast as your reflexes allowed you to, seeing red, blue and white. Once your car stopped completely, you met with the last person you’d ever wanted to see. Homelander smiled widely as you locked eyes with him through the windshield. He surrounded the car until he came by your side, standing outside your door. You turned on the flashing lights of the car and turned the engine off, it wasn't like you could escape anyway.

“Nice to see you around, doc,” he greeted.

“Why are you following me?”

“I told you before; I have eyes on you.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing tightly the wheel between your hands. “I don't know what you want me to do.”

“Don’t be stupid. That cure won’t see the light, I’m making sure of that,” Homelander leaned on your open window and your head moved away slightly as he studied the insides of your car. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“For what? For trying to kill me? For taking my father’s money for your stupid circus? For touching me?” you hissed.

He chuckled, straightening himself again. “For taking you out, silly.”

A long sigh escaped your lips. “So this is your plan in the end.”

“It always has been. I know every move you make, the stores you go each week, I even know where you’re living right now and how you work your ass off that stupid experiment of yours,” his words made you visibly tense and he noticed, like every little reaction coming from you. “How’s the old man doing by the way?” he asked, as if it was just another chat between friends.

“You make me sick.”

“Oh, no. I want you healthy,” Homelander placed a hand on your wrist. “Please eat well and rest enough. Don’t burn yourself out, honey, it's useless.”

You started shaking your head, confusion fogging your mind at the way he talked like he had something prepared for you. “You’re fucked, Homelander,” you whispered.

You were trying to convince yourself more than him, scared of what he would do to you, forcing you into this twisted mouse and cat game. He just smiled widely at your words, laughing under his breath.

“Once I have you under my mercy,” you continued, holding his gaze. “You’re gonna be fucking nothing. I promise you that.”

His hand wrapped around your neck and for a moment you thought he would kill you right there. “I can’t wait to see you try and fail miserably, I’ll enjoy that show. Might become my favorite.”

Homelander let go of his grip roughly, allowing you to breathe again.

“Fuck you,” you spat back.

He chuckled, straightening himself and walking away from your car, giving you a last glance. “Not yet, doctor. Not yet.”

Once back in the spot where he landed, he flew away and you were left alone on the road. No cars, nor people walking could be seen, but it was better that way. Forcing your hands to stop shaking, you turned the engine on again and started to drive back home. Taking your phone out, you made a call, waiting for the other line to answer. You had to act fast and track that motherfucker down, not caring if you were already regretting what you’d do next.

“So, what’s your story?”

His question surprised you more than you could tell. After dinner nights like this were becoming a really weird habit of him talking shit about this stupid century, how things were better back then and how people got dumber with time. But you never thought Soldier Boy would insist on your past, not since the first night you ate together at the same table. You finished your glass of whisky, not sure if answering his question or not.

You shrugged. “I’m not that interesting.”

Ben drank his own liquor down before asking again. “Let me rephrase that: why do you hate Vought so much?”

“Who says I hate them?”

He studied your face for a moment. The look in your eyes told nothing, but your heart rate and your breathing was always enough for him to know you were fucking lying about it. Ben had started to think of many other things you were hiding from him. But even with all that stupid mask covering you, he wanted to have you. Countless times he tried, he wasn’t going anywhere now. Nobody could resist him, you were just another game to play and he was kind of enjoying it.

“All of you. You scream inside that you want to fuck them up,” he answered. “Believe me, I want nothing more than that.”

“Didn’t you have your own payback some months ago?”

“Yes, but you already know that from my file. I’m asking about you now.”

His intense green eyes and the grit on his words caused you to think exactly what to say. You couldn’t hide it anymore, not everything at least.

“My mom. Vought experimented on her when she was pregnant, that’s why I have powers,” you said, dry and straight to the point.

“How?”

You breathed out, closing your eyes for a moment, not believing he would force you to remember the memories you had been fighting to erase.

“She was paid a huge amount of money. And she hoped her daughter would join Vought someday; she was so wrong about that,” you gave a bittersweet chuckle. “On my eighth birthday, I finally discovered my powers. There was this huge party and a lot of my parent’s rich friends and their kids, whom I didn’t know because I had no friends, were there. And then, I just remember I got overwhelmed by all these people and the attention. I always hated that. And then, my mother couldn’t find me when it was cake time. I was in my room but she couldn’t see me there. Turned out I was invisible… It was the first and the only time I could make my clothes and my shoes disappear with me.”

Ben listened attentively, much to your surprise, as he spoke once again, locking his eyes with yours. “So your powers come from your inner wish of disappearing from your mother’s sight.”

You hummed and nodded your head. “I think that’s a great way of putting it, but yes.”

“Well, I'll take it back. They fucked your life too, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, and they’re still after you anyway.”

He scoffed. “Those fucking cocksuckers. Also, where the fuck is Grace anyway? All the CIA bullshit?” he asked, quickly changing the topic abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he demanded an answer.

“No news from her apparently, nor any agents.”

“Bullshit, your last call with her was a couple of days ago and you said nothing.”

“Why are you so invested in her? You like her?” you mocked, noticing how his resemblance switched from calm to visibly annoyed. There was no fucking way you’d tell him where she was right now.

“Y’know what I’d like? A fucking reasonable answer from you, that’d be perfect,” he snarled, and you knew he was back being stubborn and childish asking the same fucking shit all the time.

“I don’t know, but when I do I’ll tell you,” you responded after remaining silent under his angry stare.

“You’ve been saying the same shit over and over—”

“Okay, so tell me what you want. You want Homelander. Good, and then what?”

He held your stare, you noticed he was trying to keep himself down. “The kid.”

“Ryan?”

“Yes, the fucking brat.”

His hard eyes were not lying and you argued back on it.

“You can’t do that, there has to be another way.”

“Fucking tell me where it is. ‘Cause I see nothing!” he shouted, his voice booming all over the room. “That fucking pussy and his fucking team, they all had him right there. And in a second, Butcher just backed up! I could’ve done it already and we wouldn’t be here, playing dollhouse.”

Spilling the truth was no option right now. He was stupidly pissed right now. But you knew it was cruel to hunt a kid down just because his father had put him into the spotlight thanks to his powers. Ben, on the other hand, was blinded by his hatred towards Homelander, and you knew he was a man of his word. He was more than able to kill Homelander and the boy for a deal, one that was broken because of a weak moment coming from Butcher. Even for your morally gray head, killing Ryan was not an option. At least not now. You hated Homelander, but you probably understood Butcher more than you’d like to admit. Soon, you would think about a plan; where to put the kid after injecting the anti V.

“Let me give you a lead when I can,” you said.

“Tell me why should I trust you.”

“It’s your choice, honestly. Probably you shouldn’t, but I may give you something sooner or later.”

Without waiting for his response, you took the empty dishes to the sink, and Ben followed you with his eyes, taking in the softness of your exposed skin through the short summer dress. He liked the way the fabric hugged your curves and how it fell over your legs, inviting him to have a taste. Ben noticed you putting on shorts and dresses more often the last few days, and he was thankful for the hot weather to be able to see you like this. The past nights, he had jerked off with you in mind, wondering when he’d be the man to put you in place. Perhaps he just needed to try again.

He got on his feet as you talked, but none of the things coming out of your mouth were important as he put his weight behind your body, his hands roaming over your arms before you got to start washing the dirty plates.

“Do you not get tired of trying?” you breathed out.

You felt his rough hands caressing your arms, before moving down your waist, pressing your ass against the bulge growing on his pants. He smiled to himself once he heard the loud gasp coming from your mouth.

“Just tell me you haven’t thought about it,” he whispered, placing his lips down your neck, nipping softly at your sensitive skin, as he massaged your flesh, going to the curve of your ass.

“And when you get this, what?” you asked, turning around to meet his dark eyes. He was practically devouring you with his stare. You’d be lying if you didn’t find him hot, looking at you like that, as if you were the last and only meal that could end his greedy hunger.

He smiled, and whispered cockily against your lips. “You can always ask me for a second round.”

Fuck it.

You captured his lips in an impatient kiss, nibbling at his bottom lip with urgency as you tasted the whisky from his mouth, your breaths mixing and panting as he lifted you up without further effort. Ben walked towards the countertop in the middle of your kitchen, placing you on the surface as he spread your legs. You welcomed him closer, feeling his hands traveling freely under the thin fabric of your dress, feeling the softness of your legs, your inner thighs, until he rubbed over your panties. You let out a moan against his mouth when his fingers found your folds and you held tightly against the corner of the countertop.

“You’re dripping, sweetheart,” he growled, breaking the kiss.

“It’s been a while, ohfuck!”

A shiver ran down your spine as he stretched your pussy with one thick finger, his lips trailed down your neck to your collarbone, sucking and nipping on your skin. Your walls fluttered as he pumped in and out, and your hips set a move on its own. He hissed against your skin as he worked you open and ready for his hard cock, growing excitedly in his pants. A second finger slipped in and you clenched.

Ben smirked and you felt the burning feeling of his beard as he kissed your shoulder. You wondered how he’d feel between your legs, bruising your inner thighs with his big hands and the burning of his facial hair. The frantic fucking from his fingers pushed you to the edge, moaning and panting for air as his thumb played with your clit. You gripped on his forearms, looking for something to hold on tight as you reached that sweet high.

“Fuck, you did so well,” he praised, pulling his fingers out of your pussy, leaving you empty. He brought his wet fingers to your lips and you complied, opening your mouth. You licked his fingers, locking your eyes with his. “Wonder what twirls your pretty mouth has for me,” Ben pushed his fingers further, making you gag for a bit. “I’ve been thinking of hundreds of ways of finally holding your tongue with my cock.”

His other hand wrapped your neck, as he forced you to suck his fingers harder, hitting your gag reflex over and over. He discovered he loved hearing your breathy sounds and the dirty look in your eyes while you sucked his digits. When he pulled out his fingers from your mouth, you took in a deep breath, but the grip on your neck grew tighter as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You’ll have to go down on me first if you want my mouth,” you whispered against his lips.

Ben could hear your heart racing, and he was sure you got all dizzy and bothered just by his hand. “Oh, is that so?” he rasped.

You rolled your eyes, growing impatient. “Why don’t you shut up and fuck me hard?”

And there it was. They’d always beg for him in the end. He smiled down at you, loosening the grip around your throat. “With pleasure.”

His hands wasted no time in getting rid of your dress, discarding your panties and your bra ripping them in half. You moaned when his palms groped on your tits, playing with your nipples and squeezing them harshly. God, you were getting wet again just by the feeling of his mouth biting on your soft buds. Quickly, you reached for his pants, touching his hard cock over the fabric. Ben growled, feeling the softness of your palm stroking him gently. Good choice not wearing anything underneath. Your other hand tugged at his shirt until it was discarded over the floor, his pants following after.

He got you off the countertop so your feet were on the ground, and turned you swiftly, laying you down on your chest on the cold surface. He massaged the sides of your hips, running down his palms over your ass with a hiss.

“Now this is quite a view.”

You moaned as his fingers played with your entrance. “Fuck, Ben, just do it already.”

“Shit, doll, I love when you beg.”

He stroked his cock with your juices before aligning with your pussy, slowly sliding in your wet heat. He stretched you out inch by inch, and you became a whimpering mess. After a moment of staying still balls deep in your wet core, he snapped his hips against your ass, setting a brutal pace. Loud moans and screams escaped your throat. You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You knew your fingers stopped being enough each time you needed sweet release, and probably you would regret him fucking you later, but right now you didn’t care. His fingers inside your cunt, the way he would handle your body like a feather just for his disposition and to get off with, and now his cock filling you up was becoming too much. But you loved it.

Soldier Boy felt too good inside you, fucking your brains over and over. His hands bruising your hips, groping the flesh of your ass and breasts, as he pounded into you, everything was like heaven and you were sure you’d be spent once it was over. His dark, lusty eyes memorized every inch of your body and the way your pussy engulfed his dick with each thrust. The kitchen was filled with your whimpers and his animalistic growls, mixed with the sound of his skin hitting against your own. He hit on that sweet spot repeatedly, making your walls clench around his cock.

“Jesus, you’re coming pretty quickly today,” Ben teased under his breath, his fingers tangling in your hair pulling your back against his muscular chest. “Wait for me, doll,” he whispered in your ear, satisfied on how fucked out and desperate you were underneath.

“Do it fast, you asshole! Fuck!”

