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snowbellewells · 7 months

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CSSNS Fic: "Carolina Moon" {Chapter Three}

Oh my goodness!! I feel like all I do is apologize to you lovely folks, but I am truly sorry once again that it has taken me so long to update. This is a lengthy chapter at least, and we are really plunging into the meat of the action now. I could try to promise that you'll have the next installment sooner, but that doesn't seem to be the way my life is working lately. I'll do my best though.

In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this one, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.

Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks

The following morning, Emma rose early to the sun on her face, streaming in warm and bright through the windows where she hadn’t yet hung curtains. A noisy mockingbird called brashly to his mate in the trees outside as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing back the rumpled covers, resolving to go ahead and get an early start on the day. Though her body might still be weary, her mind already seemed fully aware and was running through all that needed doing before Saturday’s anticipated grand opening.

Standing and stretching out the cricks and aches, Emma sighed, shaking her head while she straightened the bed clothes as best she could over her mattress on the floor. It had arrived on time, with the other household items she’d sent with the movers from her apartment in Boston. But the antique brass bedframe she had ordered had yet to arrive. Still, she’d slept in the end, and she had spent so many nights in much worse discomfort, she could make do for the time being with an accepting shrug.

Trailing into the kitchen while yawning, Emma pulled an old terrycloth bathrobe over her oversize tee and shorts, threadbare and comfortably soft with years of washings, as she went. She reached up into the cabinet for her coffee, opened it and took a grateful whiff, before she grabbed a measuring spoon from the drainer to fill the coffeemaker. It was only as the life-giving brew began to percolate that she was startled by the sound of three crisp knocks on her front door, making her jump and jerk her robe more tightly closed as she spun to face it.

Not sure who would be calling on her so early in the morning - and when she had barely been back in town three days - Emma almost didn’t answer the summons at all. Still, she couldn’t help both her curiosity and the concern that someone could genuinely need her. She crossed the worn wooden floor of the simple kitchen and unlocked the door, pulling it open only to catch her breath in surprise at who stood on her porch. Emma couldn’t help stumbling back a step and unconsciously running a hand through her still sleep-rumpled hair, for what little good it did.

What was Cora Jones doing there?!? She cursed herself fruitlessly for wearing her most comfortable, but rattiest, pajamas and robe, and she floundered for something to say. Cora, meanwhile, seemed to only stand taller, an eyebrow arched as she looked down her nose at Emma much like she would something rotten which had been smashed on the bottom of her designer shoes. “Might I come in, Ms. Swan?” the older woman finally deigned to speak in frosty tones. “Unlike some people, I have numerous things to do this morning, and cannot afford to lounge around until noon.”

Emma caught a defensive retort on her tongue, biting it back with painful effort. If it were anyone else, she would have given them a piece of her mind, but this was Rose’s mother. Some small part of her, a skinny, lonely pre-teen who had never known a mother other than the proper Jones matriarch, still ached to prove herself to this woman. Oh, she knew it was impossible. It always had been, even before the awful day that forever altered her world. But deep within, that needy child wanted to please her best friend’s parent, to feel some semblance of a parent’s love for herself, and it would not be completely buried. So she held back speaking at all and simply opened the screen door still separating them, motioning Cora through.

Moving toward the kitchen table, Emma offered coffee and a seat, grateful that though the small piece of furniture was chipped and rickety, it was at least cleared and clean. Looking as if she would rather do almost anything else instead, Cora declined abruptly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Emma shrugged wordlessly, trying not to let the clear derision make her shrink. She was right where she was meant to be, intending to lay old demons to rest once and for all. She’d like to make peace with Mrs. Jones as well, but she also knew it wasn’t meant to be, and was not about to be run off. Not now, not after she had waited so long. Instead, she reached up into her cabinet again for a mug for herself, poured coffee into it with as steady a hand as she could manage, and forced herself to wait. Let Cora broach the topic Emma knew she’d come to discuss; she didn’t need to make the woman’s job any easier.

Much as though she had read Emma’s thoughts, the Jones matriarch’s eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin haughtily when she spoke, her voice a whip crack in the taut air of the quiet kitchen. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call. I’m sure you know quite well what I have in mind. It is merely a matter of how difficult you wish to make things.”

Emma merely hummed low in her throat, the slightest nod allowing that she had heard and understood Cora’s words, but still not answering aloud. Inside, she ranted, ‘Me?!? You’re the one making things harder than they have to be!’ But she didn’t give Mrs. Jones the satisfaction of needlessly protesting or taking the bait. She simply met the older woman’s stare head-on and held her tongue, biding her time.

“I do not want you here. Not on our family’s property, not in this town, nowhere near us. I trust you understand that much? Neither my children, nor I, want you around, unearthing painful memories again after all these years. I realize you have already leased space in town for your little shop, ordered merchandise and so forth…. So, Ms. Swan, what will it take?” As calmly as if she were discussing the weather or ordering a latte, Cora Jones withdrew a fine leather checkbook from her designer purse, poised with pen in hand. “Tell me what you need to pack up again and clear out of here, to start over elsewhere, and I’ll make out a check here and now.”

Unbidden temper flared in Emma’s gut suddenly, no matter how she tried to remain unaffected. No matter how far she had come or what she had made of herself, to people like this woman she would never be anything but poor white trash - a mess to be cleared away out of sight. Her presence made them uncomfortable or guilty or angry - she’d never quite decided which. And she was tired of it. She might not have come from anything, and she might not possess some fancy pedigree stretching back generations, but Emma was not nothing; she never had been. Pure, unbreakable steel seemed to fuse her backbone, bringing her voice and fighting spirit to the fore. She wasn’t for sale - not at any price - and it was time that “Her Highness” learned that fact.

“You must be mistaken, Mrs. Jones,” Emma replied, slow and plain, each syllable as intentional and measured as any of her adversary’s had been. “You seem to think I would consider relocating. Let me be clear: I’m not on the market. You can’t buy me out. You can’t run me off. Not this time. I’m staying.”

If she’d been at all in the mood to laugh, Cora’s perfectly painted mouth gaping open, then snapping shut in stunned disbelief would have been comical. As it was, Emma just kept staring her down, holding firm until the oldest money in Storybrooke had nothing left to do but withdraw. “This isn’t finished, Ms. Swan,” she hissed, her stare sparking dangerously like a match against flint. “You would be better off to take my money and make your way more easily elsewhere.”

Emma followed her to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched those classy heels cross the warped board threshold. Anger had restored her nerve and then some as she clipped out, “Well, nothing’s ever been easy in my life. Why should it start now?” Facing off stonily with the woman she had finally, once and for all, given up trying to impress, Emma was determined that this time she would not be the one to crack.

Then, just as Cora stepped off the porch, Emma couldn’t help adding, “And, in case you haven’t noticed, both of your children are grown now. Maybe you should find out what they actually think before trying to speak for them.”

The older woman whirled, but Emma had slammed her door closed, ensuring the final word on the matter. She deflated quickly, falling back against the solid barrier bonelessly and trying to catch her breath, but it felt good to stand up to the woman at long last rather than taking any more judgment she didn’t deserve. She was sure Cora Jones wasn’t finished yet, but she had made up her mind. She was through running.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Despite the upsetting and inauspicious start to her day, by the time early afternoon rolled around, Emma found herself pleasantly puttering about it her shop, humming to herself as she hung pictures in just the right place for best appreciation and then stepping back to take in the overall effect. Things were coming together nicely, and somewhere beneath the anxious concern she wouldn’t be ready in time and the only half-buried dread that no one would come to the opening because it was hers, Emma was beginning to feel proud excitement. She had found a real outlet upon discovering photography in college and had kept it up ever since, developing and honing her knowledge and skill in the art. In the quiet of the dark room and the simple, calm repetition of the developing process, Emma often found the whirling thoughts and visions that screamed inside her head went silent, a rare moment of peace as she worked alone to bring to light the images she had captured. Just as she had told Killian the previous evening, it was the one time she actually found a benefit in her ability to see more beyond the obvious existence on the surface. That she could bring out some aspect or nuance of her subject because of the burden she’d borne all her life was not really any sort of relief, but it felt like some tiny bit of restitution to make up for her trials as she looked around the gallery she was slowly forming, full of moments worth remembering, caught for as long as the pictures might last. She was gradually daring to hope that others as well would wish to glimpse the images she’d brought to life, ones which otherwise might have remained unseen.

She was turning to the back where she kept a small refrigerator to get a pop and take a breather when the bell over her door announced the arrival of a newcomer at her store front. Emma paused at the end of the long counter, turning to look over her shoulder curiously and prepared to greet the guest, but explain that she wasn’t open to customers quite yet. However, something about the young woman she saw standing just inside the door anxiously shuffling her feet and offering Emma a nervous but hopeful smile told her this one wasn’t there to buy framed photographs or picture-taking equipment, but had something else entirely on her mind.

Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, Emma could see the visitor was quite young, and clearly rather shy as well. She couldn’t be long out of high school, or college at the latest, and she blushed with another quick smile before looking down at her hands, then back up at her to answer. “Hi, I’m Violet Clemens. Fresh out of college actually,” she added with a self-conscious little giggle, “and new in town. I’ll start teaching art at the middle school here in a week or so, but I was wondering if you might need any part-time help here in the meantime. What with moving and student loans and all, I could do with a little extra income.”

Understanding dawned on Emma as the girl continued, and she seemed so genuinely sweet that it was impossible not to grin right back at Violet in welcome as she came forward to shake hands. It would really come in handy to have someone who could focus on manning the register and wrapping up purchases for customers while she focused on book work, restocking, and troubleshooting. Unfortunately, Emma had sunk nearly all she possessed in the move, leasing the space, and procuring the merchandise she hadn’t created herself; it might not be possible to hire on any help until she saw if she could start making back some of her investment.

She told Violet as much gently, making clear that she truly did regret having to be so cautious, but the younger woman easily understood. Nodding sagely, Violet took the disappointment in stride. Glancing out the large front window to the sidewalk, she shrugged good naturedly and gestured toward the large, rather scruffy, dog Emma just then noticed, tied by the leash to the bike rack and lounging on the cement with its tongue lolling contentedly. “It’s alright. Honestly,” she piped up, cheer still evident in her voice. “I knew it was a longshot, dropping in unannounced and all. But Norman and I,” here she beamed at the dog who seemed to sense her affection through the glass as his tail began slapping the sidewalk and his ears perked up, “were taking an afternoon walk, and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely store front - it’s really coming together, you know that, right? And I had to try. I’d love to work somewhere like this.”

As an afterthought, Emma quickly asked before Violet could leave, “I wish I could say for sure I could hire you. You seem like a wonderful fit, and I could use the help. I just need to see how things progress on the business side. Might you have a resume or a card you could leave? Then, if I’m able to hire later, I can call and find out if you’re still interested.”

Violet’s head was already nodding enthusiastically, even before Emma could finish speaking. “Yes, I do! Right here,” she chirped triumphantly, pulling it out of the shoulder bag she carried and then flushing slightly as she smoothed the proffered resume against her leg before handing it over. “I’m glad you’re willing to take a look at it. This will be such an intriguing gallery, and I need something that can fit around my hours at the school once classes are in session. Between you and me, it took nearly every cent I had to get me and Norman here, and it was worth a try to make a little money until my paychecks start coming regularly. But I apologize if it’s a bit rumpled - my partner out there can be a bit of a handful.”

Emma waved off the concern, not in the least bothered about slightly bent paper, and wishing even more that she had a definite opening. She remembered all too well just the spot this young woman was in - and she wasn’t that far removed from her situation even now. Instead, she grinned as they both looked out toward the irresistibly floppy-eared dog who absolutely knew he was being watched and leapt to his feet, tail wagging in excitement.

“He looks like a sweetie though, all the same,” Emma smiled indulgently, feeling a pang in her heart at the memory of all the times she had wished as a kid that she could have a pet of her own, particularly a dog that would have been by her side when she was alone and in need of someone to understand her and lend her comfort.

Violet nodded readily in confirmation, grinning at her dog as if he was hearing and comprehending every word. “Yeah, he really is,” she agreed, turning back to Emma once more. “Sad as it might sound, he’s probably my best friend.”

“It doesn’t sound sad at all to me,” Emma assured, thinking to herself that choosing to depend on such an inherently loyal and devoted creature made perfect sense - especially if one were alone in the world otherwise. Giving Violet Clemens one more hopeful promise that she would call if she was able, Emma began walking with her back to the door, before adding as the girl turned the doorknob and moved to step out. “Thanks again for your interest. If things go well, maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

She stepped outside into the mild sunshine, turning her face upwards for a moment to drink in its gentle warmth. Then, with a curious nod toward Norman, who was wriggling and writhing with enthusiasm at both his mistress’ return and the proximity of a new friend, Emma hesitated only until the expected indication that it would be just fine before squatting to the dog’s eye level to scratch him behind the soft, velvety ears and accept a sloppy lick across her cheek.

“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”

Emma chuckled too, not at all put off, and the simple affection that flooded her at the dog’s sweet, uncomplicated reception made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his thick ruff of gray fur. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured, stroking the dog’s back and chest several more times before standing again at the protest of her knees and calves. “I pretty much asked for it,” she added good naturedly. “He’s a handsome dog, but unusual looking. What breed is he?”

Violet shrugged unconcernedly, stroking along the top of his head as Norman came to lean against her side, his head nearly even with her hip, and gazed at her with the sort of obvious and complete devotion that only a good dog could muster. “The people I adopted him from had an Irish Wolfhound that guarded their sheep, but they didn’t really know about the father - it wasn’t an intentional litter of puppies.” She gave a playful little “oops” sort of grimace to Emma before gently rubbing under Norman’s furrily bearded chin for a moment, crooning, “You were a bit of a surprise there, weren’t you, Normie?” to the dog. “Anyway, best the vet back home could figure, he’s some sort of wolfhound-shepherd mix. And he may be huge, but I’m pretty glad of it. He’s all bark, but it’s an intimidating one if someone is around who shouldn’t be. I feel a lot safer having him with me, that’s for sure.”

“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.

“Well, we’ll let you go for now,” Violet said, unlooping Norman’s leash from the bench and readying to lead the two of them off down the street. “Thank you for your time, and I’ll hope to hear from you, but I’m sure I’ll stop in again once you’re open, either way.” She gave an easy wave, which Emma returned, and then started away along the sidewalk.

Emma turned to reopen the shop’s door and get back to work inside when a strange movement caught her eye, seemingly in the alley between the law offices and the jeweler’s on the opposite side of the street. Squinting in concentration, she tried to focus on the dark blur she was certain had slipped through her peripheral vision mere moments ago, but without any luck. Whoever or whatever she had seen was gone, vanished into the shadow of the narrow space between the buildings, or - more likely - never there at all. Shaking her head, Emma re-entered her own building and returned to her unpacking, pricing, and display efforts, doing her best to put the strange sense of having been watched out of her mind, and to ignore the nervous energy crawling along her skin. There was nothing there, and she was being ridiculous.

Soon, she was swept up in her work again, and the pleasure at seeing the pictures all side by side and ready for viewing at last, the way the whole thing was taking shape, had shoved the anxiety from her gut, letting the warmth of pride and accomplishment take its place. She’d slipped into her own little world to such a degree that when David Nolan charged in a couple hours later, followed by Killian Jones, both of them projecting a sort of restless upset and overflow of adrenaline, she was startled enough to whip around with a surprised exclamation from where she was perched atop a ladder, hanging a large landscape she’d captured. She wobbled slightly at the sudden movement, and Killian was across the room in a blink, steadying the ladder with one hand, the other at the back of her calf - warm, strong fingers clamped around her leg impossible to ignore, and sending all breath whooshing from her lungs even as it restored her balance. The heat and pressure ran tingling all the way up her legs to the juncture of her thighs, feeling like a bubbling of molten lava at her core. Even when she had been deeply committed in a years-long relationship with Neal back in Boston, she’d never felt anything like the burning intensity that gripped her with the mere touch of Killian’s hand.

If the breath of shock that escaped him, his widened blue eyes meeting hers before they darted away, and how he withdrew several steps promptly when she moved to shakily descend the ladder, were any indication, he had felt it too. Emma could feel his gaze still flickering over her back as she turned to David with hands crossed over her chest, trying to gather enough air to speak normally, and asked, “What is going on? You two charged in here like the place was on fire and scared me half to death!”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was trying to lighten the moment and deflect attention from her churning insides and the fact that her body’s reaction to Killian Jones was what truly frightened her most.

David bobbed his head in a sheepish nod of acknowledgement, his tense shoulders dropping only a bit, though he did have the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that, Emma. It wasn’t our intention at all. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Emma immediately caught his tone and the concerned, nervous energy radiating from both of them, even as they saw she was just fine and seemed to try to reel themselves back in. Tilting her head to study David’s face more carefully, she pressed warily, “Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Killian stepped up closer to her side again, clearing his throat as he did, immediately upping Emma’s awareness further with his nearness, though he didn’t speak. David, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other restlessly, glancing away from her to meet his friend’s eyes before drawing in a deep breath and answering her question as calmly and succinctly as possible.

“I was notified an hour ago by one of my contacts in the city that Vic Franken - your former foster parent - has broken parole. He was facing five years for possession and reckless endangerment, but plea bargaining and so-called ‘good behavior’ have him up for parole sooner.” David’s tone and the practically audible air quotes in his voice made the huffs of disbelief and derision from both Emma and Killian seem all the more justified. “At any rate,” David continued, leveling his gaze on Emma seriously after a long-suffering sigh, “he’s in the wind, and it’s more than likely he would head this way. He might have been arrested elsewhere, but his last known address was here in Storybrooke, and he tends to return to what he knows. We’ve all borne witness to that pattern over the years.”

The sheriff paused there to both catch his breath and gather his thoughts. His well-muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest, almost looking as if he planned to plant himself right in front of her like some sort of stubborn protective barrier for the foreseeable future. The frown of consternation that marred his naturally open and amiable face completed the look all too well. Emma felt a surge of affection for Nolan at his obvious show of concern, and found herself wanting to ease his worry - even if the idea of her former abuser being on the loose and nearby had made a quivering fear run through her. She wasn’t trapped in a house with Franken anymore, didn’t have to deal with his presence any longer, and she was not about to let the idea of him reappearing rule her mind or emotions.

She gave a cool, measured nod, standing to her full height and making certain to look David right in the eye as well, not flinching for a second, no matter how much she wanted to. Waiting until she was sure there would be no tremor in her voice, Emma offered, “Thank you for letting me know so quickly, David. Truly. Being prepared is about the best defense I can have, as far as I’m concerned. Turning around to find him standing right there would be a hell of an awful shock to the system, but at least now I know to be on my guard.”

She wasn’t oblivious to Killian’s coming to stand just behind her, as if slightly flanking her against an attack, but she resolutely ignored it for the moment, determined to show she could face down the threat before her, regardless of the scars and horrific memories just the mention of Franken’s name brought flooding back. Facing David with fire in her eyes, she added reluctantly, “If he’s smart, he’ll run somewhere other than directly back here where he’s expected and bound to get caught. Still, we all know sensible, intelligent behavior is not the man’s leading characteristic, so I’ll be keeping a wary eye out. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to face him since I ran anyway.”

“What?!” David burst out incredulously.

Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“He found me in Boston,” she shrugged, fighting to hang onto her calm air of nonchalance, even in the face of their volatile emotions. “Several years ago now. Startled me right in the street outside my apartment building - wanting money to stay out of my way and keep leaving me alone, essentially. It wasn’t a hard choice to pay it and have him gone. I was rattled that he was able to track me down, but he left, thankfully… and that was the end of it.”

Killian’s dark brows furrowed intently over his eyes that had grown stormy like a squall amidst the pretty ocean blue. Gently taking her arm to turn her to face him fully, his voice was quietly intense when he argued, “The end of it?! Are you serious, Emma? What are you thinking? He’s a dangerous man, particularly toward you, and you’re acting as though we’ve just told you something as minor as the weather for this evening.”

Emma gave him a cool look, not about to back down or fall apart in front of either of these men who were clearly concerned for her and expecting just that. She might feel as if her stomach was suddenly sloshing around like a sickening bowl of jelly, but she wouldn’t let Vic Franken take any more time from her or waste any of her concern. He’d made her early life a living hell - much more than Killian or David could imagine, whatever they thought they knew. It had taken years for her to stop biting back anything she might have noticed or seen for fear of being punished for her “unholy visions”. She’d looked over her shoulder, jumped at the slightest touch, been unwilling to accept the simplest compliment, continually unable to fathom that others might find her interesting, worthwhile, or important. It was still a work in progress, but she wasn’t moving backwards or scuttling to hide like some crawfish beneath its rock at the first hint of the man’s existence or mention of his name. She’d face it without flinching; he had no power over her now.

“I understand,” she finally gritted out as steadily as possible, eyeing Killian and David in turn, seeing that they took in her resolve. “I’ll keep my guard up, and I’ll call you the moment I see him - if I see him - but I’m not cowering or letting him ruin what I’ve worked toward. I have a store to open the day after tomorrow, and I’m not stopping for him or anyone else.”

David was already shaking his head, not liking her stubborn response, but being wise enough to recognize a battle he couldn’t win. “Well, see that you do. Keep your phone on you at all times. Try not to be alone any more than you have to. Call me anytime - day or night, whether I’m officially on duty or not, I mean that. We can’t ignore the facts. We may not have been able to do much to help when we were kids, but I’m not giving him a chance to lay a hand on you again, not on my watch.”

“Nor mine,” Killian echoed gravely, his voice a low rumble that shuddered through her pleasantly, no matter how she tried to ignore the effect. He was right there at her elbow, radiating anger, protectiveness, and something else delicious and unspoken which she didn’t dare put a name to. Even in the nightmare situation being threatened, a small, neglected corner of her thrilled at the sensation, savoring it for all it was worth.

“What? Nolan’s deputized you, and I haven’t heard about it?” she queried sarcastically, arching a sardonic brow at him in effort to hide just how touched she was by the care they both showed and the amount of comfort it lent her. Shaking her head, Emma regarded both men with knowing resignation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but do you really think I don’t understand the danger here? Or that I plan to leave myself vulnerable again? I don’t. But I won’t stop living my life either. It’s finally mine, to live as I choose.”

“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.

Killian was undaunted though, and picked up where the Sheriff had left off. “At least don’t allow him to catch you all alone, Swan. You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself until Franken is back in custody.”

She’d placed her hands on her hips then, facing off against him squarely, even as he stepped closer too, moving to cradle her elbow in his large, calloused hand, much as he would aim to soothe a skittish animal. That still didn’t keep her from countering frustratedly, “And just how long might that take? Who’s planning on uprooting his life to follow me around like a babysitter, you?” She shook her head wildly, seeing that he looked every bit as stubborn as she did. “You don’t have time for that - no one does. It’s not practical.”

“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”

She huffed in dissatisfaction, but turned from him to plant her hands on the counter and force several deep breaths rather than continuing to fight - in front of David, no less - when they were both so riled up.

“Well, glad that’s settled,” David breathed out with a brisk energy, pointedly ignoring the obvious tension in the room and smacking his hands together loudly, as if to accentuate the issue being resolved. He tapped a hand twice on the sturdy counter in farewell. “Everyone’s looking for him; he won’t be loose for very long,” he predicted, giving Emma a bolstering smile. “Until then, you’ve got a little extra insurance, right? Just to be safe.”

Emma only offered a half-hearted grumble and roll of her eyes, but David unaffectedly allowed that to roll right off his back with typical good humor, slapping Killian’s shoulder on his way to the door.

Once they were alone, Killian turned to her with an exaggerated sort of leer and waggling brow, as if knowing she needed to lessen the anxiety surrounding them. “So, Swan, it would seem I am at your service. What would you have me do?” He leaned closer to her with the words, lending them a hint of temptation, especially when she could see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip seductively.

She had to tease him back; there was simply no other way her pounding heart and heated blood would allow her to respond. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred with a salacious wink, batting her lashes for added effect.

If possible, the heated expression on Killian’s face grew more scorching, little flames of awareness licking up and down her arms and all across her skin. Emma flushed involuntarily, knowing her response showed, and that realization only making her embarrassment and arousal climb all the higher. Her gaze fell to the counter in an attempt to escape his intense regard; eyes following her fingers as they fumbled over odds and ends lying about, scrambling to look busy.

Still, her head jerked back up at his response, unable to avoid eye contact when the warmth of his words washed over her, still lightly flirtatious, but no less sincere, as he answered, “Perhaps I would.”

There was no way she could question that he meant it honestly. Along with the ability to see things average eyes could not, Emma could also sense when someone spoke the truth, and knew most usually when the truth was withheld. She might have lost her faith in that skill for awhile; her emotions too involved where Neal was concerned to see he had not meant all he had promised, and her ability to interpret her visions compromised by heartbreak in the case that sent her city life and purpose crumbling down. But, for all of that, she could still read Killian with absolute certainty, like the printed font on the page of a book. In fact, he was the most unmistakably clear, open person she could remember facing since Rose herself. It was impossible to misread him, and more than that - though it set her heart to fluttering at triple speed - not only does she trust him, but she finds that she wants to.