Your pussy fluttered and clenched on his cock as he hit your spot again. With a loud moan, you finally reached the climax you longed for so long, and took his deep, rough thrusts as he fucked you through bliss. His name escaped your throat countless times, coming down from your high. Ben growled, your orgasm and the spasms of your cunt triggered his own, and he finally released himself inside your tight pussy.

And how good it felt to finally have you there, begging and crying for his cock. It was so much better than his own imagination, and he took in great pleasure on fucking the brat out of you. He continued bucking his hips until his white seed started leaking down your thighs, and finally stopped. The only sound in the room being your tired breaths.

“Oh, shit,” you gasped, feeling his grip on your scalp softening.

He sucked on your neck one last time with a cocky grin on his lips. “I told you I’d be a great fuck, sweetheart.”

“I wish you could shut up for once,” you answered back, looking at him from your side, and feeling his cock softening inside you. “I might have my methods.”

He bucked his hips one more time. A whimper escaped past your lips as he pulled you back against his chest in a swift motion, his fingers traced your neckline. “So do I, doll.”

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justafairytailofinnocence · 1 month

Text

Modern Thranduil x anxious reader

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 1:

A Dance with tardiness

Synopsis: An antisocial, anxious writer in her early 20s attends a ballet class under the teachings of a mysterious, reserved, austere dance instructor. They form an unlikely within their solace and past.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter 2

A/n: This fanfic doesn't follow along the lines of the hobbit but rather a loosely spin-off au that only uses some characters. I do not own the right to them as they are Tolkien's characters and I respect his creation. (even if the characters might be ooc). Feel free to comment, reblog and like. Let me know if you'd like a chapter 2.

I tended to daydream often, more so when I listened to the music. The tune and tone of the song that played one after the other sent me to the realms I immersed; typically, anyone would daydream into another realm far better than their own: a princess, pirate, elf, fae—anything. My imagination is my realm of comfort, a sealed bubble that I can freely roam however I wish. Unfortunately, within fantasy, we must face reality. Within my reality, I’m not much of an importance, at least not one to have a whole written memoir about. I’m more of one of those faces you’d pass by in the street or grocery store, not giving any second thought to. Though I’d prefer it that way, I’m not much of a talker but rather a writer; I’m more fluent in my words than my speaking. Every attempt I’ve made, I’ve stumbled or become still; my chest would rise heavily and lower deeply. I always asked how people can do it, how they can speak—talk—communicate like it’s a piece of cake. I’d rather shroud myself in my isolation than speak to another living being.

At my desk, in my somewhat clean apartment, I was planning my next latest story in a saga of 3 books. So far, I’ve managed to get in contact with a publishing company via email who were willing to get behind the idea of a feature-length young-adult romance novel, a romance novel about a pirate king and a fae queen. The first chapter was still relatively underdeveloped, yet I’m willing to spend an entire day finishing it. I had only five months to publish the entire chapters. I’ve been a fantasy fan ever since I was a child. To me, fantasy is what the word impossible turned into possible. For ten years, I’ve been writing, and never once has it stripped me of what I truly adore.

Whilst my fingers pressed against the keys on my keyboard, I received a text message on my phone from the side of my desk surrounded by papers. It was from my mom, who was wondering about my well-being. As always, I respond with the usual ‘everything’s going well—I’m pumping out new chapters for my new novel, ‘A Puncture in Time’, you know—the one with pirates and fantasy, new chapters soon to come ;)’. Even though she’s smart enough to see through my little façade, she writes back, ‘Hey listen, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you, things will get better; it just takes practice; I know you’ll meet someone you’ll find it easy to talk to’. I sighed heavily; within her words, I have faith, yet doubt. Should I choose to believe her, bite the bullet and try to speak up or wallow in a lie that can send her mind at ease? Before I wrote back, she sent a post with a link. I furrowed my brows as curiosity swelled my thoughts, my finger tapped the link. It was an ad. An ad for ballet classes. I thought it odd why she would send me something like this: I’m no dancer; I’m certainly no ballerina.

I replied with a question mark ‘?’.

A message bubble popped up: ‘…’ I awaited her reply.

As she was still typing, I took the liberty of glancing through the ad quickly. The tab loaded with a cursive font in bold ‘Les danseuses se réjouissent’. Scrolling past the stock images of ballet dancers, I came across a small section of different levels offered: beginner, Intermediate, and advanced. My mind raced with doubt; I had no experience in ballet, at least not since I was a young child. I wondered to myself, ‘Do I really want to take this? After all, I’m not exactly one for groups’. However, my mind was put at ease when my eyes came across an option for ‘one-on-one private lessons’. At least, I wouldn’t be with people who were far more experienced—let alone a group; the thought of many eyes staring at me—would have my heart sink. As I clicked the option, I was astounded; there were no reviews, pictures, or even a description of the instructor. I was sceptical. Surely, if you were to teach a class, you’d have at least a brief introduction of yourself. Even as an author, I have a concise introduction in my publications. I lightly sighed, weighing my options; on the one hand, it’ll please my mom, get me out of the apartment, and keep me fit; on the other hand, despite being private, I’m meeting someone I don’t know. Who knows what this person’s intention is, even if it’s for a class.

Finally, I heard a ‘ding’ as she replied, ‘Please try, at least for me; it’ll be good for your health, and you once mentioned you wanted to be a ballerina. I know the world isn’t always what we want it to be, but I know you can make it shine; I’ve seen it in your novels; give this a chance, give them a chance, to show them how you can shine, because I know you’ll be the brightest star there :).’

My eyes softened as I read every word; I couldn’t deny she had a way of getting through to me. She was always a caring woman, along with my dad. They were the only two people I could speak to without pressure or the weight in my chest.

I pressed back onto the tab with the private lessons. I clicked to see the booking dates—there’s an option to book for tomorrow, and the price is only $45 per lesson. For the price, it wasn’t too bad; yet still expensive. I filled in the details required to send the booking through, yet my finger hovered as I was about to press ‘confirm’. My mind came to a tussle of thoughts and hesitations; this would be the first time, in a long time, that I would speak face-to-face with an actual living being. However, I recalled Mom's words, ‘Because I know you’ll be the brightest star there’.

Breathing in—I pushed it, I pressed confirm.

I did it. I’m going to attend a ballet class. My head slowly lowers onto my desk, surrounded by papers. My hair dangled over my forehead. The adrenaline that reached the height of my mentality came crashing down. It’s like going on a rollercoaster you didn’t ask for, coming from the highest point of the rail down to the pit below. I start to feel light-headed. I want to sleep. I want to stay here. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. What if this doesn’t work out?

I rose slowly from my desk chair, picked up my phone, and texted, ‘I’ve booked lessons for tomorrow…I hope you're right about this.’

I watched as once more, awaiting her response, ‘…’

‘Oh, I’m so happy, you’ll fit right in, I know it :)’ she texted.

I didn’t respond. She’s pleased, at least.

I decided to call it a night; I’ve had enough pressure for one day. I logged off, cleaned the papers on my desk, pushed them into a neat-ish pile and headed to the bathroom to shower. As I opened the door, I went inside to set down my pyjamas by the medium-small bathtub’s acrylic side rim. My bathroom isn’t big exactly, but neither is it small. It’s moderate for what it was: a bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, and a medium-sized mirror in the same room. It’s not precisely palace material, but it helps soothe my thoughts. I held my hand out as I turned on the shower, feeling the trickling water against my skin. The temperature quickly changed from cold to warm in just five seconds. Once I was satisfied, I stripped bare, sliding my long-sleeved green shirt off and sliding my darker tracksuit pants. I tossed my unmentionables inside the bathtub. I stepped inside the shower, allowing the warm water to run freely down my skin. I shut the shower enough to have a slit entrance still. I grabbed the soap, rubbing it over my skin, arms, legs, and body. I splashed water on my face as the water rinsed the suds away. I hovered my hands in my eyesight, glancing closer at my fingers. I could see the redness and patches from where I’d picked my skin; it’s a habit I developed since childhood. The habit would annoy Mom, often whispering or saying straight, “Stop picking”, even touching my hand to remind me. Unfortunately, this habit hasn’t subsided; I sometimes even look at my skin with little care, picking the cuticles or rough patches.

Once I finished scrubbing my body with soap, I turned off the water and opened the shower door to step onto the bathmat. I grabbed a towel from the single towel rack located beside the shower. I dried my body, running the towel over my skin. As I wrapped the towel around my body, I glanced at my face in the mirror above the sink. They say eyes are the most expressive in emotion. My narrowed, pinkish lips thinned.

I snapped out of my gaze, continuing to slip on my long blue pants decorated in owl prints, then, the next, a long-sleeve top with the basic purple on them topped with a giant owl embroidered in the front area. Owls have always resonated with me, whether it's their symbolism or captivating beauty. I placed the towel on the side of the bathtub’s rim. I picked up my previous clothes and took it into my bedroom. My bedroom was also medium sized, having a queen-sized bed and an oaken cupboard with a mirrored wardrobe. My room was decorated with tiny figurines I’d collect overtime, albeit from movies I’ve fancied or books. I placed the clothes in my hamper basket behind my door. My body relaxed when my eyes lingered toward my bed, the messy, deep blue sheets draped to the left side. I dismissed the thought of tucking them in for the time being, only plonking myself onto the mattress and wrapping myself within the single cotton sheets and doona drifting off.

Dreaming is the easy part, letting what visions came to my mind run wild. Sometimes, it’s suitable for inspiration, but other times, it's nightmares. The imagination is still enchanting, although, this time, it was peculiar. I was in a birdcage decorated with gold; the entrance was bolted shut; my hands gripped the golden rods holding the cage together. I tried to scream but to no avail. I tried to shake the cage, yet I was too small to provoke movement. My body lowered, feeling the coldness of the metal plate below. I had nothing but rosy ribbon pointe shoes. I suddenly felt myself, in no control, rise as though my limbs were attached to strings. I started to dance, my arms and legs stretching to fit the perfect movements. Eventually, I stopped mid-movement, standing on one leg while extending the other behind. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in place. I could do nothing but shut my eyes.

Suddenly, I woke up; my eyes fluttered open from the confusion I had just endured. Rising from the bed, I pondered for a few seconds. ‘What on earth did I dream about?’. My hands pressed against my face, trying to comprehend my dream and reality. I pulled the sheets off me and got up for the morning. A typical morning for me results in the usual routine: dressing, brushing my teeth and hair, and then looking forward to what the day offers me. Until I remembered that I had booked that class. I typically picked out green tracksuit pants with a white singlet, hoping that would suffice. I picked up my purse and headed out the door to my car. I entered inside, placing my purse in the front seat as I turned on the white car. I noticed outside that it started to snow. Snow is beautiful, especially the little snowflakes that fall into your hand and dissolve upon touch.

As the car started, I prepared to drive to wherever it was that awaited me. The location was further from where I lived; it must’ve been at least twenty-eight minutes. The drive wasn’t particularly bothersome for me; when you live in New York, you get used to the traffic.

As I drove, the snowflakes emerged in more significant numbers. Eventually, I found parking just next to the side of a café. I wasn’t aware if it was for the staff or guests. However, it seemed empty with only a few cars, so—if I get called out on it, I’ll move my car. No one seemed to notice, so I assumed I was okay. I grabbed my black parker from the back and zipped it up. Exiting the car, I stopped to admire the snow falling for a few seconds. It was January 4th, so the snow season was still here. My hands shoved in my pockets, beginning to wander toward where I needed to be. According to the ad, it was building ‘52’; it was vague, I know, but it was the details given. I trudged through the snow, seeing building after building, until I came across something with the number ‘52’, where I needed to be. My hand gripped the gold-looking handle attached to the glass door. As I entered, I came upon a staircase; I took one step after the other. I quickly glanced at the ad to see what floor it was on, yet to no avail. Was it the ‘4th floor? Oh god, oh god, please don’t resort to me asking someone. My fingers started to twitch; I raised one of my fingertips to my lips, feeling the rough patches. My thumb started scraping off the first layer, and small blood trickles formed. I ran my fingers over my lips again as I trailed up the stairs. I could feel my chest becoming heavier, my mind swell with thoughts of self-doubt. Suddenly, the anxiety soon started to subside as my eyes saw the sight of a door. My fingers hesitantly wrapped around the door handle; I took one breath in, trying to be brave. I pushed it open—only for my worst nightmare to come to life.

My breathing became heavier, my heart sank, my eyelids widened, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. There was a group of ballerinas staring directly at me. There must’ve been at least four? Five? Looking my way! Their ages varied, going into their late 20s.

The one brunette asked in French “es-tu perdu, cherches quelqu’un”.