Humming softly under her breath, she accepted his admission without further comment, and with a cryptic, quiet smile she turned to find something she could have him do to help if he was determined to stay.

Once started, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that they settle into an easy rhythm working side by side. She carried on unpacking, but could direct Killian up on the ladder with hammer and nails to hang various canvasses and frames for display, rather than having to do it all herself. As the afternoon sun crossed the sky and began to lower toward the evening, they shared various stories from the years between since they had seen each other last. Emma spoke warmly of the professor who took her under her wing, a Professor Ingersoll, who showed her all she could about camera, angles, light and shadow, and taking a shot which could truly speak to the viewer once captured. The older woman had also given Emma a place to visit for a homecooked meal some evenings, shared her secret of topping cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon to make it even more decadent, and had become almost a surrogate older sister in Emma’s eyes, beyond being a brilliant mentor.

Meanwhile, Killian spoke less often, but with a wistful fondness that drew Emma nearer, allowing her to see that though he had possessed the money, fine home, seemingly perfect family, and advantages she had not known, he still had pains and regrets, wishes and hopes he had not yet been able to make come true. As strange as it might once have seemed to her barely teenaged self, they had much more in common than what held them apart.

He spoke in easy, rolling vowels and smooth, deep rumblings of learning all that he knew at his father’s side, and of how much he had looked up to Brennan - practically idolized the man - until tragedy had brought him low and he had seen his hero crumble in his grief and vices. He even spoke falteringly of how he had blamed himself for not telling on Rose the evening before she had snuck out to her death. He had seen her bike - the one he then hated himself for teaching her to ride - hidden in the bushes at the end of the long drive, and had known she planned to slip away to some childish mischief after dinner. He hadn’t told, and it had eaten at him a long time, until he finally accepted that his inaction may or may not have changed anything, and that what happened to his sister was not his fault.

Emma had to press her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out to cradle his tormented face between her palms at that confession. Her heart ached for him; she knew all too well what it was to dwell on might have beens and take on portions of the blame not meant to be her own. She might have never planned to meet Rose in their spot that night. She might have made it there to face down the killer with her friend or fall beside her. But she was not the one who had taken Rose’s life, and whatever others thought, she had finally come to see that her actions had not made the horror come to pass.

At some point they had ceased working, settling together at tall stools behind the counter and talking as evening shadows stretched and darkened the burnished shades of a Carolina sunset. Still, neither was ready to bring an end to the gentle comfort between them; the chance to speak of things long bottled up inside and receive understanding rather than judgement in return. It was only when Emma’s stomach growled so loudly that they both stopped speaking, wide-eyed before dissolving into laughter, that they finally gathered up their things and left, locking up the shop and driving off in search of some dinner.

She still didn’t think it was truly necessary for Killian to shadow her everywhere she went like some unofficial bodyguard. Yet, she also couldn’t deny feeling safer in the knowledge that he was there beside her and watching her back. Once they had decided to take his truck and leave her VW there on Main Street for the night, they headed for one of the local drive-thrus. She would be right back at work tomorrow, after all, and the car would probably be safer there in the middle of town under streetlights and regular patrols of the local police than it would be at her rented cabin.

Clambering up into the passenger seat of his tall pickup truck, Emma still felt she ought to protest once more, just at the upset to Killian’s schedule, the inconvenience of leaving behind his routine and all the chores of his own he no doubt had to do, not to mention the awkwardness of spending so much time - and overnight, at that - alone together, no more than they really knew each other. As expected though, Killian would hear no further argument, resolved that making sure she was safe was the most important thing to him. Then he deftly shifted the conversation with a wink and easy grin, asking where she wanted to eat.

It wasn’t until they were traveling along the rutted back road well outside the Storybrooke limits, along the edge of the wooded marsh near the place she was renting, that the peaceful companionship of the past few hours was harshly shattered. They had been rolling along under the deep midnight-purple sky sprinkled with stars, Emma savoring the last few salty French fries in her packet from the local diner and Killian slurping the last dregs of his milkshake from his cup, when her world suddenly swirled away from her; disjointed scenes from somewhere else flashing and pulsing wildly behind her eyes and the sight she both dreaded and couldn’t ignore swept her up more violently than it had done in years.

Gasping in shock, Emma bent forward over her knees, screwing her eyes shut even as the images playing behind her eyes invaded her head, growing ever more loud and vivid. “Wait, stop!” she rasped desperately, one hand clenched in her lap as the other fumbled blindly for the door handle as if to escape. Her voice scratched out ragged and plaintive as she begged Killian, “Please, stop! Right here, please!”

Alarmed, Killian pulled the truck over to the shoulder and threw it in park. He moved to reached across and take the hand she had reflexively balled into a fist, but even as they had barely come to a stop, Emma was out the door, stumbling sightlessly into the overgrown ditch. Hurrying after her, Killian called Emma’s name futilely while rounding the back bumper and plunging after her, but it was as though he were somewhere else from her entirely, unseen or heard as her arms flailed wildly while she climbed out on the other side of the ditch and into the field beyond, weaving unsteadily toward the treeline.

“Emma, hold up!” he called, trying to make it sound like a command, though his concern for her and confusion at what was happening overrode his intentions, making his voice echo shakily in the still night air. He jogged to catch up with her, abandoning any further entreaties that she was clearly past hearing.

Just as he reached her, Emma fell to her knees, hands on the hard-packed earth barely stopping her from falling flat on her face. Heaving, she seemed to be either struggling to catch her breath, or trying to purge nausea at whatever she saw that was invisible to Killian. She shook her head violently, almost clawing at the earth as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Not knowing what else to do, Killian reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, then when no protest came, to rub it up and down her back soothingly.

Some minutes passed, minutes that felt like excruciating hours to Killian as he waited, not certain but hoping she would come back to him. At long last, Emma seemed to still, her rocking motion calming until she nearly slumped against his side, drained. For several interminable seconds neither spoke, until Emma suck in a harsh, rattling breath and jerked upright, her eyes popping open as she finally came back to herself fully.

“Shh, shhh, Love… take it easy,” Killian crooned, trying to pull her back to his side and smooth her hair back from her face as she scrambled backwards and began anxiously trying to regain her bearings. “I know you’ve seen something awful… but you’re back now, aye? You’re going to be alright.”

But Emma’s eyes were wide as they focused on him, finally seeing him there before her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice struggling back to life. “No, it won’t be alright at all.” Grabbing his hand and holding on tightly, she stared at him as if pleading for him to believe her and beggin his forgiveness at the same time. “I saw her, Killian. Some poor young girl… hitchhiking on this same stretch of road. He pulled over, gave her a smile… She didn’t know anything was wrong…” Emma’s breath hitched, but she pressed on. “She fought, but…but she couldn’t get away. I was seeing it t-through his eyes…” She shuddered before her voice dropped even lower, “No feelings, no remorse, just drinking in her terror… like it was before. That monster killed her. I saw it.”

The green of her gaze pierced his chest, causing Killian to struggle to breathe as well when she finally managed to tell him, “He killed her just the way he killed Rose.” Emma trembled all over as she finally let Killian gather her in his arms, though he was shaking now as well. “Rose wasn’t the only one. She was just the beginning.”

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @sotangledupinit @winterbaby89 @bluewildcatfanatic @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @anmylica @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

#cssns23 #cs ff #cs fanart #CS au mc #Carolina Moon #chapter three

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batbeato · 2 months

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Sometimes I feel bad for Kinzo. He was forced into a marriage he didn’t want, a position he didn’t want. He might have been upper class - not rich rich like the main family, but upper class - before the quake, but then he was dropped into the headship and being pressured to renew the family’s wealth …that can screw with your mental health. Even if those things ultimately led him to meeting Bice, it still…sucked?

Then I remember he abused his children by his wife, raped his own other daughter who he kept in a cage designed like a mansion - and I want to punch him. Hard. Regardless of his mental state, it’s not an excuse for what he did.

Sometimes I wonder if he was legitimately going insane, his capability to control himself impaired - though it would be even worse for Kinzo to be sane, as many abusers are for the most part, and simply be hiding behind his own delusions.

He really probably did begin to loose it with Lion’s death, though.

We don’t even know if his relationship with Bice was fully consensual, because they both communicated through their secondary languages, she didn’t know japanese - or maybe only picked up bits and pieces of it - and she had no place or family to go. For Bice’s sake and some minor sympathy for Kinzo, I hope it was - but canonically…we don’t know.

It’s jarring to know that he was capable of brutally beating his legitimate children with his bare hands and wooden swords, but treat the two Beatrice he loved - even if it was an possessive love, even back when Bice was alive - so gently, giving them all the luxuries in the world he could afford.

Anyway, the entire reason behind my rambling is - do you think Kinzo would have treated his grandchildren more gently post-lion’s death? Or be harsher? I’m not going to exactly say kindly because Battler mentions being unable to breathe when he was in the room and everyone being frightened of him, but gentler? In a way.

That's the thing with Kinzo: he actually went through a lot. He was forced into becoming head, used as a puppet by the elders, forced into a marriage with a woman he didn't love, had children with her that he didn't care about, and all the while he was really depressed/suicidal to the point of signing up for the military in the hopes of dying. But that doesn't excuse his actions, just explains how the cycle of abuse includes him, too. An endless chain stretching back unbroken.

The point about languages for Bice's consent is interesting - I always felt it was more in doubt due to the implication of Kinzo machinating the Italian-Japanese conflict so that he could have Bice and the gold to himself. Very extreme form of isolation that he intentionally brought about. Hell, even if she was consenting the relationship still had a very lopsided power dynamic (she didn't speak the language or have a legal right to be in the country or have any allies besides him) and from their dialogue (if taken at face value) it seems like they grew to be codependent on each other. "I will die without you" is romantic but also. Get therapy.

A lot of abusers are like that, where they have specific targets of the abuse but also treat outsiders or a specific person kindly. For example, golden child/scapegoat dynamic (is often terrible for both but on the surface the golden child is treated far better and granted a lot of privilege).

As for Kinzo being kinder to his grandchildren... Maybe? If we take EP8, we see Battler talking about Kinzo doing stuff like having a Halloween party or giving presents to his grandchildren. EP8 is definitely a flanderized version of Kinzo but it does seem like he might have been capable of some kindness towards his grandchildren in light of Lion's death? There's a grain of truth in every illusion after all. But it does seem like he was still very strict given how the cousins talk about him at other times, so he probably didn't soften that much. One idea is that his self in EP8 is him after he really began to try to atone for what he did post-death and came to start to care about his other family besides his obsession with Bice/Beatrice/Sayo. ...Still probably flanderized a bit though.

#umineko #umineko no naku koro ni #umineko spoilers #anon ask #kinzo is so fascinating and terrible at all times #he belongs in a musuem #we should throw tomatoes at him

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tracingpatternswrites · 1 year

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Sunday Snippet

I was tagged in the WIP game by @soloorganaas but I only really have one active WIP right now (the other ones are old and I’ve already used them for the WIP game before) so instead I thought I’d do a little Sunday Snippet of my current project that lives in my brain.

This is a super self-indulgent enemies to lovers magical AU of Wolfstar falling in love in their 30s. It has Scottish Remus who never went to Hogwarts and Magizoologist Sirius and is set in Edinburgh.

Snippet below the cut

Remus picked up his pint again, taking a smaller sip this time as he didn’t want to rush through it just because he was bored, but he’d barely raised it to his mouth before Sirius threw his arm out without looking. Remus could see what was going to happen before it did and yet he was powerless to stop it. Sirius’ arm hit his own with force, the glass slipping from his hand and hitting the floor with a crash. Beer soaked into his shirt and jeans, pooling underneath him with shards of glass.

“Oh shit,” Sirius exclaimed, whipping around, watching Remus with wide eyes. “Fuck, I’m so sorry mate.”

Remus could feel the silence settle, the eyes not only from their little group but from the tables around them settling on him. His cheeks burned as he looked helplessly down at his own lap, humiliation and irritation flaring sharply in his chest as he tried to find something to say. It felt like the silence stretched for minutes but in reality it was probably not even a second before James let out a loud cheer, breaking the weird quiet as the place erupted in laughter.

Remus’ heart was still pounding hard in his chest even as Sirius stood up and made an exaggerated bow to the room, as if the attention from everyone who was staring at them spurred him on rather than made him want to sink through the floor. He was laughing as he turned back to Remus, silvery eyes dancing as he pulled his wand from his hair with an easy gesture.

“Really sorry, mate, let me take care of it,” he grinned, not looking very apologetic and Remus could feel that flash of anger again.