I couldn’t concentrate; my mind dwelled with clouded thoughts of judgment. I pressed my finger against my lip, trying to feel the rough patches.

Another asked in English, “My friend asked if you’re searching for someone”.

Quickly, my eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding their gaze. “I-I-, pr-viate, less-on”. I stumbled over my words.

“Lessons? Private lessons?” the girl spoke once more.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As I quickly glanced, a middle-aged woman in her mid-forties stepped closer; I assumed she was the dance teacher. “Are you referring to the private dance lessons advertised? the one taught by Mr. Oropherion?”.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my words. Mr Oropherion? Is he the teacher I’m with?

“I-Is. This. Right. Floor.” I tried to sound out the right words, but it was impossible. Perhaps my conscience was right; perhaps this was a terrible idea.

The middle-aged woman, confused, pointed toward the direction I needed to go. “you’ll need to head up one more level, then head to your right” Her voice was calm with a hint of soprano.

Still avoiding eye contact, I left, not even saying thank you, focusing on wanting to escape. I closed the door in front and let out a heavy breath. My head lowered to touch the tip of my hands. I wanted to melt in that moment; I wanted nothing more than to return home. However, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Mom. I breathed in once more, looking up at the door; my hands quickly released, and I began to walk quickly, edging further up the stairs. My mind came crashing down, feeling the dreariness wash over me. Feeling tired, I finally, at last, came across the door I needed to be. It was blank, the painted white withering away around the edges. My hand reached the doorknob, feeling the roundness, turning it slightly. I could feel the adrenaline kick in. I was hesitant, but my nerves started to build.

I started to whisper to myself, “Just a general hello, that’s all it takes—

You're doing this for Mom—

Give them a chance to show them how I can shine; give them a chance to see who I am because I’ll be the brightest star there”.

I breathed in, closing my eyes and opening the door. As I tried to force my eyes open, I was confused. There was no one here. It was an empty space surrounded by mirrors with bar beams attached to them. My eyes scanned the room, yet no one was there. I suppose I should be relieved, maybe the teacher had caught a sickness and decided to ditch the whole class. I wandered further inside; I might as well take a quick peek. I unzipped my black parker with a furry hood, tossed it on the coat hanger and took off my shoes, leaving my white socks on. I stood in the middle of the dance room, embracing the quiet ambience. I looked in the mirrors, reflecting my figure. Was this even what ballerinas wear? Who even is Mr. Oropherion? If he doesn’t show up in the next 15 minutes, I’m heading off and not returning.

Perhaps Aelwynn, the fae queen in my novel, would’ve also been able to dance freely and eloquently in movement. I still wonder what would entrance the pirate king Sarek Salazar. I never pictured him to be devilishly handsome, though. I suppose Aelwynn would be a beauty, but there must be more to it—beauty can only go so far in their bond; what would their obstacles or hardships be? Perhaps the fae queen is somewhat intertwined with difference, the opposite of a fairytale. Aelwynn is fair, kind, beautiful and strong; she meets all the criteria for something otherworldly, yet what if Sarek is her opposite, a beast? No—What if he was average, a gross-looking thing? Pirates are anyway; what if he wasn’t powerful, just an average man with greed—and the dynamic changes, challenging Sarek to choose between the love of his life or treasure?

Or he would choose—

Suddenly, I heard a male voice emit behind me: “You best have a thorough explanation, girl. Do not even think about squandering my precious time.”

My breathing became heavier as I realized someone was speaking to me. I did not turn around; I was afraid to. Instead, I avoided eye contact, too paralysed to move. My head stooped low, and my hands stood to the side. He spoke again, “Clearly, you are here for a reason, are you not? I’ll admit your intrusion is rather fatuous.”

I didn’t glance up; I couldn’t look; I needed time to gather the words to explain. What should I say? Hey, sir, some ballerinas told me to come here, and I fear speaking to people.

“I see you have a mouth; that means you must have a tongue. Go on, speak.” His voice was deep and tranquil, composed yet icy.

I took a deep breath in, slowly turning around. As my legs moved, I slowly gathered the courage to look into the man’s eyes, even if I muttered a ‘hello’. It would be enough. As my head glanced up to meet his, I noticed his appearance.

He—was like—something out of a fairytale. His face was lean and chiselled; his eyes were like ice; his blueish-greyish irises complemented his cold gaze. His hair tressed down like water reaching his chest, light like snow. Whilst his skin was pale in comparison, a fair tone in colour. His attire seemed far more affluent than mine, donning a black trench coat with white underneath. His trousers complimented the darkness of his coat, and his black loafers were polished. I glanced at his right finger, an oval-shaped ring with a diamond glass stone crafted in sterling silver.

“Did you hear me not the first-time girl?” his tone turned stern.

My mouth moved, finally finding the words to speak. “H-hello, I’m Y/n”.

“y/n?” he muttered.

My eyes glanced downward once more as I slowly nodded.

“So, you have a voice after all, pray, tell. Why are you lingering in my domain?” he said shortly.

I muttered “private lessons”, though my voice sounded like a whisper.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the ad; I suppose you haven’t wasted our time after all, although you are five minutes late; I expect punctuality, to be exactly on time at the hour.” His voice sounded stern once more.

Well gee, it’s not like it’s my first time here, and gotten lost. My eyes still avoided his; I couldn’t look up, so I nodded.

He didn't react when I avoided his gaze, dismissing it. However, he commented on something else: “Your posture is lamentable. Stand up straighter like so.” The tip of his finger lightly touched my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. I didn’t turn away precisely, yet I still flinched. My breathing slowed down as I once more met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

“You stand there like a bird, wounded by the natures of evil, ignorant of the world’s knowledge, caged and sheltered from the shadows that lurk within the realm. Tell me, little bird, care to spread your wings?” I glanced at myself in the mirror, standing straighter. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything, only breathing slowly.

His finger pulled away, and he turned his back to me, walking away.

“I expect to see you here tomorrow at exactly the seventh hour of the night”.

“Do not make me regret my decision, or you shall return to the cage from where you came, little bird”, He muttered.

With that, he walked out of the room, distancing himself further and further away. At that moment, I stood in disbelief for a few seconds, trying to understand what had happened. However, once my thoughts were collected, I gathered my things and scurried out of there, wanting nothing more than to enter my car. Once I exited the building, I was hit with the coldness in temperature as it touched my face.

I opened the car door, tossing my things in the back, turning the engine on. I looked back, trying to see the building to the left. As I drove, my thoughts were plagued with astonishment. I didn’t look away; I maintained eye contact for longer than three seconds, and—I managed to speak my name without stumbling over my words. My emotions displayed were as if I’d seen a ghost. Yet—his face—his appearance—it reminded me of snow; I always loved snow; even when I was a child, it was the happiest of my memories. I recall when my parents took me to the park; I was fascinated by the sight of the winter wonderland, my face lighting up with delight and laughing with joy. I always find that snow rekindles the fond memories I have.

Perhaps Mom was right after all; this might be the start of something I’ve never been able to do. Talk.

#thranduil au #thranduil x you #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #the hobbit au #the hobbit #thranduil fanfic #lord of the rings #thranduil ballet au #thranduil headcanon #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil oropherion x reader

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asherbet · 2 years

Text

i wonder how i got by this week

⚘ ‹ featuring › gojo satoru x reader

⚘ ‹ warnings › explicit sexual content (minors dni), f!reader, dom/sub elements, bratty reader, slightly dom gojo grinding, teasing, cursing, biting, lowkey threats as foreplay, rivalry/hate sex if you squint, a bit ooc gojo, dirty talk

⚘ ‹ word count › 0.486k

⚘ ‹ note › this is a blatant brain dump about dom gojo bc this man has not left my mind lately, unedited !!

The room had been titling on its own axis as Gojo traced circles on your clit.

You were so wet, bearing the dampness all the way to your ass. Squirming on his lap, the search for friction to alleviate the emptiness growing inside you was impossible. Gojo’s grip on your hip was sure to leave bruises in the morning, but you didn’t care. Not right now. Not when pleasure kept you taut as a violin string. Not when your brain could barely function to tell him to fill you up already.

With your legs spread apart, trapped behind his legs, you could only let your head drop on Gojo’s shoulders as you fell apart a second time. Your whimpers and the squelching of your pussy filled the room.

“How cute,” he chuckled, his hot breath tickling your ear. “Look at you, princess. You just came with one finger.” You felt your face flush in embarrassment at his words. “You’re so fucking desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” you snapped, the usual bite of your words was absent as you caught your breath. “Are you going to fuck me, or will you be doing it in the next century?”

The grip he had on you tightened, and you winced at the pressure. Your head spun as he grabbed fistfuls of your hair, pressing your back into a deeper arch, exposing your neck. Exhaling harshly, you felt the sharpness of Gojo’s teeth connect with your shoulder and whimpered.

“You’re such an impatient brat.”

You almost rolled your eyes, but the way he had you strung up and eager made it hard to keep up with the façade you put up around him. Who could blame you when it had been weeks since you last saw him? The man had the audacity to tease you for it, too.

“You’re such a piece of shit.” You quipped, eyeing him at an angle.

Gojo pressed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. “Careful.” he murmured, lifting you up and pushing your head on the mattress.

“Or what?” You taunted, rocking your hips back against him. “You won’t let me cum again?”

Calloused fingers entered your dripping pussy and you moaned. Your brain emptied as Gojo pumped three of his fingers inside you. You felt the hardness of his cock against your thigh as he leaned over your small frame.

“You better shut that pretty little mouth before I put it to work, princess.” his thumb skated across the swell of your breasts, pinching your nipples until they were hard under his ministrations.

He pulled his fingers out, and you watched him lick them clean, your arousal leaking out of you.

He smirked. “For someone who claims to loathe me, you sure are horrible at hiding how turned on you are.” He licked your cunt, and your knees buckled.

“Keep acting like a brat, and I’ll fucking ruin you, princess.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jjk smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jjk headcanons #gojo satoru hcs #ashe.writing

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potofstewie · 1 year

Text

Deja Vu

The low down: History is repeating itself and for once, Kyojuro is tired.

The things to know: Reader uses she/her pronouns, Absolute angst (I kind of got teary eyed while writing this), mentions of blood, character death, this mostly takes place before mugen train , ooc shinjuro but he's a nice guy promise, Venting, sobbing kyojuro, like literally this ray of sunshine is BROKEN, a peaceful and sober Shinjuro, Y/N is literally a bg character lmao sorry, daddy issues

Pairing: Kyojuro x Reader

W/C: A WHOPPING 3.8K WORDS, MY BIGGEST ONE YET!

Words/phrases to know:

Monstuki Haori Hakama: Traditional formal garment that would be worn as simplified attire by people in the Samurai Society (during the Edo Period)

A/N: Hey you guys, I'll come clean. This one is a doozy not necessarily in length but in the emotions I tried my best to display in this one. It's true, reader is nothing but a background character and I kinda apologize for that. I really wanted to write a fic that portrays a new leaf in Kyojuro and Shinjuro's relationship and what better way than with sacrificing Y/N? Anyway, I finally made a pinned post linking my masterlist and other stuff for my mobile users. I plan on posting this and my other stuff on AO3 probably tmr as well. I hope you guys enjoyed and DO TELL ME YOUR FAVORITE PART

It was happening again.

Kyojuro laid wide awake within his futon, puffy and reddened eyes burning the ceiling with his intense gaze. The calming silence of the night was occasionally interrupted with your pained coughs erupting from the other room. Kyojuro ran a tired hand through his disheveled mane, completely fed up with it all.

The coughing, the wheezing, the piles upon piles of tissues that were stained with spots of blood and phlegm. The never ending servings of soup, the countless doctor visits that always ended on the same confusing and irritating note.

“It’s only a matter of time.”

Kyojuro didn’t hate a lot of things in the world, but that sentence he hated the most. “It’s only a matter of time.”

A matter of time until what? Until she gets better? Until she becomes the second one to leave them? What the hell did it mean? The situation weighed heavily on the Rengoku males, tension forever present within the household. At the beginning, all three of them would listen intensely to whatever orders and updates the doctors gave. They would each take turns administering medicine and delivering soup, massaging sore muscles that grew tired of being idle under a futon. Now, however, it was only Senjuro who listened. Kyojuro, as well as his father, continued to serve your every need despite giving up on worshiping the vague and aggravating words of the doctors.