He quashed it though, his Da’s words echoing through his head. Keep your temper, Remus, never show them you’re angry. He knew it was right, he couldn’t afford to lose his temper, it was one of the first things that had been hammered into him as a child. Never give them a reason to fear you, never give them a reason to start asking questions. He forced himself to relax and schooled his expression into something blank, raising his hands with his palms up, an open sort of gesture.

“It’s really no problem,” he said, his voice sounding a little strained to his own ears but Sirius didn’t seem to notice.

The other man flicked his wand in Remus’ direction and he could feel his heart do a little stutter, a surge of irrational fear, but then he felt the wetness seep from his clothes, leaving him as dry as he had been before. Sirius mended the glass with another flick of his wand, effortlessly, as if the magic he performed was a part of him and Remus clamped down on the spark of jealousy.

“There we are,” grinned Sirius easily at him, eyes glittering as he looked at Remus, as if he expected him to be fucking grateful or something.

“Clumsy bastard,” came James’ voice from behind before Remus had a chance to reply, and to his horror he felt an arm flung over his shoulder.

He couldn’t do much about it though as James leaned in, voice dropping conspiratorially, as if he was telling Remus a secret but the whisper was loud enough to carry.

“Haven’t had a real night out unless Padfoot here’s spilled at least one drink over you.”

#sunday snippet #ee wip #edinburgh edition #that is not the real name #who knows what it will be called eventually #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #my writing

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howdy-cowpoke · 7 months

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TIMING: A day or two after ‘Ready or Not’ (late September) LOCATION: Texas PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) & Kaden (@chasseurdeloup) SUMMARY: With the shock of Monty being dead passed, he and Kaden find another day to talk more about what that means, and the cowboy admits to the darker aspects of his past. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

—

The days following their pit stop in the Tennessee bar had felt different for a number of reasons, but Monty wouldn’t describe any of it as feeling worse. Not by a long shot. Part of him worried that he’d pushed things too too far and too fast, but another part of him knew that was a silly thing to stress over. Why were people so afraid of saying they loved someone? Monty could easily rattle off a list of people he loved, and while there might have been different types of love for each person, why was romantic love the big taboo? It didn’t make sense, when you really thought about it. And for most people, life was too short to not say what you felt. Even though eternity stretched out in front of him, he still felt guided by that principal. After all, he’d spent a century keeping himself turned inward, and what had that afforded him? Loneliness. That was it.

Then, of course, there was the matter of him being a… dead person. Which was probably the more important of the two developments. Kaden had been kind enough to not launch into a thousand questions as soon as he figured it out, but Monty knew they'd come eventually. They had to, he'd not even been clear about what kind of undead he was. And maybe it didn't matter to Kaden, but the cowboy had no clue how much he actually knew—though if that slayer had been a friend of his, there was probably a good chance he knew enough. But then… he had heard once that hunters were supposed to try and keep normal people from finding out about the supernatural, so maybe Kaden knew next to nothing. There was only one way to find out.

The opportunity arose while they were camping out in the car after a day of hiking in the Palo Duro canyon. The sun had already set and the stars overhead were beginning to shine brightly in the darkening sky. They were rummaging through the cooler for dinner options when Monty sat back with a laugh, looking up at Kaden and shrugging his shoulders. "I guess I don't have to… perform at mealtime, now, huh?" With a meek but understanding sort of smile, he tucked his hands beneath his legs and just watched Kaden instead, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I… ate before we left. Maine, I mean. And I have—well, I’ll have to figure something out in another couple days or so. It doesn’t… keep well. But I was just sort of… going to figure that out when the time came,” he admitted quietly, realizing how foolish it sounded.

—

Kaden knew to expect the unexpected on their road trip but they were barely halfway to their destination and he’d encountered surprises he could never have predicted. It probably should have been more of a shock to learn his boyfriend was undead rather than the fact that Kaden had used the words boyfriend (and the other word; the big one) but he was used to the supernatural seeping into every aspect of his life. The rest? Not so much. Not that he was complaining, it just felt like new territory. All while being completely the same.

Granted, the fact that it wasn’t the most surprising part of it all didn’t mean that Kaden didn’t have questions, plenty of them. They had all bubbled up in his mind ever since that night but he’d pushed them aside. The fact that Monty was undead hadn’t affected them much before this moment so it was unlikely to make a big difference now, either. At least, that’s what he told himself. Not to mention, he much preferred to focus on the other development in their relationship as much as possible. It was easier, too. It didn’t beg any questions of him: how he knew what undead were, how he knew what Ivy was, why he was friends with her and what he really was.

He didn’t know when they would cross that bridge, start asking and answering the questions that went left unsaid. It wasn’t on the drive there and it hadn’t been during their hike earlier but it seemed like now that they had settled into the back of the truck to eat was the time. Made sense once Monty explained. “Oh, uh yeah,” Kaden replied, surprised that it hadn’t occurred to him that was the case before that very moment, “guess not.” Putain, his cheeks flushed as he remembered all the times he’d cooked for them or insisted that Monty eat something. And he just went along with it and pretended for his sake. Not that Kaden had any idea what else he was supposed to do. He knew it wasn’t either of their faults but he still felt stupid and a little guilty all the same. “Guess that means there’s more for me.” He tried to play it off with a small smile as he reached into the cooler for the various cheeses and cold cuts they’d brought for on the road makeshift charcuterie plates.

His brow raised at the net comment. Already ate before they left. Already ate what, exactly? “Well I know you don’t need blood bags. Considering that hike we just went on.” He gestured at the canyon nearby, transformed by the night and starlight but no less wondrous. “Pretty sure this trip would have been a lot harder if you couldn’t survive in the sunlight.” He didn’t want to make any of this heavier or more awkward than it already was, but bits and pieces of his lessons from his past that he thought were long buried kept floating to the surface.

He hadn’t studied the undead with the depth that he had shifters for obvious reasons but that didn’t mean no one had taught him the dangers of the undead: how easily their kind spread, how they could destroy a town, and how they would consume life until there was nothing left. Among other things. He knew that parts of what he’d learned about the supernatural growing up weren’t always completely true, that he was painted the picture of only the worst possible scenarios without any room for nuance, and it was clearer more than ever looking back at Monty with those images invading his mind. He couldn’t overlay the two images, no matter how hard he tried. But the nagging thoughts of danger, warning, alert, was impossible to shake off completely. Old habits died fucking hard, even if he hated it.

Kaden sighed and tried to shake the thoughts from his mind, focusing more on the rest of what Monty had said, trying to finish putting the pieces of the puzzle together. If he needed something to bring with him, probably didn’t feed on nightmares. Or whatever it was furies needed to live. So that left one option, assuming that there wasn’t some strange special kind of undead he was unaware of: zombie. Monty was a zombie. Ate brains to survive, turned humans with a bite zombie.

Right. Alright. Kaden exhaled, unaware that he’d tensed up in the moment. Nothing had changed, he reminded himself. This was still Monty. This was still the person he professed his stupid fucking love to the other day. “There’s probably a small town with a local butcher or two along the way,” he offered with a small shrug, hoping that he was on the right track and looking over at the cowboy for confirmation. “That’d work, yeah?”

—

As the carefully worded guesses began, Monty felt embarrassment creep up his spine. Kaden was right, though—one undead option was immediately eliminated thanks to his love of daylight. Which left others, of course, many of which he knew little to nothing about. There could be five hundred different types of undead, and he'd never know. So he stayed quiet as Kaden went on, probably working through a checklist of the things he knew in his mind (and how many things was that?) before reaching the bottom. Apparently it brought him to the correct conclusion, because a butcher was precisely what he'd need at some point during their journey. Okay, so maybe there weren't five hundred different kinds of sapient undead, then.

Lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck, Monty nodded. “Sí, that would be... helpful.” He sucked in a sharp breath, fear clawing its way up his throat. Fear that now that Kaden had more or less pinpointed WHAT he was, there would be assumptions. Assumptions he needed to quash, as quickly as possible.

“I—I need you to know, Kaden, I'm not—I don't—” It was always challenging to talk about these things, but especially when he cared so deeply about what the other person would think of him when he was done speaking. Closing his eyes, the cowboy let a beat of silence pass while gathering his thoughts and arranging them in his mind in a way that made sense.

“I don't know what all Ivy told you about... people like me, and I'm sure there are some really terrible ideas out there, but, um...” He stuffed his hands between his legs to stop himself from fidgeting quite so much, but he still wasn't able to meet Kaden's gaze. “I don't... hurt people. I do everything I can to not hurt people. That's why I started the farm in the first place... sure, we sell dairy products, but it's more a source of food for people like me.” He bit his lip, shoulders hunching in discomfort as he weighed the pros and cons of outing everyone on the farm. “Daisy... she's a zombie, too. They all are. I would only hire... undead. To give them a place to live if they needed, and food to eat that wouldn't hurt anyone or leave them... dealing with that trauma.” Trauma he knew too well. “But... I am not going to sit here and act like I've never made mistakes. I have. But I just needed you to know that I try so, so hard to avoid them, and make up for the ones I cannot take back.” His voice wavered with the heightened emotional state that came with admitting he'd killed innocent people before, and that was only talking about the ones that'd become food! He had yet to mention all the unspeakable acts of violence he'd committed back in the late 1800s... or that he'd even been alive then. God. It was so much to cover.

—

Kaden’s brows knit together as he watched the cowboy struggle with his words. It only took a beat for him to know what he was trying to say. That he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t need to say another word, Kaden knew that already. The second he learned that Monty was undead, there was no doubt in his mind that was the case. Considering he already did everything he could not to inconvenience people, it was never a question on Kaden’s mind. His chest tightened, filled to the brim with sympathy. He set aside the paper plate of food and reached out for a hand, but Monty had tucked both of them away and so he settled on laying his hand on top of the man’s leg, ready to take his hand whenever he set it free.

As much as he wanted to interrupt, tell him that it didn’t matter, he listened, trying to take in what the man was saying rather than just brushing it off in his own mind as trivial details that changed nothing. And while he was pretty damn sure nothing about what he said was going to change how he felt about the cowboy, he figured he should face the thing rather than continue to pretend everything was normal. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to interrupt Monty every five seconds to tell him that he knew as much.

Well, most of it. His head tilted as Monty revealed that the farm was more than just a dairy farm and that Daisy and the rest were more than just normal employees. “All of them?” he asked, still trying to put the pieces together. Putain de merde, an entire farm full of undead and he had no clue. He almost laughed trying to figure out if his mother would be more disappointed that he overlooked an entire population of undead or the fact that he was dating a zombie. Really was a toss-up. Still, once the fact had settled in, he put together the rest of what Monty was saying. Kaden knew he built the farm partially to help people down on their luck. It was something he admired about the man already. But this? Learning that it was all to help the undead from harming others, from ruining their own lives? Putain, even if hadn’t told the man he loved him already, it would have come out now and he couldn’t keep the stupid smile from his face.

As much as he wanted to address that, there were a few things he had to say first. “Hey. You don’t have to explain yourself. I mean, I’m glad you are but…” Right, now who was the one struggling to find the right words? He squeezed Monty’s leg before continuing, hoping that even if his words weren’t right, there was still some sort of comfort there. “I trust you.” He wanted to find Monty’s gaze but it was cast away for the moment. “I know, I mean I’m guessing you didn’t always have control over… I don’t know. But I trust you. That you wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not if you could help it.” He took a deep breath before speaking again, unsure if he should say what was on the tip of his tongue. “And… And that you wouldn’t hurt me.” His voice was quieter, but no less sincere. Putain, maybe he was stupid for thinking that, for holding onto that hope, his mother and sister would certainly say as much, but that didn’t change the fact.

“The farm…” He wasn’t even sure where to start. “Merde, I was already in awe of what you managed with the farm, mon couer. But this?” He shook his head slightly. “It’s incredible. I’m–” He didn’t know how to pin down what he was feeling with words. There were too many and not enough all at the same time. It was Kaden’s duty to help protect people from the supernatural, to try and make the world a little safer. Killing no longer felt like the right answer but he’d been struggling and stumbling to find better solutions. And here he was, sitting next to someone who already managed what he couldn’t on a larger scale than he would have imagined. And that man was apologizing for his shortcomings. It was unreal. He leaned over, trying again to catch Monty’s gaze, hoping that maybe if he couldn’t find a way to say any of it, he could convey it somehow. “I know that you said you made mistakes. And that… I mean I know there’s more.” As much as he wanted to look at the zombie with rose-colored glasses, Kaden wasn’t that naive to think that he’d been perfect. He wasn’t judging. He wasn’t either. “But that? The farm? That’s amazing.”

—

All of them? Monty nodded in silent response, looking a bit fearful. It was a big thing to admit, and while he trusted Kaden completely, that anxiety that came with another non-undead knowing the truth about the farm would not be pushed aside.

And that you wouldn’t hurt me. That was the big one, wasn’t it? Zombies ate brains to survive, and human brains were the cream of the crop. The coveted meal. But God, that wasn’t what humans were to him. And he… he was just glad Kaden could see that. Understand it and accept it. Of course he did, otherwise he’d have abandoned Monty on the side of the road the moment he’d realized he was dead—and Monty wouldn’t have blamed him.

He looked at the hand on his leg, feeling his throat constrict. Kaden took advantage of the silence to weigh in on the farm situation, and honestly Monty was thankful for it, because he hadn’t really been sure where Kaden stood before that. That said, the praise made him just as uncomfortable as praise always did, and he shifted beneath the other’s touch, releasing his hands from the weight of his own legs and shaking them out for a moment before scooping Kaden’s hand up into them. “It isn’t amazing,” he argued, recalling how he’d let Alberto get murdered by that slayer, and how all the other vampires had slowly left after that. There’d always been less of them at the farm, and he supposed that they must have felt like he favored the zombies over them. He couldn’t blame them, either. “It is… the very least that I can do.” He gave Kaden’s hand a squeeze, finally looking up at him. “There is… something else I should tell you,” he said softly, his dark eyes jumping between Kaden’s. “I’m…” He drifted off for a moment, considering how best to phrase it. “... I was born in 1867.” Not a fact that mattered, except that it meant he was old. Very old. And while that might not mean much in the face of immortality, it would perhaps mean more in the arena of explaining some of his behaviors and habits. It might make it easier for Kaden to understand him, given how little he’d changed in all that time, aside from losing his nerve and becoming a coward.

—

“The least you can do?” Kaden repeated, confusion etched into his face. “Monty, that’s well beyond what most people would or could do. You know that, right?” Clearly, he didn’t know that much, otherwise Kaden wouldn’t have to sit there arguing with the man that he’d done something impressive. He sighed to himself; he’d fight that battle later.

There was more? Putain, how was there more? He could feel his pulse pick up despite the fact that he was doing his best to tell himself it couldn’t be as shocking as the secret that Kaden was hiding. Not sure that thought helped much. He ran his thumb along the top of Monty’s hand, waiting for whatever shoe was about to drop next. For a moment, he thought he was still waiting, that there might be more than the year he was born.

That was until Kaden repeated the year again in his head. 1867. Eighteen. Not nineteen. Eighteen. Putain de merde. “So that would make you…” For some reason, he thought he could do the math in his head right there on the spot. Bad assumption. “Well, uh, over a hundred, yeah?” He furrowed his brow and tried to run the numbers over again. No, yeah, over one hundred years old, for sure. How many, he wasn’t sure yet. Not sure how much difference it made at that point. “Putain de merde,” he said to himself as he ran a palm down his face. “That’s a long time to– Especially as a–” As a zombie. That was exceedingly old for a zombie, he was pretty damn sure. At least the way hunters spoke, most were so volatile that they didn’t make it more than a year. “I knew you were older than me but, uh, didn’t expect that much of an age gap.” He let out a small laugh and rubbed the nape of his neck with his free hand.

Something occurred to him. Maybe it was because the rest was too hard to process properly. “So you– I’m the first person you… Even though you’re….” That seemed impossible. Hell, he hardly believed it when he didn’t know that his boyfriend was over a century old. “Sorry, just, that’s… I mean that’s a long time to…” Right, he wasn’t making this better, that was for sure. A hundred years and he’d never–

Wait. A hundred years ago. The world was so different back then. Very different. And suddenly the pieces started falling into place and it all made a lot more sense. “Never mind,” he said softly, giving the cowboy’s hand another squeeze, feeling the cool skin beneath his own. He practically had the callouses on the man’s hand memorized by this point and it was strange to think that they were built up even longer than he’d thought, built up over a century and then some. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot more stories to share, then,” he said with a smile. And he wanted to hear all of them, as many as he was willing to share.

—

At first, all Monty could do was nod. Yes, well over a hundred years. And yes, all of the baggage that came with that. Some of which the man was slowly piecing together—Monty watched carefully as details occurred to Kaden and shifted him from one microexpression to the next, trying very hard to not feel embarrassed or ashamed by these things. He knew what Kaden would say, after all—that none of it mattered, and that Kaden already loved him exactly the way he was. Still, as Kaden voiced his bewilderment that somehow, in all that time, Monty had never found someone to be intimate with, the cowboy could feel the urge to withdraw swell in his chest once more. But it was okay. It was okay, because the rest of the information seemed to catch up with Kaden's questions and he pushed the question off the table for Monty. There were a lot of reasons Monty had never pursued that with anyone, not least of all the fact that he'd come from a time period where following his heart would have probably gotten him killed. People assumed, given enough time, that one could conform to new societal norms. But how long had that been normal? How long, really, in the span of a hundred and fifty six years, would Monty have been able to hold a man's hand and not be ostracized for it? On top of that, he hadn't even understood it himself, conditioned as he was to think that he ought to have a wife by now. It was confusing and upsetting and the zombie had simply abandoned all thought of ever loving anyone, assuming that it must have just not been in the cards for him.

Of course, meeting Alan changed that. Alan, the first person he'd allowed himself to get close to because of their mutual circumstances, and the first openly gay man he'd ever met. Not that he'd made any kind of effort to meet people in the past, but with one foot already in the door, it'd been a shock to his system to realize that perhaps there was hope for him after all. He'd just had it all framed wrong in his head.

And now Kaden understood that, though perhaps in fewer words, but... the warmth that had settled in his eyes spoke volumes, and Monty felt like he could cry again. Kaden was shifting from the cowboy's lack of experience in the realm of romance to his abundance of experience in the general arena of life like everything he'd been admitting was a non-issue, and it floored the zombie. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I won't... bore you with the lonely in-between,” he said softly, chuckling in spite of himself. “From the time I died in 1904 to when I arrived in Wicked's Rest, I did my best to blend into the background. I was as boring as they come, and never got to know people.” A beat. “But... my best stories come from when I was running with Hector and his gang.” Another beat. “As you can guess, the life of an outlaw was not one short on violence. So... I can keep those to myself, if you prefer.”

—

Died in 1904. Kaden tried to wrap his head around it. 1904. Monty had died before anyone Kaden had ever known was born. It was impossible for him to imagine what life had been like back then. He could sure try, though. Didn’t love the picture he came up with. “I doubt you were boring. Even then,” he said, nudging the man with his knee. His head tilted as his brows raised as he continued, though. Did he just hear the words “gang” and “violence”? “You were in a gang?” he asked, brows practically threatening to reach up to his hairline. “How the hell did that happen? You? Of all people, in a gang?” He kept trying to picture it and the vision never came into focus. He was going to need help really believing this.

Kaden twisted to face Monty a little more, trying to see if it made anything make more sense. Didn’t help much. It didn’t seem possible that the man that apologized to the table for accidentally running into it had been violent at any point in time. Then again, he’d lived a few lifetimes by now. Kaden had changed plenty in the last year or two. He supposed maybe it wasn’t entirely out of the question that Monty had changed even more in the time since he died. “You’re going to have to tell a lot more stories before I believe you were an outlaw,” he said with a teasing smile. “I’m, uh, not a stranger to violence,” he offered. It felt like a risk to suggest it and his eyes darted away for a moment. Putain. Didn’t know how he was going to explain that. He hoped he wouldn’t have to and his eyes found Monty’s again. “You don’t have to hold anything back.”

Kaden wanted his partner to be candid as he was willing to allow himself be. At least, he thought he did. Maybe he’d regret it once everything was laid out in the open, once he heard the tales from his past both before and after he died, but he had to hope that wasn’t the case. Especially not now while a million questions danced on the top of his tongue. He figured he should let Monty decide where to start, though. “I want to hear it all. Whatever you want to share.”

—

Monty might have questioned Kaden’s admission of being comfortable with violence if not for the fact that they both had spent time in Wicked’s Rest, and now it was clear to him that Kaden was at least aware of many of the same supernatural things he was. Which always meant violence, no matter how much you tried to escape it. Did it really matter what kind it was?

Letting out a soft scoff, Monty dipped his head, looking down at his lap. He’d not really… talked to anyone about this before, but if there was ever a person to share it with… “Well… okay. Don’t—just—remember that things were different back then, sí? Just remember that.” He took a breath and lifted his chin, his gaze finding Kaden’s in the dim light cast by their lantern. “It wasn’t really… a choice? Um. I mean it was a choice, but the alternative was… dying.” He frowned, realizing something in that moment that he’d never considered before. “... now that I think about it, if I had just let them kill me that night rather than kidnap me, I’d be stuck forever as a… what, nineteen year old? Twenty?” He shrugged, giving a light chuckle in spite of the grim story. “I guess it was the correct choice, ah? Anyway… they had raided the ranch I worked at. Killed most everyone else, but decided to take me with them.” A pause. “Hector decided to take me with them. They walked me for two days back to their camp out by the mesas, then tied me to a little tree for a while after that. Until I’d proven my loyalty.” It had been a decidedly unfun time in his life, but he’d gotten through it. “I am not sure what Hector saw in me that he liked, but he did… keep me around. And after a while, I… I felt at home with them. They were not good people, but they had become my people.” He wasn’t sure if he could admit just how much of it had been his loyalty to Hector and Hector alone, fearing that it would make him sound… pathetic.

One couldn’t be certain if it was better or worse that the cowboy was unaware of a little thing called Stockholm syndrome.

“I was a good thief, a good… actor, and a good marksman.” His gaze danced up toward the sky avoidantly. “There were families in the gang. Children younger than myself, mothers… we did what we did to take care of them. If they were happy, then Hector was happy. And if Hector was happy… I-I was happy.” His expression had become hard to read, flitting somewhere between upset and wistful. “It was… a confusing time in my life.” The admission came out slowly and in a hushed voice. “But it was also when I felt happiest, I think. I did enjoy life on the road, with wagons and horses and tents. Robbing people was not my favorite thing, but I was good at it, so they took me with them. Aside from that, you know, I was mostly caring for the horses.” He gave Kaden’s hand a squeeze, dragging his eyes back down to look at him again. “But… I did kill people. Not always in self defense.” He sniffed. “I did as I was told. I did it to… to keep the others fed, clothed, and healthy. I can’t take any of that back now, so it’s why I just try to… to help as many people as I can. To try and even out the scales. Tip them for the better, some day.”

—

It was hard for Kaden to process it all. It sounded like a strange dream or a nightmare he was describing, not Monty’s very own life. It was so long ago and so far away that it felt closer to a fairy tale than reality. It was almost embarrassing to remember the times when he was a kid playing cowboys, trying to lasso Keira and chasing her around like she was the cattle. Now here he was, sitting next to someone who didn’t play at being a cowboy out in the wild west, but who was actually there. And not just there but someone who was a real gunslinging outlaw. Hard to imagine.

He sat and he listened, did his best to take in every word Monty spoke in order to paint in more details onto the picture in Kaden’s mind of who the cowboy was and who he used to be. He didn’t realize just how many gaps there were to fill in before they headed on the road. Not that Kaden hadn’t left out plenty of details of his own past. He wasn’t judging so much as trying to reconcile two very different portraits layered on top of one another. He kept close to his partner, leaned in and held tight to his hand. He didn’t need to feel a pulse to know that the man was nervous and struggling to delve into some of the less pleasant details.

It wasn’t long before he could see why. His eyes didn’t stray from Monty as he spoke, as he described the terrible things he’d done and how it was also when he was happiest. And he wasn’t sure what that added up to. Kaden had been prepared to accept that Monty had killed people by accident, that he lashed out when he first turned and didn’t have control or didn’t understand what he was. He was ready to hear some of those stories, to file those away as supernatural bullshit. So when Monty said he’d been part of a gang of outlaws, that he stole and lied and killed, Kaden didn’t know what to do with that information, how to feel. Some part of him wanted to twist away, give into the disappointment and disgust at the thought of the cowboy murdering people in cold blood. Another was more than fucking aware that he was the last person who should be throwing stones, not while there were already cracks in his own glass house.

It was like a heavy weight was placed on top of Kaden’s shoulders, the weight of Monty’s actions with his own. The weight that being with this man was, in a way, excusing it or accepting what he’d done. And Kaden certainly had his own weight to carry, his own pile of heavy burdens to lug around. His own choices and actions he regretted. He knew how desperate he was not to carry that weight alone, how hard it was to shoulder it all alone. Andy and Alex helped, of course. Either way, he knew he didn’t want to let Monty carry that all by himself. It would be a lighter load if they shared it.