Your lover tried to keep his cheerful façade on display as usual, but as the days went on and the coughing grew louder and longer, his smile would falter and heavy sighs would take the place of his boisterous laughter. The bubbling fear and anger within him replaced his ever so optimistic and happy demeanor. There was no doubt that his family took notice of his change no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you included. Any time he would be with you, you would always ask the same things:

“How have you been, honestly?”

“Have you been eating?”

“Are you taking care of yourself while you’re away?”

“Something is on your mind, my love. What’s upsetting you?”

You were easily satisfied with the simple “I’m alright, don’t worry about me.”, “yes” or “nothing is wrong my dear, honest.” You’d always give him that smile which he loved dearly before turning your back to him, returning to the warm embrace of slumber. Kyojuro’s beaming smile would always dissipate immediately when your eyes were no longer on him, fatigue tugging at his spirit. Of course something was bothering him; you were crumbling away right in front of him and he was absolutely powerless to do anything.

On the days he would be free from pillar duties, all he could do was roam the house aimlessly like a ghost who couldn’t pass on properly. Even at night when sleep couldn’t find him, he would wander the halls. His frame would always buckle and slide against the walls, silent tears covered his cheeks every time as he curled in on himself. This all felt like Deja Vu to the flame hashira, every second he experienced was just another second he had already gone through. However this time he would be the grieving partner. He was grateful, though, that instead of turning to alcohol like his father did once upon a time, he stuck to wandering like a stray dog.

Kyojuro grew to envy his father when your illness took a turn for the worst. He took notice of the lack of sake present in the house and the ever growing moments he and Senjuro would catch their father outside his room. He took note of how attentive his father was to your every beck and call, even to those that didn’t require him or ask of him in the first place. Even without being told he would do his damndest to ensure his would be daughter-in-law is alright. Opening the Shoji to let the sunlight flood into the room, cooking hot meals for the house and giving you the largest servings, taking up extra chores so Senjuro could keep you company. All these things Kyojuro wished he had the enthusiasm for. He loved helping you, truly, but his determination had depleted almost completely.

Rubbing his eyes, Kyojuro sat up, a heavy sigh leaving his dusted red nose. The corners of his mouth twitched, heavy with sadness as a revelation dawned upon him. His father was probably doing this out of habit, out of fear. He faintly remembered what it was like when his mother was sick, his father doing everything he could when he had the time to be at home. He supposed that maybe doing all of these things and more was a way for his father to cope with the haunting truth that another person he cared about would die due to unchangeable circumstances. Maybe, just maybe, his father hoped that things would get better and that he wouldn’t have to relive the same pain he had once experienced; even if it wasn’t him who would take it the hardest.

A single tear escaped Kyojuro’s fiery eyes, his hand quickly erasing it as he sniffled softly. No, the one to bear the pain the most would be him. It was his turn now, and no amount of soup and small conversations his father offered to the family’s source of light would change that. Getting up from his futon, Kyojuro wondered if there had been a curse placed upon his family. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this same situation would happen twice. Did a demon from his father’s past place a curse on the bloodline as it died to his blade? Damning every Rengoku to suffer absolute heartbreak?

Entering the dark hallway, Kyojuro silently stalked his way to the entrance, mind lost in sorrow. Staying in bed couldn’t help him and wandering the halls wasn’t something he was up for. Instead, he aimed for the fresh, crisp night air to fill his lungs and clear his mind. Oh, how he wanted so badly to purge the sickness in you and toss it to the farthest reaches of the earth. He wished to take you out to all your favorite restaurants again, to go on a picnic with you again, to bear witness to you playing with Senjuro under the cherry blossom trees again. He missed being able to kiss you during the cold winter nights that only a lover’s embrace could heat up. He could no longer give you the sweet kisses you had once pleaded for, your illness putting a stop to most intimate tokens of affection you were both accustomed to.

As a heavy sigh left his lips, Kyojuro opened the shoji and blinked in surprise. His father, broad back facing the house and his eyes focused on the sky above, was sitting on the engawa. Legs hung over the edge, a half empty cup sitting next to its owner. Shinjuro turned around slightly, acknowledging his son.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He explained softly, turning his attention back to the dark sky, the bright moon the only thing decorating the endless dark abyss. Kyojuro closed the shoji behind him and took a seat next to his father, burning eyes gazing at the cup in suspicion before looking at his father in silent question. Shinjuro picked the cup up and slightly turned it. “It’s just water.” He said simply, resting the cup on the other side of him before resting his hands in his lap.

“I..couldn’t sleep either.” Kyojuro said softly, hesitation ladened in his sleep-deprived voice. Although things within the house had gotten better since you entered his life and the lives of his family, Kyojuro still had a slight problem conversing with his father. You managed to change his father for the better, instead of heaps of sake littering the house only one or two bottles were kept in the kitchen before his father made the decision to get rid of it entirely once you fell ill. He started to eat with the family, although he barely spoke, only talking when answering a question or giving Senjuro or you his praises for the meal. He started training Senjuro in simple hand to hand combat, leaving the sword work to Kyojuro. He even had daily, lengthy conversations with you about an array of things; from what Ruka was like to how happy the birds seemed to be that day.

It wasn’t easy but progress was slightly made between the father and son. His father started returning any greetings he was given, he waited alongside you and Senjuro when Kyojuro finally arrived home from a grueling mission and even confessed to him that he was proud of him being a hashira but still preferred it if he turned away for his own safety. But, all of that still didn’t quite quell the nervousness Kyojuro had when it came to him.

“I know. That’s why you’re here, Kyojuro.” He remarked quietly, taking a sip of his drink. If he focused hard enough, he could’ve sworn that there was a twinge of tease hidden in his father’s voice.

“R-right.” He replied, voice barely above a whisper. For a few pensive moments, there was a cold silence between them. Kyojuro furrowed his wild eyebrows slightly, oh how awkward this all was! He didn’t know what to say to his father, even if he did he still wasn’t sure if he should voice it. He was in an intense battle with himself and by the looks of it, it was going to end in a draw.

One part of him wanted to vent to his father, to tell him all of his frustrations and woes about the depressing situation all of them were currently in. He wanted to bawl and curl up by his father, have his hot tears soak through the clothing on his father’s shoulder. He wished to be a little boy again, to trip and scrape his knee and have his father pick him up like he used to and comfort him. To hear him say: “It’s alright little one, you don’t need to cry anymore. I’ll patch you up, good as new.” like he used to. To plant a loving kiss on the top of his head and rock him in his arms. To call him a big boy when he was finally at ease and say how proud he was for being brave. All that he wished to have again.

The other part of Kyojuro, however, wanted to keep the peaceful silence between them. To just gaze up at the moon with his father and bottle up his emotions; to burn through it all passionately as he usually would. But even Kyojuro knew that would end in failure. He wanted to be as strong as he could, to bear it all on his tired and weakened shoulders. To give hope to his father -and to himself- that things would be alright and that you would bounce back better than ever. That you would play with Senjuro again, that you would do morning stretches with his father again in the garden, that you would plant millions of loving and passionate kisses all over Kyojuro’s face.

As the young man sat in silence, mind ravaging with his thoughts, Shinjuro broke the silence with the clearing of his throat. “I..think it would be best for the two of you to get married as soon as possible.” Kyojuro turned his head to his father, his puffy eyes blown wide as his father continued to stare at the sky. “It..would be best for all of us if there was one last good memory to hold onto.” With that, he finally gazed at him, tired eyes drinking in the clear signs that his son was crying earlier.

“Oh, um, yes. You have a point…I’ll bring it up with Y/N tomorrow morning.” Kyojuro muttered, calloused hands slightly gripping his yukata. Kyojuro’s gaze lowered to his lap as he tried to figure out how to pose his question. “Um, father?” He called out. Shinjuro answered with a gruff hum, taking another sip of water.

“Father, Y/N..isn’t going to get better, is she?” Kyojuro could feel his ears heat slightly at his question. He sounded like a small child that couldn’t grasp the concept of someone he cared about dying. He reminded him of himself once upon a time. Shinjuro grunted again, looking at Kyojuro.

“She won’t, Kyojuro.” He answered simply, flaming eyes once more concentrating on the moon. Kyojuro’s bottom lip twitched at the obvious confirmation, a painful lump slowly forming in his throat.

“Father?” He started again, picking at the hangnail that resided on his pointer finger. Shinjuro sighed softly and leaned back on his palms.

“Yes, Kyojuro?” He answered patiently, completely understanding the heavy task he was assigned once Kyojuro sat next to him. He knew how fragile his son currently was and he knew just how painful it was. Nobody was by his side when Ruka fell ill but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t be the lighthouse for the ship his son sailed on, horrible waves from the daunting storm threatening to capsize him.

“It’s all useless, isn’t it? The doctor visits and the soup.” He started, worry taking the reins and causing him to talk faster. “A-As well as the medication and the massages and-”

“Kyojuro.” Shinjuro interrupted sternly, shocking the young man and causing him to look at his father with worry plastered on his face. An iron gaze was focused on the young man’s sorrowful features. A sigh flew from the older man’s lips as Kyojuro looked back down at his fingers, eyes covered in a sheen film. “It may all seem useless, hell, it might actually be. But those things..bring her ease. It brings Senjuro ease. It gives them hope and it would be cruel to just stop it and force them to face the grave truth.”

“Right, I apologize.” Kyojuro said meekly, lolling his head back to keep from sniffling. A tender yet battle-worn hand rested on the top of Kyojuro’s head, giving him a slight pat before leaving his messy hair.

“It’s alright, Kyo.” Shinjuro reassured softly, sitting up straight again. He dithered, unsure of how to say his next words. If one thing Shinjuro wasn't good at, it was being reassuring. But, his son needed him and he truly didn't want to let him down this time. Never again, he silently vowed to himself as he took a deep breath, lips parting slightly.

“It’s okay to feel this way. I don’t have to tell you how hard this all is and how awful everything feels. But just know that I won’t leave your side for any of it. I’ll be there to hold your hand through it all and I’ll make sure that you don’t end up like I did. I promise you, Kyojuro.” He finished, a small yet reassuring smile resting on his lips. Kyojuro looked at his father in both bewilderment and comfort. For the first time in a while, Kyojuro was finally receiving the love and care that he had longed for from his father for a long time. With a slight nod, Kyojuro once more looked down in his lap, fingers tightly woven. A single tear finally broke through, leaving a small dot on his clothing.

“Father, I..I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know if I can keep being cheerful anymore. I’m so tired, father. I feel like I'm lying to her, lying to myself. And I can't stand it, I just-” And with the last word to leave his trembling lips, a struggling wail escaped Kyojuro’s throat. Rapid streams of tears left his screwed shut eyes as his shoulders convulsed, rough hands frantically trying to wipe away the stains on his crimson cheeks however they just kept coming even stronger than before. Large hands grabbed the side of Kyojuro’s head and shoulder, pushing him into a tight hug. Soft hushes filled the heavy night air as Kyojuro’s wails grew louder and became filled with incoherent babbling.

“I don’t wan’ to lose her, I hate it. I hate it all! I-I wanna save her but- but I can’t!” Kyojuro spoke through an agape frown, drool beginning to leave his mouth while his hands gripped the back of his father’s yukata tightly as Shinjuro’s hand rubbed his back. “P-please, Papa, help me, Please!” He pleaded, voice muffled as he buried his head further into his father’s embrace. Shinjuro’s lower lip twitched slightly before burying it on the top of his son’s head, placing a soft kiss in the blond tresses.

“I know, Kyo, I know. I’ll help you out, don’t worry. It’s okay, my son...I promise.” Shinjuro whispered as the gut wrenching sobs left his son’s lips. Shinjuro hated it all too. He hated seeing the memories of Ruka’s final moments every time he visited you. He hated seeing Kyojuro slowly turn into a shell of his former self, he hated looking into the mirror that was his son. He hated seeing younger Kyojuro within Senjuro, always trying his hardest to raise everyone’s hopes and quietly asking him if Y/N will for sure get better; always being met with vague answers. It was all Deja Vu to the older man, as if he was watching the past play out right in front of him but ten times worse. They hadn’t even gotten married yet, let alone have one or two children. Shinjuro could feel nothing but the sorrow and anguish within his battered heart beating loudly in his ears as Kyojuro finally succumbed to his emotions.

Shinjuro started to slightly rock his son side to side as burning tears soaked through his clothes. He didn’t mind not one bit. He would have all of his clothes drenched in the salty tears of his children if that is what they needed. He would rock them and comfort them as many times as they requested, no matter how big the issue was or how old the children were. It was his responsibility as their father to do so, as well as something he owed to them for all the years of negligence.