“Can’t say I expected that,” he said once he finally found words between the silence. “That you…” Killed people. Before he was turned. While he had full control over his actions and choices. “You can’t take it back. You’re right.” His thoughts drifted to his own actions and he couldn’t be sure who he was talking about just then: Monty or himself. “But. I can’t even picture you like that.” He shook his head. “It’s pretty clear you’ve changed. That it’s not who you are now.” He looked down at their joined hands as he traced circles with his thumb. “Now that you can make your own choices.”

His heart ached and once again, he couldn’t be sure if it was because so many of Monty’s choices were stolen from him in his past or if it was because the same could be said about himself. He couldn’t quite unpack what part this Hector really played in all that, it was too much for the moment. Kaden figured he’d hear more later. He could figure it out then when he knew more. “I know it’s not– I mean, I don’t know how much it means coming from me. But for what’s worth, I forgive you. I mean I’m not exactly a stranger to bad choices, either.”

—

“You are right. That is not who I have been for over a century.” He’d seen the truth of the matter when Hector had turned his gun on him. He understood that it had to have been a horrific thing to witness, but they’d still been close. They were close, weren’t they? And yet there had been no love in Hector’s eyes as he stared at Monty, bloodied and surrounded by corpses but coming out of his frenzied state. Hands stained red, shaking as he reached for him. Eyes wet with tears as he begged for forgiveness, for compassion, for help. There was nothing in Hector then but rage and fear, primal and overpowering, catching his breath in his throat as he pulled the trigger. And then again. And again. That’s when Monty had woken up. As he fled, abandoning the only thing he’d ever loved, scorned by it… he realized he’d never truly been his own person.

“And… thank you,” he breathed. “It means everything coming from you.” He looked down at their hands, ashamed. “I think—I think I was only happy then because I finally felt like I belonged. Even if we did things that were bad, things that haunted me when I tried to sleep, it was the first time I had ever felt… like I was cared for. Like I was wanted, like I’d been chosen.” Pulling his gaze up again to meet Kaden’s, the cowboy smiled weakly. “And I lost that, for a hundred years. I would not let it back in, because I feared… I feared ending up like before. But then I moved to Wicked’s Rest, and I met Daisy, and Alan, and you, and—” He lifted his free hand to remove his hat, tossing it into the corner of the truck bed. “It is… so much a… better kind of want, now.” It had only taken finding the right people, finding the right community. Monty released Kaden’s hand so he could instead frame his face, his dark eyes jumping between Kaden’s as he continued to speak. “I think our bad choices have maybe… reached an end, sí?” He smiled again and then kissed him, and there was nothing careful or hesitant about it this time. His body twisted, rising from the tailgate as he tucked in a leg and straddled Kaden’s lap, digging for more. For things he’d never felt before, and things that had been buried so deep and so long ago, he thought they’d died with him on that warm night in 1904.

#. thread ;#. with ; kaden langley #. choices ;

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littlewitty · 1 year

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Alairie Persu

I was writing this story in my spare time since Ikepri came out so I may as well post it here cos why not lol

Chapter 1

‘Desperation will lead a good man, bad.’

Those were words I’d held onto. Perhaps it gave me a sense of comfort? It made me feel better knowing that one is never truely born fucked up. Yet again, that’s assuming the man in question was good to begin with. That was another well- known flaw of mine, finding excuses for the inexcusable. When you make your bed, you lay in it and you lay bloody low. But still, I don’t think I’ll ever really know why I was pushed over the edge.

‘Arrogence is suicide, ignorance is bliss.’

Perhaps it was just that, the arrogance itself. Then, in regards to the suicide mentionned, I wasn’t that far off. Ignorance would always be a luxury. If people could afford it, it would be bought in bucket loads. Almost like alcohol, too much and it’d kill you, but a decent tasting would leave you on the cusp of a hallucinogenic, diverting haze.

“Did you hear? They've opened up the borders now the pandemic is over.”

“Which ones?”

“Jade to Rhodolite.” Jade had been plagued with a pandemic for at least a decade. When I was 14, it had started. It led to a sharp decline in our ways of life. Everyone had lost someone. Many children were orphaned and rural villages were wiped out.

“I know that look on your face, Alairie…You’re not planning on crossing them are you?” His eyes encaptured mine. “What will you get out of it?”

“Do you not think the prospect of a new country is exciting? I was always told stories of Rhodolite as a child and it always intrigued me,” I said as he sighed. He was probably already aware that I had made my mind up. ‘A new country could be a new life.’ That idea was only flattery. Rhodolite had it rich. A cooler climate, yes, but they got to see the changes in all four seasons. Jade was dry, hot and dull. They had a revolutionary government which aided people who needed it. Oh and the main reason I wanted to go of course: “The opium trade is better.”

He simply laughed and finally lit the cigarette which had been resting in his hand for a while now. “Always the woman with the plan. It has been this way since we were kids. It was us against the world, partners in crime, you remember, Alairie Persu?”

“I remember that the only reason I met you was because you threw me in a ditch when we were seven, Caspian Sharpe.” My old friend smiled to himself as he handed out the cigarette to me. One small drag and a wave of tranquillity cleansed my mind. “I won’t miss it here.”

“You’ll miss the heat.”

“I won’t miss the disaster that the heat causes. At least when it snows people aren’t out of water and spitting feathers.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“...No. But – I’m going. Come with me.”

“... You know I won’t. I don’t even speak Rhodolitian.,”after a comfortable silence, he stubbed out his cigarette. Whilst looking around and stretching, “but have fun. I’m always here if you get bored. When do you want to leave?” he commented.

“You’re not even gonna try and stop me? Great friend you are.” I playfully sneered. “ I want to be one of the first Jadians there.”

“The border opens next week. I guess I can take you there.” He remarked dryly. He knew defeat faster than anyone.

I was barely on my own feet. It had only been two weeks in Rhodolite after passing the borders, after saying goodbye to the longest friend I had known, but I wasn’t allowing myself to nurture regrets. I had made this choice.

I didn’t know anyone and they were weary of my accent. They most likely thought that I would pass onto them the virus that halved Jade’s population. It was surprisingly difficult to adapt. I hated the cold. I hated the food. I hated the people. The only thing I didn’t hate so far was the collectables I had nicked off people. Gold-plated watches, leather-bound notebooks and sleeve cuffs all pawned off for a glittering coin. I hadn’t managed to find any housing yet, but for leaving the country on a curious whim, that was bound to happen. Like I was once told, the opium trade was elite. Even better than what I had expected. It was definitely the business to go into. My old job in a new country. Maybe it was boring, against the prospect of a new adventure, but to me it was the one sense of comfort.

The city was bustling. I had gone from village to town before reaching the kingdom centre. All the stories I recalled about this place could be rewritten by me. It was honestly nothing like the city centre in Jade. Tall buildings with specific characteristics, vastly extravagant fashion with the smell of baked bread and sugar toasting the crisp morning air. There was always a cloud tsunami coating the floors every morning, however. From the casual eavesdropping I had learnt that it was ‘mist’. We weren’t humid enough in South-Jade to have that so-called ‘mist’. The spider's webs would glisten in the dawn light. Nests of glass-like dew woven up delicately. I had begun to admire the wispy world of early spring.

Amongst the many stalls of jewellry and the latest ‘fashion’ trends (Jadian fashion is better) there were also food vendors protecting their exquisite pastries from the damp-air with cheesecloth. So early yet so many people. Who should I pickpocket today? The tempting smell in the air along with the elaborate displays encouraged my eyes to gaze longingly at the food. The vendor tried to converse, his accent stronger than the north mountains. I just smiled instead.

“Licht, you should really try one of these. They are splendid!”

“...Stop making me try everything. I don’t even know why we’re here. We just had breakfast.” Three men were standing next to me also admiring the treats. Their clothes were divine. Their accents were proper and clean. These men had money.

“Indeed, they are delightful.” The third one chirped up. His tone sounded different, unnerving, but I couldn’t quite place on why.

“Who said you could come along?” The first one said. He had honey-blonde hair cut to perfection and was adorned with a pink dress-suit. He resembled a porcelain doll but the scowl on his face was rather unbecoming.

“Why, I needed some entertainment, of course! I think you should have these, they are lush. I bought them from another stall.” Laughter erupted from the third. Wrapped in a cloak and a purple coat, his white trousers were victims to the addition of belts. Rhodolitian fashion really was something else. He held out a small wooden box filled with – what I assumed – were biscuits. He met my eyes and I zapped back to the table of sweets.

“Hey, you there! Try one of these and tell my brothers that they are fine.” He waltzed up to me, arms outstretched presenting the box. “Come on, don’t be shy. Can you hear me with that hood on?” He jeered. The only thing that kept me warm was my long-felt coat with a thick hood. It did a good job in covering my clothes, face and hair. It made me fit in more. No one had to see my very obviously Jadian clothes.

“Don’t involve innocent civilians,” Blondie walked over and turned to me, “don’t eat those.” Still with the scowl but it had somewhat softened a bit. I kept my eyes fixed on him. He was almost too close for my liking. Close enough to see my face, that is. “How dare you glare at me. I’m trying to save you from whatever Clavis has put in those biscuits. Give me your name.” Clavis… That was the purple-hair’s name.

‘Arrogance is suicide, ignorance is bliss’

“Don’t ignore me. What’s your na- Hey!” He shouted as I started to walk past him. My head down, I kept walking. The final man, now in my view, was painted with a nonchalant but rather painful expression. Not having enough time to divert, I walked straight into his shoulder. Seeing my chance, I slipped my hand into his back pocket.

‘Desperation will lead a good man, bad’ Yes, always. However, a hand snagged on my wrist. It held me back.

.“Give it back.” Shit, he noticed. His hand tightened, strangling my bones. I squared up to him gingerly. His ruby eyes were cold. The colour now more resembled blood. My heart ricocheted in my head. “Give. It. Back…Now.” The others had stopped bickering and tuned in.

“Licht? What happened?” So ‘Licht’ would be the one to get me thrown into prison. ‘Clavis’ caught on quickly.

“Did she try to pickpocket you?”

“What?! She tried to pickpocket our precious Licht? A prince!” Blondie was furious. The singing of a sharpened sword caught me off-guard. He was armed? Soon enough, a blade pointed at me. “Take the hood off. Now.” Stern and hardy as concrete, his tone left no room for defiance… But I didn’t move. All I focused on was the lit point of the metal. . The blade eventually pushed my hood off and the cold air rushed to my face. My cheeks were cold and my eyes watered with the thick shockwave. “What are you waiting for?! Give it back to him now!” I didn’t want to when a sword was at my throat… I was going to have to speak to them… They would hear my accent. With a deep breath, I used the best voice I could muster.

“... sword… down…”

“Speak up!”

I hesitantly replied, “Put the sword down. Then I give it back.” Blondie’s face dropped to the sound of my demand. After a while of tormentingly feeling my body bounce with my heart, he spoke up.

“You’re Jadian? B-But the border only just opened, how are you already… here?” His stance faltered. I didn’t waste it. I yanked my hand back and ran.

‘Desperation will lead a good man, bad’ Again and again, the phrase never left my mind.

#cybird #otome game #Ikepri #Ikemen prince #Ikepri clavis #Ikepri yves #ikepri licht #alairie persu

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jhtechgeek2011 · 16 days

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Still struggling

Since my last post, my life has changed but it isn't easier. I stopped working all those 6 and 7-day stretches of 2nd shifts and for a while worked 3rd shift 5 days a week until I caught Covid-19 and my job didn't give me my shift back. I then started working all 3 shifts every week until I finally got fed up and got a note from my therapist stating for treatment to work that I needed to work a consistent shift meaning, not all 3 in the same week and not where I have to sleep at different times as when I would work 1st and 3rd shift.

My shifts were a bit better by this point, consisting of one 1st shift and three 2nd shifts, but when my manager got my letter she assumed consistent meant only 2nd shift for some reason. I explained to her that I just meant not working all over the place to the point I couldn't sleep and eat on a consistent schedule and that the 1 first 3 2nd shifts schedule was ok. My manager told me the general manager sent it to HR and we had to wait and see what they said while continuing to give me only 3 days a week.

I am a full-time employee it is NOT legal to give me part-time hours, and 24 hours a week is part-time hours. The GM also tried to justify it by saying that they can give me 24 hours a week if it's not a certain amount of time in a 3-month period which is CRAP! It is not legal to give someone full-time less than 30 or 32 hours a week at ALL. I applied for unemployment and am considering reporting them to the labor board.

I just got paid today and my check was SAD! If I had to pay my whole rent without my boyfriend paying half I would be screwed! I wouldn't have enough for anything else besides the rent. I already can barely afford the bills I pay when it's not time for the rent check like it is this time. I am so upset and worried! I need to find another job and some other ways of making money because I do NOT have enough at all.

My other issue today was those obnoxious guys at the car wash behind my house were being particularly ridiculous. One guy was doing this high-pitched annoying whistle all day no matter if I would get mad and yell for him to cut it out. The other guy was yelling and doing his horrible loud half-yell laugh thing he has. I was getting so angry and frustrated. I just yelled it all out until those guys finally shut up. I wish I could put my AC unit back in the window and drown them out with it but it's not warm enough out yet.

On another note, my boyfriend has been in and out of the house since he got home from work and it's worrying me. He went downstairs to the bar we live above to watch basketball but he has a problem when he goes in there he is tempted by the slot machines to gamble and he really shouldn't gamble because he has a bit of an issue with that and has done some dumb things when he has gotten on those slot machines down there. I just want him to stay home and out of that place. But he's working on it though. He came right home tonight after the basketball went off. I am glad he did.

On a final note, I have returned to school to obtain my degree in Psychology. Right now I am in the Bachelor's program and then I plan to complete the Master's program in Psychology with an emphasis in Life Coaching, so I can reach my ultimate goal of becoming a therapist and life coach. I was doing great in my first class, a university introduction course called University Success, designed to help students get familiar with the school and how the courses work. But now that I am in English Composition 1, I started to struggle.

There are so many papers in the class and it's a more immersive and intensive English course than I had in my previous schools. I believe that is because the course is only 7 weeks long so it is more accelerated than I was used to. Work also does not help the situation as it gets in the way, with my schedule being so stupid and with how much it stresses me out. I am getting tutoring and accommodations soon so that should help. It has been hard to focus and sometimes it is also very hard to get started on assignments.

I hate having ADHD and dyscalculia they make things harder than they should be. I didn't realize how much the dyscalculia causes me issues spatially, like clicking the wrong file when submitting homework, or even going to the wrong assignment submission link to submit an assignment because visually they line up where they can easily be confused one for the other. I turned in a paper and paper review wrong because I thought I was clicking the paper and clicked the review since the lines looked like the paper was on top and the review was at the bottom but it was reversed.

ADHD and other issues are making my life quite a lot harder than it needs to be in a lot of areas of my life lately. I am trying to get help but it is far more difficult to get help than it has to be. I am sick of struggling and really need life to get better soon. I don't know how much more I can take. I really hope I can come back with better posts in the future and that my life gets better so I have more to say than how much I am struggling and how much help I need and how much I hate struggling. Tune in next time to see what's new with Just Me.

#fed up with this shit #irritated #mental health #adhd #job struggles #struggle #the strugge is real

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hot-hellboy · 2 months

Text

Body on Fire - A Perjasico Fanfic (Part 9)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The next morning was a nightmare. A living, breathing nightmare.

For one thing, the omega woke up alone albeit still in Jason's room, but the alphas were nowhere to be found. The agonizing clarity of being out of heat after several days of nothing but blissful pleasure was finally settling down on him and it was horrendous.

Usually, Nico was grateful that his heat was over and he could actually think clearly once more, but this time around was totally different.

He felt embarrassed, humiliated, even. Nico could barely stomach the reality that both Percy and Jason had seen him naked, cock hungry, and horny out of his mind for several days. He wanted to die.

And the worst part of it was that the omega couldn't even remember half of what happened. Even now, as daylight flooded the room and he was more or less beginning to wake up, Nico still couldn't seem to recall just about anything from his heat. Usually, that didn't bother him too much as he'd rather just try and forget the whole thing, but now all kinds of questions were filling his head.

Did we use protection?

Was I good in bed?

Was it hot for them, too?

Nico realized he could really only answer the first one, which was a definite 'no'. Not that it mattered much; the contraceptives that the omegas at Camp Half-Blood were put on were strong enough to prevent pregnancy and STDs, which definitely came in handy for times like this.

Nico winced at the ache between his legs as he got up slowly from the bed, and he proceeded to break down the temporary nest that he built along with making Jason's bed for when he came back. The omega stretched before going to brush his teeth in the bathroom and to get ready for the day while planning to pack up his things.

As he was combing through his unruly locks, Nico looked around a little wistfully at Jason's bathroom counter. As silly as it was, he could feel the domesticity from just seeing both his and Jason's belongings in the same place; almost like they really were living together as a mated pair despite the short time frame.

You can't afford to think like that, Nico thought the minute he shook himself out of imagining sharing a space with an alpha like this some day. You don't want to have your heart broken again. Not after Percy.

Speaking of which, Nico was seriously not looking forward to seeing either alpha the moment he left the cabin. He knew he would have to talk himself out of staying in here all day eventually since Jason still needed a place to sleep as well, but he dreaded having to do that.

Nico cleaned up Jason's room the best he could so that it was like he was never there and hopefully that would help him move on faster if he just made the space as "omega-free" as possible, which was a bit difficult to do since his sweet, enticing heat scent still hung heavy in the air.

Nevertheless, Nico managed to get everything neat, tidy, and packed up in time for breakfast. But instead of going to eat with everyone else, Nico decided it would just be better to shadow-travel to an area on the ship with no one around so that he could avoid everyone else for just a little longer.

Subconsciously, the omega knew shadow-traveling was really not the best decision for his health at the moment and that he should probably only be saving it for when he really needed to, but this was an emergency in his opinion, alright? So, Nico ended up materializing near the ship's hull right where the engine room was.

Nico thought it was odd that Leo wasn't around since he was usually down here most of the time anyway, but he was glad that he was alone. He decided he would chill out here for a little while before going above deck to see how he could make himself useful. Nico just needed a breather, after all.

~•~

Nico honestly wished he could've said that the first night sleeping alone wasn't as bad as it was. But in reality, it was agonizing.

Sure, the omega always had sleeping problems, and he was used to sleeping alone but the separation anxiety was somehow more excruciating than he could've ever imagined. First of all, the bed felt freezing without two gorgeous alphas keeping him warm and safe on either side, and second, Nico couldn't stop tossing and turning.

He still couldn't believe that it only took less than a week for two alphas to completely uproot his life, yet here he was. Part of him wished he was better than this--that he could've just accepted their help and then move on like nothing happened (that was his original plan, wasn't it?), but that was proving to be much harder than Nico originally anticipated.

The omega sighed as he rolled onto his back for the ninth time; his eyes wide open and staring at the cabin ceiling as he contemplated...well, everything. Nico laid awake as he tried picturing a future--a "normal" future--maybe him and some random alpha raising a family together some where far away from demigod life, perhaps not even in New York. It wouldn't be the first time Nico thought about leaving the city and moving back to Italy the second he got the chance, not that he had anything against New York or anything like that, but it would be nice to be somewhere that felt like home.

And yet this "random alpha" that Nico was picturing still wasn't so random at all. He was having trouble imagining a completely new face--one that wasn't Percy or Jason's. The visions of a mix of blond hair, green eyes, and a tall, lean and muscular build kept falling into place in his brain, and it was like he couldn't think of anything else aside from a mixture of Percy and Jason's features popping up in this "random alpha's" face.

It really did get Nico thinking after he accepted the fact that there was no way he could picture anyone else in his future aside from those two boys in his life that were just sleeping only a couple footsteps away down the hall.

Even though Nico was certain he didn't want pups (even if it just seemed right to picture having them as part of his "normal" future), he contemplated what they would look like if he did end up having them with either alpha.

Would they have his freckles?

Would they have Percy's tan skin?

Would they have Jason's blond hair?

(Though he wouldn't admit it, Nico secretly hoped that any future pups would have Percy's eyes at the very least.)

The omega was seriously about to give himself baby fever if he kept his thoughts up like this. Plus, it only made him want to be with the alphas even more than he already did, and the hole in his heart where they were supposed to be only felt like it was getting bigger and bigger the more he entertained his fantasies like this.

Nico's temporary good mood faded just as quickly as it manifested as he went back to wallowing in self pity. His chest felt tight as his eyes focused on the wood ceiling above him; Nico traced the rich brown timber lines of the wood with his gaze while he stared at the various cracks and depressions.

He did this for at least another hour before coming to the conclusion that he couldn't spend his entire night like this. He needed to be with his alphas.

So, Nico got up from his bed and made the (not so long) journey towards Jason's cabin in hopes to find that the alpha was still awake, and it was just his luck that he was. The omega knocked on his door until Jason opened it.

"Nico?"

The

End.

#body on fire #percy x jason x nico #smut #omegaverse #hellboy #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3

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fayedouglas · 2 months

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The Necromancer

No one really prepares you for funeral planning. After my dad passed, suddenly I had to think about flower arrangements and catering and the wake and the funeral, and I wasn't even sure I could afford any of it. I was just out of college in a dead-end data entry position, punching in numbers at a time of night the sun didn’t dare touch, eating white rice with half frozen peas in, and doing nothing with my degree. I was not in a position to deal with his passing, monetarily or emotionally.

My mom died years ago and my grandmother dealt with the whole affair, keeping me and my dad’s “grubby hands” away from her perfect girl. She’s not around anymore. Thank god. But, with her gone, I was running out of options for the funeral.

Now, I’ve always listened to my dad when he told me to “stay the fuck away from that creepy voodoo shit.” He always said that black magicians were a bunch of frauds after a quick dime, but necromancy just seemed cheaper. The guy didn’t even want that much money; he was certainly asking less than any funeral home was. Even if he was really a hack, the chance to see dad again, alive and breathing, well, it wasn’t really a choice.

The necromancer told me that the sacrifice of my father’s favorite things was necessary to keep his soul tied to the mortal plane. Artifacts is the word he actually chose. As though fancy words made basically pawning my dad’s stuff any better. I protested at first, who wouldn’t? I was beginning to think my dad was right, and I told him that as I turned to leave.

“Did you know,” he began, soft words cutting through the tense air in the room, “that the souls of the happily deceased have a very limited time before they move on forever?” A grin stretched across his face, “And I have it on good authority that your father was quite the happy soul.”

I don’t clearly remember the rest of the conversation. His words bounced around my head. This was my last chance. My only chance. I never really had any other choice. I vaguely recall shaking his hand, it was clammy and feverish. Guiding me out the door, he said it was what my dad would have wanted.

I didn’t cry after my dad died. And, as long as the necromancer’s spell held, I would never need to. I nearly broke that oath when the necromancer brought dad home for the first time. He was, understandably, confused and more than a little angry with me. Even pinned under his pointed gaze as he lectured me, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. It’d been so long since I’d seen my dad like this. I didn’t think I’d ever miss being yelled at, but there’s a lot we don’t anticipate missing. After all, sometimes I still miss my mother.

The sacrifices start slowly, according to the necromancer. It still seems like a lot. Once a week I give one of my dad’s things to the necromancer. Just my dad’s favorite shirt, or one of his paintings. Anything that he had attachment to.

Dad loved painting. It was practically all he lived for, so I have a few to spare. My mother always thought he was wasting his life away, and bemoaned marrying a starving artist. I vehemently disagree. His paintings have this ecstatic, vibrant energy to them, a piece of his own heart stitched into the very canvas. Not literally, of course. That was more of mom’s thing. He never sold any of his paintings. I’d ask him why, and he’d always laugh, say people just didn’t appreciate real art, and change the subject. I know he never tried to sell any paintings though. I don’t think he could bear to part with them. He was kind of a crummy artist, from the whole money standpoint, anyway. Then again, so am I, I’m not even using my bloody degree.

As I hand the necromancer an oil painting from my dad’s twenties, a night sky with bright, stark stars, my dad’s skin, sunken in from barely staved off rot, fills in. His sickly pallor vanishes under warm flushed skin, blood pumping through his veins for another week. A light returns to his eyes, one I hadn’t even noticed was gone.

One sacrifice a week wasn’t enough anymore. Dad kept on spacing out mid sentence, his skin losing all of its color, muscles stiffening in place. He would stay like that until I could find something to sacrifice. I’m running out of paintings. I gave up his library, everything from trashy romance to textbooks. Dad’s degree, now an empty space on the wall. Family photos, gone. Almost everything that my dad had ever touched had been given to the necromancer. With him home, we painted together a lot. I missed painting with my dad, after he passed. Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I gave away the paint a few days ago.

We’re in the car, sitting in traffic, talking about the weather or something equally mundane when dad cuts off mid sentence. He paws at his throat, a death rattle on his lips, looking at me with panicked eyes. His skin, which had been sickly and sunken the past few days, turns ashy. I pull over, frantic despite having gone through this routine countless times.

“It’s okay dad, we’ll go back to the house and get you fixed up.”