Kyojuro’s wails died down to occasional sniffles and heavy breathing. His grip on his father slightly loosened as he partially uncovered his bloodshot eyes, gaze resting on nothing in particular. “What..am I going to do? I love her so much, it hurts. It hurts so bad. I feel like I can’t breathe, my lungs are burning. I-I’m so tired, Papa.” Kyojuro mumbled, no longer caring about how childish he seemed calling his father “Papa”. That’s what he was after all, Papa. Papa the Brave that chases the demons away every night before bed and when he’s away from home. Papa the Strong that can carry both his children and his wife on his body, carrying them throughout the house as tiny, sweet giggles filled the air. Proud Papa that teaches his sons how to hold a sword and praises them when they beat the air with wooden swords. Loving Papa that coats Mama in sweet kisses when he comes back home. Helpful Papa that saves little boys with snakes from sorrowful places and wipes his children’s faces every meal time. His Papa.

Shinjuro sighed softly, rugged hand traveling in his son’s hair. “I’m sorry, Kyojuro. There isn’t much you can do but be there for her. Love her as much as possible no matter what. Try to make her happy every day, even if you feel like giving up. And when you do feel like giving up, find me. And I’ll carry you.”

Kyojuro sniffled as his body felt the brunt force of fatigue. His wild eyebrows furrowed as he began to succumb to the sweet luls of slumber. “Okay, Papa..” Softly leaving his lips as he finally slept, Shinjuro kept his steady rhythm of rocking until the morning sun crested the horizon, birds singing their wake-up songs to the once still Earth.

A warm, gentle breeze traveled throughout the lively forest as boisterous laughter filled the air. Shinjuro chuckled softly as he watched his two sons walk briskly ahead of them, jokes and funny stories exchanging between the two. Kyojuro laughed loudly again as Senjuro entertained him with a funny face in the middle of his story, swinging the picnic basket in his hand.

“Kyojuro!” Shinjuro called out, his sons giving him their attention. “Try not to laugh too hard, remember? You’re still healing.” He reminded the young man, gesturing to the bandages that were wrapped around his torso, hidden underneath his Monstuki Haori Hakama. Kyojuro gently rubbed the eyepatch that rested on his face, a habit he started to pick up when in thought, a beaming smile shining at his father.

“Don’t worry, I feel good enough to laugh. It doesn’t hurt, promise!” He assured before joining his little brother that was already ahead of the both of them and underneath the tree. Heaps of food sprawled out on the red blanket once Shinjuro finally caught up to his children, a bento and chopsticks already out for him. He sat down carefully next to Senjuro, content eyes soaking in the picturesque view that laid before him. Many trees danced with the gentle summer wind, birds swooping and diving into the canopy for their lunch. A nearby stream sang its song elegantly as the two sons conversed with each other. Shinjuro took a deep breath in, the sweet scent of the manju and flowers filling his nose.

“She would’ve liked this place, right Aniue?” Senjuro said softly, snapping his father from his silent appreciation of nature. Kyojuro lowered his chopsticks, a small smile plastered on his face. He rubbed his stomach gingerly, before turning his attention to his little brother.

“She would have. Both of them would, I reckon. However, they’d probably yell at us for being late.” He chuckled, producing a large smile from Senjuro, a smaller one from his father. “Not to mention, we didn’t make Y/N favorite food to bring with us.” He finished, laughing loudly as Shinjuro released a soft snort.

“She’d be mad at you, not me and Sen. I told you we should’ve made some but you insisted on rushing.” He retorted, Senjuro giggling softly at his father’s remark. Kyojuro chuckled sheepishly as he rubbed his neck. His father was right, of course. But you would forgive him, Kyojuro knew you would.

“Then let’s make some when we get home and give it to her. Now hurry up and eat before I end up taking everything.” Senjuro warned before quickly snatching up a mitarashi dango, eliciting a shocked and hurried response from his brother as well as a scoff from his father, joining in the competition.

Things hadn’t been fair to the Rengoku family and although things would forever change for them, one thing was for sure; no sorrowful bouts of Deja Vu would visit them. And if they did, Papa the Brave would be there.

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ʙɪɴᴅ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴛᴏꜰꜱᴛᴇᴡɪᴇ™ 2022

#kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kny rengoku #kny angst #shinjuro rengoku #shinjuro #rengoku shinjuro #demon slayer angst #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro x y/n #original stew

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hemlocksandfoxgloves · 9 months

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Okay, I know I haven't updated in awhile, but I couldn't stop thinking about Theo so I thought I'd try to finish this chapter.

So here's a sneak peek at the next chapter of "I Hear You're Looking For An Anchor"

Also I would really love some feedback. Is it too boring? Too ooc? I think I use too many proper nouns. Should I just stop writing this and work on something else?

Anyway, here's some more human!Theo and Liam being dumb in denial.

"Face of a Killer: LIAM"

“So, they’re burying the bodies. Do you know who’s doing it?” Mason asks as they leave history class. Liam could tell he’d been itching for information since last night. The whole thing feels so surreal. He was worried something big was coming.

Liam shakes his head as they walk down the hall together. “No, Scott’s figuring it out,” he sighs. “He told me not to worry about it.”

“Then don’t. Look, why don’t you come out to Sinema with me tonight?”

“Do you really think a movie night is a good idea right now?” Liam looks at him, conventually concerned, as he dodges out of the way of the rowdy hallway. “What if- what if Scott needs me?”

“Not a movie, a club. It’s the club.” Mason looks at him, holding his hands up excitedly. “It’ll be fun. Hot girls. Hot guys…” Mason trails off as Liam tilts his head and his face takes up one of curiosity. It was like when your ears tingle because somebody was talking about you. Except somebody was actually talking about him. “Liam?”

He shushes Mason as he hears Theo ask Scott, “What’s his deal?” in a faraway voice.

Following the sound, Liam peeks his head around the corner behind a row of lockers. He holds his arm back when Mason tries to look, too. He sees Scott and Theo outside the Biology lab, which was an unusual sight, considering. Why would Theo be talking to Scott? Still trying to get under his good graces, probably. Liam couldn’t help it, he was curious.

“What do you mean?”

Theo sighs, scratching the back of his head. “Do you think I might have a shot with him?”

A shot with whom? Liam? He flinches as Scott lets out a surprising laugh. “Oh! I mean, I don’t know, maybe.”

Theo’s eyes flicker to Liam’s and a cocky smirk covers his face. “You sure about that?” Liam glares at him menacingly.

“You should ask him,” Scott says before leaving.

Liam and Theo’s eyes don’t leave each other’s. Not even when Theo walks past him, still with that half-assed grin and Liam glaring at him like he could pretend to hate him. His eyes soften as they follow his every move until he disappears at the end of the hall. He had to be messing with Liam, right? When Liam turns his head to look at Mason, he’s met with a suspicious grin.

An uncalled for suspicious grin. Liam wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just looking! Just looking could mean a lot of things, though. Especially in front of Mason’s eyes.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Mhm, what was that?”

“What was what?” Liam shrugs. There was no avoiding this around Mason, though. He saw the glances between them, if that’s what you want to call it. Liam tried to convey his hatred through his eyes, but felt like he was failing big time. Of course, Mason had to see right through the façade.

“The smiles and the eyes and…” Liam’s eyes widen for a moment before he turns tail the other direction. “You like him!” he hears Mason exclaim behind him.

“Who? Theo?” Liam laughs. “Don’t you think that’s a little crazy?” he asks as they stop at his locker. He dials the lock, “I mean sure, he’s hot but…” Liam stops, staring at the lock in his hand.

But what? He saved Lydia’s life last night. He drove him home, not that he wanted him to. Is there any reason at all that says Liam shouldn’t like Theo? Maybe he wasn’t as bad as Stiles says after all. After last night, he felt like he finally got a glimpse of who Theo really was. He needs to give him some credit. At least he was trying. If Theo is so evil, like Stiles thinks he is, why would he go through all this trouble?

“And you like him!”

Liam sighs, shaking his head and pulling the lock open. “Doesn’t matter. Stiles says he’s bad news and I should stay away.” He places his history book in the back of his locker.

Mason chortles, “Since when do you listen to Stiles?” Liam would’ve replied, something along the lines that Stiles could shove it and he could do whatever he wanted. He grins instead as he sees Stiles standing behind Mason. Based on Liam’s reaction, he knew exactly what had Liam averting his eyes behind him. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” Liam chuckles, nodding, and Mason whips around. “Hey man, we were just—”

Stiles isn’t interested, though. He was looking down in the dumps, actually. He looked like he didn’t sleep a wink last night. He pats Mason aside. “Yeah, that’s great Mason. Liam, I need to talk to you.”

After giving each other a look, Mason leaves and Liam shuts his locker door, turning to Stiles. He was concerned about his state and knew it must’ve had to do with Lydia. Everyone knew how he felt about her.

“Hey, how’s Lydia doing?” he questions.

“I don’t know. Last I heard, she was still in surgery. I’m going to go see her this afternoon, though.” Liam nods. “Have you talked to Theo?” Stiles’ voice takes an accusatory turn, making Liam frown.

“Not since he drove me home last night. Why? Did something happen?”

“Actually, yeah. A big something— Wait, you let the enemy drive you home? He knows where you live? Liam, what exactly did he say to you?”

Liam shrugs his hands into his pockets. “Not much.” He raises his eyes, his voice cracking. “He was nice.”

Stiles’ eyebrows reach his hairline as he exclaims, “No, no! Listen to me, Theo is not nice. I was right not to trust him.”

Liam glowers at him. “He saved Lydia’s life last night. Don’t you think it’s time we give him the benefit of the doubt? He’s not the bad guy here.”

“Liam, don’t get me wrong. I am eternally grateful that Lydia is alive, more than anyone. That doesn’t excuse what he did, though.”

Liam sighs, “What did he do?”

“I was going through his medical records and—”

“Stiles, you can’t do that!”

“Well, it’s a good thing that I did because you’ll never believe what I found.”

Liam’s eyes close for a moment as the blaring school bell surrounds them. Ultimately, saving him from this conversation. “I don’t care what you found. It was Theo who saved Lydia. Just… try to have a heart and give him a chance.”

Walking past him, Liam hears Stiles mutter, uselessly, “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Whatever Stiles found, he didn’t care anymore. Stiles can be his own problem. He was done listening to him. He was just searching for answers that weren’t there. Was it so hard to think that Theo was just trying to get through high school like the rest of them?

Liam was passing the library when he heard a distinct heartbeat. It was odd, not like anyone else’s he heard. He couldn’t detect a rhythm or pattern to it. It just was; always at a rushed pace. He planned on using his free period to practice lacrosse, but this seemed more beneficial.

Following the sound of his heartbeat, he finds Theo at the very back of the library. He was in a secluded spot where nobody could see him, hunched over textbooks and notebooks around him. Liam hid partially from view behind a large bookcase. He could see Theo’s furrowed brows pulled together in concentration. His gelled hair was in a disarray. He definitely looked like he needed a break.

Theo didn’t notice him until he’s dropped his bookbag onto the table with a small thunk. He’s startled for a moment before he realizes who it was that disturbed him. For the barest moment, Liam thought Theo looked scared, but it was quickly smoothed into his residential smirk that he always saved for Liam. He wished he wouldn’t look at him like that. It felt fake and impersonal. He wanted to see Theo’s real smile.

Liam sits down in the chair across from him and Theo caps his pen, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re not worried about being seen with me? What would Stiles think?” Liam looks around their vacant little corner pointedly. Theo chuckles, “Point taken. So, have you made your decision?”

Liam was in the middle of pulling his school work out of his bag and pauses when Theo asks this.

“About what?”

Theo dips his head. “Whether you like me?”

Liam scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. Just because he was sitting with him didn’t mean anything. “You’re lucky I’m even talking to you,” he says, taking his history notes out.

“Oh, I don’t think luck has anything to do with it,” Theo smiles at him smugly.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“And why’s that?”

Liam grits his teeth. “I have more important things to worry about than whether I’m caught sitting with Theo Raeken.”

Theo frowns, playing with the pen in between his fingers. Liam watches his long fingers twist this way and that. “Stiles still doesn’t trust me?”

Liam’s eyes jump to Theo’s and he replies timidly, “I don’t think so.”

He’d think after saving Lydia from bleeding out on the police station’s floor, Stiles’d be a bit more lenient. He gets Stiles has problems with what happened with the Nogitsune. He has a hard time trusting people, especially ones who get too close to the pack. Like Theo has been trying to do.

Theo leans forward on his elbows. Liam gives him a disgruntled look as he comes closer. “Do you trust me?” Theo asks.

Liam doesn’t know how to react to this. He wasn’t expecting Theo to ask him that. He wants to trust Theo. He could show Stiles how trustworthy Theo really was. Can Liam trust him, though?

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“Then what’s yours?”

“I think…” Liam looks at Theo, then. Looking into his eyes, he saw something. Something that made him want to trust him. Theo wasn’t the monster here. “I think, what you did for Lydia was very brave and Stiles should be thankful.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“She will be.”

Next scene will be Liam and Theo at Sinema :)

#thiam #theo raeken #liam dunbar #theo x liam #teen wolf #fanfiction #human theo raeken #werewolf liam dunbar #i hear you're looking for an anchor verse #chapter 7 #liam pov #thiam au #season 5 rewrite #i need motivation 😣

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aliceindaisychains999 · 6 months

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As much as I'd love to see more writing of him, I don't want you pushing it, only do it if you have fun with it! Do it out of passion, not appeal.

I remember a hc post you made a LONG while ago (at least I think it was you), with Ultimis, and it mentioned Richtofen willing to do anything to get his s/o's attention, including grabby hands. I found myself giggling at the thought of this old man making grabby hands like a child to get your attention and it melted my heart idk why

I guess Richtofen being a bit childish is a silly thought lol

I feel Richtofen would be more willing to let loose and be a mischievous lil guy around his s/o, like stealing small things and hiding them, that kind of stuff. Idk if it's ooc for him but I find it cute nonetheless

-A-S-C

Richtofen is an enigma. This all stems from a lack of control, hence making himself difficult for others to pinpoint and predict. He is childishly playful, yet under that façade is a cold and calculated overachiever. And under that truth is a man who just wants to feel understood, whole even… loved.

I do remember those headcanons! I should add the others sometime as well! He is very much eager for attention as his top love languages are quality time and touch. Expect him to make a game out of him taking a small item from you and play dumb when you ask him.

“What? That’s preposterous! How could I do such a thing?” He tilts his head and pouts at you, resting his chin over the bridge of his hands. I’m sure he’d let up if you do him a small favor (smooches)

To love and be loved helps him feel alive again! It does feel rocky in the beginning out of fear of him beating himself up. It only takes one heart to heart for him to ease up and absolutely blossom forth for you.

I don’t think it’s entirely out of character for him to gush with mischevious PDA if it means showing off his pride and joy to the other three. But when he’s alone with you? It’s odd to see him for once at peace. Teddy looks at you with an adoring gaze in his eyes and shares more quiet, tender moments together.

#asks #edward richtofen #my writing #and yes! i promise to go at my own pace

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the-devils-toybox · 26 days

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Finally finished adding the Secondary Muses to the Carrd!

#;under the façade (ooc)

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westeroslive · 7 days

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when the sun rises in the west, the gods eyes are drawn. may the seven have mercy upon you as we welcome you to court, lady dara harlaw, lady samira frey, lady ayriana tyrell ! now a victim of the court, the bards compare your beauty to davika hoorne, simone ashley, halle bailey as you play the game in the midst of seasoned nobles.

behave and follow the queen's word written in our checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ davika hoorne, 31, cisfemale, she + her. announcing the arrival of DARA of house HOUSE HARLAW, the LADY of HARLAW HALL. whispers among the court name them to be both CRAFTY and SPITEFUL in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in music. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of the sea's salt in their veins; paying special attention to travelling bards and what secrets they may carry; dancing around the halls as though with ghosts. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with THE TARGARYENS. ( ooc : ness, 22, she+her, est )

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ simone ashley, 29, cis woman, she / her. announcing the arrival of SAMIRA of house FREY, the LADY of THE TWINS. whispers among the court name them to be both POISE and APATHETIC in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in DUELING. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of you play the piano, pluck at the strings of your violin until your fingers bleed and you dance until blood pierces through the fabric of your pointe shoes; all life is for you is a countless amount of talents soiled by that rotten and visceral part of you; the part that kisses your beauty with the stink of death / flower crowns haphazardly twisted with bruised vines, pages of books torn when turned in a haste, food cooked too over or too under, oh dear, you just ruin everything you touch, don’t you? / you severed your superego from yourself with a jagged knife long ago, freeing yourself from the guilt of being the mistaken daughter cursed upon a once perfect family, but you don’t apologize for your existence anymore, instead, you sit quietly while visited repeatedly by the same image: you’re holding a blade as if it is an extension of yourself, you stand of the shallow graves of your enemies, you wash the title of noble lady away as the riverlands turn bright red. you will immortalize your name in blood. a family defeated? silenced, even? you’ve never once craved to feel something rot in your ungloved hands more than this façade. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with HOUSE FREY. ( ooc : dani, 30, they / them, est )

𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ halle bailey, 24, demi woman, she + they. announcing the arrival of AYRIANA of house TYRELL, the LADY of HIGHGARDEN. whispers among the court name them to be both POSITIVE and NAIVE in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in learning. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of less a flower than a sapling - you embody more the 'growing' part of your family's motto than any strength of your own ; while your siblings play this game of theirs - each breath a tactical decision, you sway with the wind - giving little thought to what consequences you may encounter ; silk gowns swept up into your arms as you wander the gardens - returning home with dirt upon your shoes and warmth in your heart ; easily manipulated little bird you are - for you cannot see others as anything but good and one day it will lead to that pretty little neck snapping. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with HOUSE TYRELL. ( ooc : daisy )

#appless rp #period rp #oc rp #got rp #hotd rp #fantasy rp #asoiaf rp #westeros.accepted #words cannot describe how happy i am right now

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slasher-smasher · 3 months

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Beyond the Bad Room - The Aches We Feel

Overall I am happy with how Cassidy was written but the interaction with HL I struggled lol. I deeply apologize for the flip flopping of POVs near the end. Dialog and getting into character are not my strong suits. Getting better though. :) Hopefully the whiplash isn't to bad.

I also have come to realize that the timeline is super fucked. I was under the impression that his b-day speech took place in Feb on the 22nd. BUT I must of gotten mixed up because it was actually in July lol. oops. Oh well. Thanks @blindmagdalena correcting my misinformation.

This is not beta'd. All mistakes are due to my lack paying attention in school.

THANK YOU TO THE ONES WHO LiKE AND ARE HOPEFULLY ENJOYING MY WRITING!! You guys seriously help my brain and heart.

AO3 for easier reading and for previous chapters.

Warnings: Emotional and physical cheating, emotional manipulation, unprotected p in v sex, really bad smut scenes because the author is a loser who can't write porn 🥲, probably OOC Homelander, possessive behavior, Homelander is his own warning.

Words: 7,119

Chapter Summary: Cassidy thinks about the past year and with her relationship with Ian growing more brittle as days go by her loneliness increases. She misses John terribly and the life he brought into her day with his charming smiles and jokes. She was on the brink of desperation till she learned some shocking news and watched his speech on the television that she finally decides to bite the bullet and go visit him. Even if he still hates her.

Chapter 4

It had been a strange and tumultuous year for Cassidy. After her confrontation with John, she felt like a shell of her former self. The following morning, she woke up feeling drained and dried out from all the tears and breakdowns she had before finally passing out. She couldn't help but cringe at the sight of her broken marble countertop; she knew she needed to control her anger better.

After quickly having the counter repaired in time before Ian came home, she felt like a part of her had been altered or even destroyed. John's departure felt like he had used lasers on her heart to cut himself free. The impact of his leaving was overwhelming and worrisome for Cassidy. She had developed a close bond with John, but his absence shouldn't leave her feeling so empty inside. In an attempt to distract herself, she focused on work and her relationship with Ian now that she had more time without John's frequent visits to her workplace. However, as Ian began leaving for longer periods of time, Cassidy struggled to make their relationship grow. His absence only made her feel more lonely.

She felt awful. Everyone at work carried on with their daily routines, oblivious to her personal struggles. Work was the only stable aspect of her life now. Don't get her wrong, she still enjoyed her job, but she longed for more personal connections. Meeting new people and engaging in conversations was not her strong suit; she often came off as quirky or awkward. It was difficult for her when people tried to get to know her better, especially when she was trying so hard to appear normal and not reveal her true identity as a centenarian supe with PTSD.

She kept reminding herself to ignore the TV during her rounds and not even glance at it. But every time she heard his voice, she couldn't resist taking a peek. She wanted to know how he was coping with everything. He must be struggling with the backlash of being in a relationship with a Nazi. Every time someone asked him the same question over and over, another crack appeared in his façade. Part of her wanted to judge and condemn him for his choices, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. At the end of the day, he was just a man who fell in love with a woman. She believed that John truly thought he could change Karla. He wanted a family so badly that he convinced himself her past and beliefs didn't matter and would do anything to make that dream come true.

It was the later months that were bizarre. Not only was she missing her favorite perfume, but her neighbors were suddenly scarce when they normally would be greeting her with a friendly hello as she runs into them when checking mail or on her way to work in the morning. Now when she does see them, they mutter a quiet greeting not even making eye contact. The only thing that made her brush off her concern was when Ian was home. She didn't understand why he was so busy all the time now but when he did come home she put most of her attention into being with him. Though even when they made love it seemed like he wasn't completely there with her either.

The loneliness was the driving force behind her resorting to self-pleasure. She felt like she was losing her sanity as thoughts and fantasies of John invaded her mind while she touched herself in bed or in the shower. Her craving for intimacy and connection, combined with John's scent she finds herself immersed in all over her bed that she knows she is hallucinating leading to moments of release that end in tears of shame. How could she betray Ian like this, and even worse, use John in such a way when he wanted nothing to do with her? There was no excuse for her actions.

February was the cherry on top of the cake. Every other day, she would find her favorite tea perfectly made and a breakfast bagel waiting for her. And then there were sweet and funny notes tied to roses and sweets left on her desk. Her coworkers thought it was Ian's romantic gestures for Valentine's season, and she blushed at the idea that he was making an effort. But when she saw what was left on her desk on Valentine's Day morning, she realized it wasn't him. While flowers may not be anything special to some on this supposedly most romantic day of the year, these were no ordinary flowers. They were rare and difficult to grow, making them even more meaningful.

Himalayan Blue Poppies

Ian or anyone else could never understand the significance these flowers held for her. Who would have guessed? These were the same flowers her mother used to lovingly tend to when she was a little girl, always saying they reminded her of Cassidy's bright blue eyes. Despite all the hard work it took to make them thrive, it was always worth it when she could place them in her daughter's hair and see her face light up with a smile.

Cassidy felt tears well up in her eyes. Who—

Then the answer struck her like a bolt of lightning.

John.

He was the only one who knew about them. But he was just a child when she first brought them along, and he always thought they were silly to keep around. Why would he leave these here now, especially on Valentine's Day? The small tokens of endearment suddenly took on a new significance as her thoughts raced through possible reasons for his sudden appearance after an entire year of silence, or at least mostly silence. What could he possibly be trying to do?

Abby, the chief nurse, called out from the doorway. "Wow, those flowers are stunning! Bishop, you're a lucky woman. I wish my partner was as romantic as yours."

"Yeah...lucky." Cassidy absentmindedly acknowledged. She was so lost in a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. But there was also a strong feeling that made her cheeks warm. Affection.

A week later Cassidy was at home reading the latest medical journal magazine while Ian was watching the news. Letting out a noise of displeasure as he tossed the remote on the coffee table in front of him after muting the tv.

"I am beyond fed up with this incessant talk about Homelanders damn birthday celebration. It's the same damn thing every freaking year. We're supposed to worship him just because he's a superhuman jerk? Please. Vought is nothing but a corrupt organization, and they let these supes do whatever the hell they want. It's revolting." Ian slammed his hands down on the table in frustration, letting out an exasperated groan.

Cassidy was about to tell him to not take his frustrations out on the furniture even if she agreed about Vought when she saw the headline over the muted news anchor.

"Turn the sound back on Ian." Cassidy quickly closed her magazine, eyes glued to the screen.

"What? Why?" Ian did as he was told and was shocked as the anchors voice revealed that Stormfront has committed suicide.

"Holy fucking balls." Cassidy could only watch as the leaked footage of EMT's were transporting a body bag into the ambulance.

"Maybe it's fake?" Ian asked while fishing out his phone from his pocket.

"They wouldn't fake this. Especially on Jo-Homelanders birthday." Cassidy quickly covered her slip up. She would have thought to feel happiness or excitement over the fact that the bitch is finally dead and gone. But she only felt sadness. Not over Klaras death, bloody hell no. She was thinking about how John is taking the news. Were they still together? He claimed to have loved her so this would be a huge blow. God why can't he just get a break?

Ian left to make a phone call as Cassidy sat there trying to organize her thoughts and conflicted and muddled feelings.

That night as Ian was washing dishes after dinner Cassidy flicked on the tv to show the celebration. She needed to see. Even if he was just acting. She ignored Ian's scoff as she sat down on the couch.

Luckily, she arrived after Supersonic's musical opener. She observed A-Train, clad in a confusing outfit, welcoming the new co-captains to the stage - the fact that there were now two amazed her. Cassidy took a deep breath and leaned forward slightly, hoping for a better view. He seemed fine, smiling a the camera, engaging with Starlight when appropriate. As Starlight wished him a happy birthday and introduced her cause, Cassidy lost interest and focused on John. When an audience member shouted about his Nazi being dead, she witnessed as his composure shattered. He took charge of the stage, venting and boasting about how he is superior in every way.

She sensed his intense fury and his exhaustion with being manipulated through the television screen. This was where he thrived, captivating audiences with his fervor and charm. As far as breakdowns go, this was one of the most contained ones she had seen from him. She couldn't help but feel proud of him. His typical breakdowns often resulted in casualties and destroyed structures.

Ian left for work, claiming to have new information about Karla's death. He seemed ashamed for breaking his promise to stick around he made on their Valentine's date. Cassidy didn't feel as hurt anymore. She smiled, kissed him, and reassured him she wasn't upset. She was going for a run anyway, so it wasn't a problem.

Technically she was planning on going for a run but the idea of visiting John at the tower was incredibly tempting. She needed an explanation for the gifts and flowers. She could at least tell him she was proud of him for standing up for himself.

The lobby of the tower was quiet and deserted, as it was late at night. She scurried across the entrance, her thoughts filled with regret for not planning this better. She cursed herself for being so eager to see him one more time. How was she going to get past security? She couldn't simply walk up and say, "I'm a friend of Homelander's, let me in." She mentally berated herself for her foolishness.

The disinterested looking security guard gave her a blank look as he asked for ID.

Cassidy fumbled with her bag to retrieve the item as she thought of what to say when they asked for her reason to be here, this late at night.

She handed over her card, the guard swiftly sliding it through a scanner.

"Oh. You're on the VIP list Dr. Bishop," The guard read the screen, surprise coloring his voice. "Please use this elevator to head on up. Homelander is on the ninety-ninth floor. Have a nice night." The guard looked slightly less bored as he handed back her ID.

"Uhh, thanks." Cassidy replied as she awkwardly headed to the elevators the guard indicated to.

VIP? John put me on a list? Did he forget to take it off when he left? ,she thought as she pressed the shiny button to the correct floor.

She had enough questions about John to fill several books. This man just might be the death of her.

As she arrived on ninety-nine she once again felt stupid for not asking where his apartment was located. The tower was huge, housing many supes on one floor.

She debated on going back down and asking for clarification but luckily one of Johns teammates walked by as Cassidy peaked around a corner. It was Queen Maeve.

"Umm 'ello? Is it possible for you to show me where Homelanders' apartment is? I am kinda lost in this maze." Cassidy gave Maeve a wobbly smile as she clenched her hands onto the sleeves of her pink oversized sweater. After a moment Cassidy didn't think the woman was going to help her since she just stared. Then Maeve lifted her arm to point to the direction Cassidy needed to go.

Giving her thanks and heading towards that way she heard Maeve mutter "Great. Another Brit." as she walked away.

Another? Well I guess that isn't strange. She meets all sorts of people, she thought as she walked up to huge double doors.

Her heart started to pound as she stopped and stared at the solid wood. She wouldn't be surprised if he could hear it from inside. She rose her fist, raping softly on the door. When she didn't hear anything, she tried again but with more force. Still no answer. Maybe he is still at the celebration? She doubted it, after his outburst but where else would he be?

This would be the time that she should cut her loss and head back home but the burning need for answers and to see him up close after so long was too strong. Steeling herself she tried the door to find it unlocked.

Why would the world's most terrifying supe need to have locked doors?, she mused.

She hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open and stepped inside the spacious apartment. The first thing that struck her was the lack of any personal items. There were no family photos, no mementos, no signs of personality at all. It was as if no one lived here — or rather, as if the person who did live here wanted nothing to do with his personal life. The huge room was more like a museum than a home. She didn't understand how a place can have so much in it while still looking painfully sterile.

Cassidy couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as she walked through the empty apartment. It made her wonder what kind of life John led when he was alone. Was this what he wanted, or was it just a matter of necessity due to the brand that Vought exerts on its supes?

She couldn't shake the sadness that weighed down her heart. She walked over to the attached balcony that faced the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of the nighttime skyline. Hopefully he would see her when he flew home as she stood there, taking in the twinkling lights below.

Homelander didn't even bother with waiting until the very end of the celebration special when he took off into the sky. He felt like the world was closing in on him after finally letting out all the built up frustration and anger with every fucking thing. He WAS better. He didn't need some fucking corporate prick tell him what to do. He was a god damned gift to earth. They should be bowing down to HIM.

Lost in his own thoughts, Homelander almost didn't notice Ian's car speeding off as if there was an emergency. Homelander flew off to Cassidy's apartment faster. With her being alone, it was the perfect chance for him to "reunite" with her. However, his plan was thwarted when he found out she wasn't there. It annoyed and disappointed him to realize she was absent from the lack of a heartbeat in the apartment.

Where in the fuck could she be this late? She better not be on a stupid fucking run. I swear I'm going to tie her to the god damned bed , he panicked as he flew to her usual place she liked to run.

Not finding her after a quick zip through the park just bolstered him into a borderline hysteria. He hated that he didn't know where she was. She could have been taken and maybe she left the country again.

No. No she wouldn’t do that. Not again. Not to me.

Scenarios ran through his head, getting worse than the last. He flew up to his balcony at Vought Tower ready to tear apart his penthouse with his wrath when he was hit by a scent that always immediately calmed him. It wasn't her usual scent due to him keeping the little bottle safely in a drawer that was right next to his bed but it affected him the same. The revolving supply of panties due to losing her mouthwatering taste and smell helped him get off on nights he couldn't visit.

Homelander whipped his head around the large open area to find her, just to see a balled up pink puff on the large couch in front of his massive tv. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and walked over to her. She lay there, her brown locks spread across her arms that were serving as a makeshift pillow. Her legs were tucked into her oversized sweater, trying to keep warm in the chilly room. He couldn't help but smile at how adorable she looked, like a fluffy little puffball. The cold never bothered him, but he was glad she was cozy and comfortable.

What was she doing here? Not that he was complaining. Something deep inside of him purred at the fact that she felt safe in his home enough that she fell asleep. Was she waiting for him? How long was she here? He wanted to wake her up for answers but he also saw the chance to see her up close and vulnerable.

He removed his gloves and lowered himself quietly beside her. He could hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and feel the soft exhalations brushing against his cheek as she breathed. Her face was so close that he had to resist the urge to kiss her, like a prince waking his princess in a fairytale. He took a moment to study her peaceful expression, imagining what it would be like to have her next to him every night and morning, as his own when they were finally together.

With a deep breath, Homelander reached out and gently brushed the side of her face, his fingers reverberating with the rhythm of her heart. He brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound gentle and reassuring as he whispered her name. "Cassidy, wake up kitten..." he said, stroking her hair with his fingers. She was so close to him, her body trembled at the sound of his voice. Her lavender eyes fluttered open, her gaze cloudy and confused.

"John?" she murmured, her voice hoarse and sleepy. “Oh balls. I fell asleep.”

Homelander stood up as she took her legs out of her cocoon and sat up straight on the couch. Her face dusted with a light blush as she combed her wild hair in embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to. I was planning on waiting for you till you got home but I guess I was more tired than I thought." She explained as nervously glanced at his face to see how upset he was but was relieved to see a small smile on his face.

What she didn't mention was the scent of him when she sat down felt like felt like it pulled all the exhaustion from stress and the past months to the surface and she couldn't help but rest her head on the plush arm of the couch. She was out like a light.

Homelander settled onto the couch, as Cassidy fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, gathering the courage to bring up the argument they had. But before she could speak, Homelander let out a heavy sigh.

"It's okay, Kitten," he said softly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her blush darkening from the pet name. "I really missed you." His voice was filled with an tenderness that made Cassidy's heart flutter.

As she looked into his piercing blue eyes, Cassidy felt a rush of emotions swirling inside her. She knew they needed to talk about what had happened between them, about the hurtful words that had been exchanged. But right now, in this quiet moment with him, all she wanted was to bask in his presence and forget about their troubles.

Homelander sensed the turmoil in Cassidy's eyes and decided to steer the conversation away from what he knew she wanted to have.

"You know, my life is really going to shit lately," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

Cassidy's brows furrowed in surprise. She hadn't expected him to open up so easily. "What do you mean?" she asked softly, curiosity lacing her words.

Homelander ran a hand through his hair, looking out into the dimly lit room. "Everything feels like it's falling apart. The pressure from Vought, the public scrutiny...it's suffocating." He turned to her, his gaze searching hers for understanding.

"I saw your speech," Cassidy said while turning her body to face him. "I was pretty impressed that you didn’t burn the whole building down.”

Homelander let out a hollow chuckle at her attempt to lighten the mood. "I thought about it," he admitted with a wry smile, but his expression quickly turned serious again. "Sometimes...sometimes I feel like I'm just a puppet on strings, dancing to Vought's tune. And no matter what I do, it's never enough. Then when I actually do something, I am persecuted for it."

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, there will always be those who fear me, who want to tear me down. It's like I'm constantly fighting against the world." Tears welled up in Homelander's eyes, his facade of invincibility crumbling before Cassidy's eyes.

She reached out and placed a comforting hand on his arm, her touch gentle and reassuring. "I can't even imagine how difficult that must be for you," she said softly, her heart aching for the turmoil he was going through.

They sat in silence for a moment until Cassidy slid the hand that was on his arm down and turned his hand so she could settle her palm against his warm one. She looked into his eyes as she took a deep breath.

Cassidy didn't want to argue again, so she carefully chose her words. "I'm not sorry she's gone, but I am sorry for the hurt it caused you." Her hand was held tight by his as he gave a comforting squeeze, understanding exactly who she was referring to.

Her voice trembles with emotion as she reaches out to touch his face, her unwavering gaze burning into his soul. "You are not alone, John," she whispers fiercely. "I know you're incredibly strong, and I'm not drawn to you because you're broken. I am here because I care for you in a way that I have never cared for anyone else before. This past year without you has been god awful and difficult."

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss against her knuckles, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and longing. "It’s always been you Cassidy," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I missed you so much too. Everyone who claims to love me always come with ulterior fucking motives but not you.”

Cassidy's breath caught in her throat as she felt the warmth of his lips on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She gazed at him, her heart overflowing with a newfound sense of closeness and understanding. In that moment, all the tension and uncertainty that had clouded their relationship seemed to dissipate, leaving behind only a deep connection that bound them together.

Their eyes locked in an unspoken agreement, a silent promise of mutual support and comfort. Cassidy could feel a whirlwind of conflicting feelings churning within her—loyalty to Ian, affection for John, and the overwhelming fear of making a choice that would shatter someone's heart. As they sat there, hands intertwined, a sense of peace washed over her, a sense of belonging that she had been missing for so long.

Without breaking eye contact, Homelander reached out to cup Cassidy's face in his hands, his touch gentle yet possessive. His thumb traced her cheekbone, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Cassidy closed her eyes at the sensation, almost letting herself surrender to the moment but there was one thing that she needed an answer to before she destroyed the trust in a good man who she thought held her heart.

“How did you know those flowers were my favorite?” She asked as she opened her eyes and furrowed her brows.

Homelander blinked in surprise at the sudden and unexpected question. He furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of it before realizing what she was asking. Without hesitation, he pulled her onto his lap, not wanting to stay in the uncomfortable position they were in. His hands returned to her face which had now turned pink and heated.

“You kept bringing them in for months. The same flower every time. I wasn’t exactly sure they were your favorite but I knew you really liked them.” Homelander gave her a hesitant smile. Worried that he got it wrong and the flowers were a mistake.

“They are. My favorite, I mean. My mum used to grow them and they remind me of her.” Cassidy reassured him with a smile of her own. She never talked about her mother before. “I’ll tell you more about her later. Thank you and I loved them”

Homelander's eyes softened at the knowledge that his small gesture had meant so much to her. "I'm glad," was all he said, feeling a sense of pride.

Reaching up, she gently placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning her face towards his. Their eyes locked in a passionate embrace, his gaze never leaving hers. He could feel her breath on his lips, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear. Taking a deep breath, he closed the gap between them, their lips finally meeting in a tender, exploratory kiss.

As their lips touched, Cassidy felt a surge of electricity course through her entire body, like nothing she had ever experienced before. Her hands gripped his suit, pulling him closer to her as their tongues danced and explored each other's mouths. He could taste the peaches that she had earlier, and it only added to the passion that was rapidly building between them.

The months of lack of touch made her desperate for his growing passion. She felt his hands slide down her neck and shoulders to find their way under her sweater and top to feel the warm flesh of her sides.

Cassidy let out a small sound of pleasure as his hands explored her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against her. He responded by sliding his hands over her waist, feeling the curve of her hips and the softness of her stomach before reaching around to unclasp her bra, loosening their binding.

His fingers grazed the sensitive skin of her back, making her shiver once again. He gently cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting a soft moan from her. Homelander couldn't believe how much he had yearned for this moment, and now that it was happening, he knew it was everything he had been dreaming of and more.

Cassidy leaned in to place suckling kisses along his neck as he tilted his head back, closing his eyes and letting out a deep groan as she pressed against his growing arousal through their clothes. Despite the layers of fabric between them, it was an incredible feeling.

“F-fuck, I can smell you. So fucking soaked.” He commented through clenched teeth.

Cassidy flushed at the sudden vulgarity that seeped into his voice, feeling a wave of arousal crash over her. He was right, she was drenched, her core tightening in anticipation of the pleasure that was to come. She pulled back enough to look into his eyes, just pools of black with thin blue rings around them.

"I want to feel you," she whispered, her voice barely audible under heavy breaths. Her hands tugged at the opening of the top of his suit.

Homelander felt a surge of anxiety, his heart racing faster than it had in years. “W-wait, Kitten,” he managed to gasp out, his voice shaky. “I… I don’t really… I’m not like…”

Cassidy paused, her hand still clutching the fabric. She cupped his face with the other, making him look at her while she tried to sound heartfelt as she could, “ John, I know. It doesn’t take away how attracted I am to you. You’re perfect. I want to feel the real you.”

She leans forward to place soft kisses on his forehead and cheeks then parting with a quick but deep kiss before pulling away. Watching as his throat bobbed as he swallowed the lump in his throat at the affectionate actions. He still felt a little insecure but he trusted her. She wouldn’t laugh or mock him. He hated that he didn’t look like what the suit displays to people.

Nodding his consent, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for the moment of truth. With a swift motion, she pulled the suit apart, revealing his true form beneath. He shut his eyes and tensed as she dragged the clothing off his shoulders and he pulled his arms out of their protective layer. He hated feeling vulnerable. He basically lived in that suit. Never taking it off during his past relationships, even during sex. They didn’t mind or seem to care. But those women weren’t Cassidy. This wasn’t some fuck to take the edge off. She wanted the real him. She wanted him and not the propaganda Vought loved to showcase and drag around on a leash.

As the suit fell away, revealing the powerful and yet plain figure beneath, Homelander felt a mix of emotions. Fear, anxiety, and yet an odd sense of liberation. Cassidy’s touch was all he needed to ease those fears, her warm fingers gently caressing his skin as if she had been doing this for years.

She slowly traced the lines of his torso, brushing against the hair. As she moved her hands, she felt the beating of his rapidly pulsating heart. His chest rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths, a stark contrast to the pristine, perfection he presented to the world.

Cassidy leaned in, inhaling the unique, musky scent of his skin, a smell that was all John. She could have sworn she heard his heart synchronizing with hers, matching her own heartbeat. With a tender smile, she met his gaze, a silent promise that she would never let him feel insecure or alone.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, reaching up to caress his face with both hands. "And you're mine."

Homelander couldn't believe what he was hearing. The words he had always longed to hear, but never expected to hear from someone.

She quickly pulled her own sweater and top over her head and tossed it to the side. He watched, transfixed, as she shrugged off her bra, revealing a breathtaking sight. Her breasts were perfect, full and round, with dangerous curves that spoke of passion and desire. His hand trembled slightly as it reached up to cup them, pinching the pink nubs.

He leaned forward and took one of Cassidy's nipples into his mouth, gently sucking and nibbling, eliciting a soft moan from her. Her hips bucked under him, her body arching in response to his touch. Her palm traced down his back, feeling his strength practically vibrate under his hot skin.

Cassidy broke the connection, her breath coming in short gasps. Immediately surging forward to bring their lips together in a fiery kiss. Both of them let out sounds of pleasure as they worked on unbuttoning and unbuckling each other's pants. Slowly, Homelander slid his hand into Cassidy's jeans and felt the wetness that had been driving him insane ever since he had first smelled her all those months ago.

Cassidy moaned softly into his mouth, breaking the kiss to whisper, "I need you, John. Please."

With urgency, they quickly stood up, he removed his pants and boots and she slipped off her own, stepping out of them and into his comforting embrace. Cassidy ran her fingers through Homelander's hair, pulling his head down to meet her lips again in a passionate, fervent kiss. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her nipples hard and sensitive against his skin. She couldn’t get enough.

Homelander picked Cassidy up, cradling her in his strong arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, their bodies fusing together as one. He carried her to his bedroom with a gentle ease, as if she were the most precious thing in the world. The room was dim, lit only by a few lights casting shadows on the walls.

He laid her down gently, her body pressed against the cool fabric, her skin glowing in the low light. He looked into her eyes, filled with love and desire. Her bruised lips were parted, her breath coming in soft, ragged gasps. With a soft growl, he reached out, his hands tracing the curve of her hips and the soft skin of her stomach. His fingers danced lower, teasing and prodding until he found the wet heat he craved.

Cassidy's hips bucked at his touch, having to grasp his wrist to stop him from teasing her further. The emptiness became painful as she whined and pleaded for him to be inside her. He sucked in a breath as he took in the desperation in her face. As much as he wanted to bring her over the edge repeatedly with his mouth, his aching cock was getting hard to ignore. They had the rest of their lives to explore.

Nodding, their bodies melted into each other, his rock-hard cock pressed against her wet pussy, seeking entrance. They kissed feverishly, tongues entwining and exploring each other's mouths as their hands roamed and touched every inch of skin that was exposed. Guiding his erection to her entrance and slowly, deliberately pushing inside her. They gasped at the sensation, her warm muscles clenched around him, pulling him deeper. He thrusted into her, again and again, each stroke more powerful than the last.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, their bodies fused together in this intimate connection. Their moans and gasps filled the room, mingling with the sound of their skin slapping together. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her up and down his shaft, setting a rhythm that had them both on the edge of ecstasy. She met each thrust with her own, her hips moving in perfect harmony with his, their bodies undulating in a dance of passion and desire.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps, their bodies generating intense heat, her skin glistening in the low light. He watched her face as she peaked, her eyes rolling back in her head, his name reverberating throughout his large penthouse. Her body convulsed under his, milked him for every ounce of pleasure he had to give. And then, with one final thrust, he tucked his head into her neck as he felt the wave of his own release, his cock twitching as he spilled his seed deep inside her fluttering pussy.

They collapsed onto the bed, breathless and spent, their bodies still joined together. For a moment, they just laid there, basking in the afterglow of their passion. Cassidy's fingers traced patterns on Homelander's back, her eyes locked onto his, filled with love and gratitude.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice soft and vulnerable.

Homelander swallowed hard, his throat feeling raw from the emotion. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, and whispered back, "I love you too. So fucking much."

They laid there occasionally exchanging kisses and I love yous, enjoying each other's company. Cassidy had her head on his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart and basking in the heat that he seems to constantly generate. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she debated if bringing up something was worth disrupting their cozy moment.

“I know you were there during my run after Thanksgiving. I saw you with those two guys in the tunnel.” she heard him inhale sharply and pause his trailing up and down on her back. He didn’t say anything as she lifted her head to rest her chin on his sternum as she looked at him.

“I want to thank you. Even though I could have taken care of myself.”

“Then why didn’t you stay?” He asked as he resumed his caress. Relaxing when she didn’t seem upset with him.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me and were just doing your rounds. I left right when the second guy started to run. Didn’t know if you knew I was there and messed up your night.” She gave him a sheepish smile and brushed back his hair from his eyes while stretching to press a kiss to his lips.

She would never admit to him that his display of strength and savagery made her come hard in the shower when she got home. His ego is big enough thank you very much. That, and she shouldn’t have been turned on by someone’s death in the first place. Some doctor she was.

"I will always keep you safe. Everyone else can go to hell. You are my main concern, above everything and everyone else. Do you understand? I would destroy the entire world if it meant saving you." He gently traced her cheekbone with his thumb while holding her face in his hand. His eyes were filled with a fierce devotion and unwavering seriousness.

His confession should have made her worry and be a bit unnerved with how possessive he was but instead it made her blood heat with the feeling of being needed so completely. All she could do was nod and sit up to throw her leg over him to straddle his hips. The fire that he lit with his words reigniting her passion and his touch on her hyper-sensitive skin shot tingles throughout her body.

They made love again, lost in each other till the sky started to lighten around the horizon as morning approached. They separated while panting hard from the intense activity. Cassidy felt boneless and high off of endorphins and oxytocin. When she finally noticed the sun rising she shot up to look at the clock on his nightstand that read seven o’clock in bright red numbers.

“Oh fucking balls! It’s morning already?! Oh God. I need to get home. Fuck, fuck, fuck." she panicked as she shot out of the bed to gather her clothes then remembering they were by the couch in the living room. Not even bothering with becoming embarrassed with her nudity she ran into the living room and started to haphazardly throw on her things.

Arms suddenly circled around her to stop her jerky movements, “Hey, heeey. Where’s the fire? Why do you need to rush home so quickly? I thought we were having a great time! What did I do wrong? Don’t you wanna stay?” Homelander’s tone held a bit of hurt and sadness as he pulled Cassidy into his naked body. “Don’t you wanna stay with me?”

The pain in his voice made Cassidy drop her shirt as she quickly turned around in his arms, “Oh baby, I do,” she kissed him deeply while cradling his face, “ You didn’t do anything wrong love! I really want to stay in bed with you all day, John. That sounds so bloody fantastic but I can’t.”

She saw the disappointment in his eyes before he started to close off as he loosened his arms around her which made her hold onto him tighter.

“I promise I’ll be back later today! I just need to—”

Homelanders' hard tone cut her off, “Go back to Ian huh? I see. Get your jollies off with me then crawl back to the Chip Berlet wanna be. Fucking typical. I can’t believe I fell for it when you said you loved me. If you did, you wouldn’t—” It was her turn to shut him up by yanking his head down into a heated kiss before separating.

“No! No, you don’t get to throw your tantrum and say hurtful things to me. I was going to say I need to go to work since I am on duty today and need to change my clothes before you automatically assumed. You overgrown prat of a man. How could you think that I would just come here for a fuck? I absolutely love you John.” she panted in anger as she held his watery gaze as tears gathered in his eyes.

“Yeah, but you are still with him. You’re mine Cassidy. Utterly and completely mine . I don’t share with others Kitten.” Homelander growled as he retightened his arms around her in possessiveness.

“I will talk and end things with him when I see him tonight. I promise. Just please trust me. I have never lied to you. I can’t be in a relationship with you if you don’t trust me John. I would never hurt you on purpose.” she pleaded as she soothed his hair back and tucked her head under his chin. “Please.”

Homelander tightened his lips in displeasure but gave her a small sad nod as she pulled away to wipe away the moisture before they fell. She maneuvered him into their special hug. He took deep lungfuls of her scent to calm down when he pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

When she managed to have him let her go, she pressed soft kisses over his face after each article of clothing was put on, then she kissed him one last time after promising again to come back after work then left.

Homelander felt a little better knowing she wasn’t going back to Ian but was still upset that she wasn’t here with him. He was looking forward to spending the day with her. Watching movies and cuddling on the couch. He wanted her to be there when he turned on the news to see what people thought of his speech last night. He probably tanked in even more points. He was just so fucking pissed and done with everything.

Not giving a damn about his nakedness he slumped on the couch where her clothes were piled and turned on the tv to wallow in his self-pity.

#homelander #the boys amazon #homelander x oc #my writing #cassidy bishop #oc fanfiction #BTBR #Beyond the Bad Room #ao3 link

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