Panicking even harder at my words, Dad forces out a whimpered “no, please,” as he shakes his head. Then he's frozen. He looks almost like a mummy like this. Skin hanging loosely from his frame, eyes bulging, and an expression of fear I’ve never seen my father’s face twisted into. Looking now, it's hard to believe that this thing was ever my dad.

When I get to the necromancer’s door, hand posed to knock, I find myself unable to move. Like my dad had so many times before, I freeze stiff as a board standing on the stoop. The image of my father’s terrified face is burned into my mind. I can’t do this to him anymore. That mummy, that empty husk sitting in my car is not my father. He hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe the person I brought back never was him. Then, I blink, lower my arm, and walk back to my car. On my way home, I cried. What if I ruined whatever was left of him?

I thought I had given away all of the paintings in the house, but I found one last painting hidden under my dad’s bed. It was a self portrait. He hated painting himself, but we had so many paintings of the rest of the family in the house that I had demanded he paint himself. I didn’t think that he actually listened to me.

Part of me wants to rush to the necromancer again, to have a precious few moments with my dad again, but I know that isn’t what he wants. This whole thing was never what he wanted. The tighter I hold him, the more he slips through my fingers.

#literature #reading #horror

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impetusofadream · 3 months

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Do you ever look at your life and just think "How the fuck did we get here?" Like this was NOT the plan, by any stretch of the imagination and even though you lived through every moment of it, you can't really pin point how you got from Point A to Point So Far Off the Rails We're Not Even on the Map Anymore.

I am 37 years old and I'm still living in the house my parents own. I pay them rent but I'm definitely not proud of this fact. I just somehow ended up as another idiot with a completely useless BFA in a town where I can't even afford a studio apartment on my slightly above local minimum wage income. (And our minimum wage is like $15. This is also not taking into account the fact my anxiety requires a door that locks to my bedroom).

I'm not sure I was ever capable of imagining my life past 30 as a teenager (I was too desperate to get away from how miserable the here and now was making me at the time.) But I always thought I'd be... more?

I definitely didn't picture myself alone, with barely a half dozen people I've dated over the last 20 years and none of them ever developing into an actual relationship. (To be fair to my younger self, she hadn't realized she was ace-spec yet.) Which yeah finding someone willing to accommodate potentially never having sex again... is exceeding difficult and emotionally draining. And honestly more often than not ends up feeling kind of degrading. Esp when your dating ocean is more like a small pond.

That gnawing loneliness that underlined honestly 90% of my life past about age 6, I didn't expect that well of pain to keep overflowing instead of finally being capped. Unexpected, but unsurprisingly it just get worse when all your friends start getting married and having kids and you realize that everyone else has at least one person who outrages you on thier priority list. The universe suddenly materializes as this massive cunt for not having the grace to make you aro on top of ace so you could at least wrinkle your nose at the entire concept of nonplatonic relationships.

But no, that bitch made you a MASSIVE sap, which when compounded with your deeply touch starved upbringing means you DESPERATELY crave intimacy... but you live in a world where a large percentage of society believes that kind of intimacy only comes from romantic/sexual relationships past a certain age.

So you find your 37 year old self awake at 2 in the morning in the same room that she used to sob into a Minnie Mouse pillow to about being bullied by the popular kids, now quietly crying into a capybara squishmallow because it's the only thing that doesn't complain about 5 seconds in your life about being held onto; Wondering to yourself, "how did I get here?"

and wondering if maybe you really are broken and deficient in some way everyone else can perceive except you.

#about me #yeah im depressed #im aware #im so fucking aware im even on meds for it #but they dont fix everything #im just so tired of feeling disconnected

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snowmuttgetsweird · 1 year

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Zero-to-Sixty

CW Kink, Sex Mention, Money problems

We're going zero-to-sixty here. You might learn things about me you don't wanna know. I might talk about stuff I don't even necessarily feel comfortable talking about, but I gotta process somehow, right? So let's get weird.

I want a pump toy so bad.

If you used to follow my old Tumblr BEFORE Twitter you already know some of my kinks/interests. I'm into ball stretching, but since I lived with my mom and step dad at the time, it wasn't really feasible to pursue those interests. Same for pumping- I really, really wanna get a cylinder or two (I'd love a LongJohnny to pump my nuts and a cylinder dedicated to my dick), but the living situation wasn't really accommodating- you know, discretion with shipping, space, privacy without interruption, etc.

Now that I AM in a living situation where I can indulge those interests, I don't have the money to afford the gear! I'm pinching pennies just to make rent, and my roommate basically pays all our utilities and food solo while I feel like a destitute, mooching loser. I'm by FAR the lowest earner among my IRL friend group- it's REALLY embarrassing, and I basically can't hang out with them at all outside of the house because anything they wanna do takes money I don't have, so I don't even really socialize with the friends I already have. Like, I'd love to go out to eat, I'd love to go to the mall, I'd love to go to a cool ritzy island for the weekend, I'd love to go to a convention, but what the fuck am I gonna do when I get there without any money to spend?

What's worse is the initial move to Washington was meant to be kinda bare bones because I was moving into my roommate's apartment for a little while, and THEN we were going to move to our new apartment together so I could help him move his stuff, and it didn't make sense for me to bring a lot to move, so I was gonna go BACK to my mom's place in like, January 2022 to pack up the rest of my stuff in a POD and have it shipped back to the new place, but it just kinda never happened cause I wanted to try to stabilize my earnings from art before I made a big purchase like that, so here I am in February 2023, and my ball weights and all the rest of my stuff is still in Arizona! At least then I had savings. Now because I didn't make any money for, like, the first year of doing art, my savings are COMPLETELY depleted, and I'm so broke that I can't afford to go back for the rest of my stuff, or even pay for my mom to ship it out for me. She would do it herself if I asked, bless her heart, but I'm not gonna saddle her with that bill. Unfortunately that also means that there's a room of her home that's dedicated to just storing all my stuff that she can't really use for anything else, so I'm a burden no matter what I do. Like, I'm not even THERE anymore and I'm still a burden- to her in AZ and to my roommate and friends in WA. I'm just plain not making enough money, and that doesn't change no matter what I do.

It's frustrating. I'm still happy that I get to do art for a living, and I'm REALLY happy I'm not doing customer service anymore, but I dunno. My mom's got an unused room just full of my junk, my roommate has to worry about whether or not I can make rent or eat that month, and I'm desperately trying to balance my needs with my wants. Like, I'm basically in survival mode, but still trying to do what I can for my mental health.

Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I shouldn't be thinking of my health or mental health or interests or decompressing or any of that. Maybe I should be doing a day job AND art? I mean, it's not like every second I work is paid- I only have so many commissions at a time, so maybe there's just a lot of unpaid deadtime in my day that should be filled in with a job, and then I just come home and get straight back to work on art. But when I think about going into customer service again (I don't know what else I would be qualified for tbh) and dealing with applications and interviews and shit, I freak out and shut down.

I dunno, life sucks. I just wanna stretch my balls, man.

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piratesfromspace · 3 years

Text

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw. Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are.

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

#deckard shaw #deckard shaw x reader #female reader #fast and furious #hobbs and shaw #deckard shaw fanfiction #hobbs and shaw fanfiction #deckard shaw / reader #jason statham #jason statham imagine #smut #hobbs and shaw smut #deckard shaw reader insert #fast and furious fanfiction

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bratdesire · 3 years

Text

Your Dad, My Daddy

Pairing: Ukai Keishin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, age gap, older man/younger woman, barely legal, squirting, rough sex, daddy kink, alcohol mention, questionable ethics, d/s dynamics, overstimulation, degrading language, touch of subspace, unprotected sex, breeding kink, slight dubcon if you squint but it’s all consensual, Ukai’s dick is pierced, exhibitionism(?)

Genre: Smut, just so much smut

Word count: 9.4k

Author’s note: Here is my contribution to the new HQHQ collab!! You can find the masterlist right here! Big big thank you to @sempiternal-amour and @inaflashimagine for beta-ing this monster fic, ilysm <3 This is so incredibly self-indulgent, I even inserted my nickname ~for spice~. Anyways, enjoy my incoherent screaming uwu

Summary: When you go over to your friend’s house for a study session you don’t anticipate meeting her very attractive father, and you surely don’t anticipate the very same man fucking you over their couch.

“Hey, I apologize in advance for anything weird my dad says or does. You know how dads are,” Hitomi explains as she pulls into the driveway of her house.

It’s small but nice and well-manicured, situated in the cul de sac of a middle-class suburb.

“Dad, we’re here,” she shouts up the stairs, setting her keys on the small table next to the front door. Hitomi’s gaze drifts to the tall, dark haired man sitting at the kitchen table and your own gaze soon follows. “Oh, there you are.”

She quickly pecks the man on his cheek before walking over to the shiny silver fridge, pulling out a couple bottles of water. “Dad, this is Bunny, Bunny this is Dad,” she gestures between the two of you.

When her father glances up from his phone to give you a nod of acknowledgement, you’re taken aback by how handsome he is.

You can tell from the slight wrinkles around his lips and the crinkles by his eyes that he’s definitely a much older man, but other than that he’s flawless. The angle of his jaw is sharp but soft, lower face darkened by his five o’clock shadow. His chocolate brown eyes are complemented by plump, pink lips that would look even better swollen and shiny with saliva. Dark, shiny locks are gathered into a low ponytail and you wonder how they would feel fisted in your fingers. He’s gorgeous in a rugged, mature way that boys your age aren’t and could never hope to be.

Hitomi never told you her dad was hot but then again, why would she?

“Mr. Ukai, it’s nice to meet you,” you greet him.

He waves his hand in the air dismissively, “Ah, you can just call me Keishin. No need to be so formal.”

Hitomi mutters a frustrated “shit” under her breath and it takes you a few moments to tear your eyes away from the man in front of you.

“I left my textbook in the car, I have to go grab it,” she sighs then turns to her dad. “You, don’t scare off my friend, please.”

Keishin puts a hand on his heart, a falsely serious expression on his face. “I won’t, scout’s honor.”

She just rolls her eyes, exiting the kitchen the same way you entered. The front door slams shut, leaving you alone with your friend’s very hot dad.

Keishin looks up at you then quickly looks away, unsure how to interact with his daughter’s friends. “So is, uh, Bunny your real name?” he asks, nervously rubbing the back of his head.

Leaning against the table he’s seated at, you fold your arms across your chest, fully aware of how low cut your top is. You don’t miss the way his eyes briefly flicker down to your cleavage then back up to your face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I… I’m just trying to make conversation,” he laughs nervously.

“Hm, well, the short answer is no. You’ll have to get to know me a bit better before I give you the long answer.”

He snorts, pushing his chair back and rising to his full height. “What gave you the confidence to speak like this to your elders?”

Taking a step towards him, you twirl a piece of hair around your finger and shyly peer up at him through your lashes. “I don’t know, but maybe you can teach me how to behave.”

A light blush colors his cheeks and his eyes widen with surprise. “I-I don’t know what you’re implying, but it’s not... appropriate,” he stutters, taking a step backwards to try to put some distance between you.

You sidle up to him, reaching out a hand to caress his well-muscled arm. When he makes no move to stop your petting, you bite your lip and get on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Who said we had to be appropriate?”

His mouth is slightly agape, lips moving every so often, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t. “I—” he starts.

The sound of the front door slamming open makes you both jump apart, trying to appear as casual as possible.

“I got it! We can go study now,” Hitomi proclaims, waving the book around in her hands. She glances at you, then at her father and notices the way you’re completely turned away from each other. “Oh my God, Dad, what did you do?” she groans.

He holds up both hands in surrender, shaking his head emphatically. “I didn’t do anything! Why do you always think I did something?”

Your friend strides over to lightly punch his shoulder, a disapproving but loving expression on her face. “Because you’re weird and lame. Besides, between you and Bunny, I’m always going to assume that you’re the guilty party.”

You find yourself chuckling at their banter, touched by how close they are. It’s evident that Hitomi and Keishin care a lot about each other, regardless of how much they tease each other and guilt twists in your gut when you remind yourself that you were flirting with him. She likely wouldn’t forgive you for trying to sleep with her dad and it would cause a great deal of damage to their relationship, possibly beyond repair if she knew he was into girls her age. To make matters worse, you’re two years her junior. What man would sleep with a girl younger than his daughter?

But your morals are tossed right out the window when you take in the sight of Keishin’s radiant smile—all straight, white teeth and eyes that shine like pools of dark honey. It’s in that moment that you decide you’re going to seduce that man if it’s the last thing you do.

Sorry, Hitomi. Kind of.

---

“Okay, so L-Tyrosine is one of the twenty amino acids used by the body to synthesize proteins. It is also an aromatic amino acid derived from phenylalanine by hydroxylation in the para position—oof!” Hitomi’s droning is cut off by the pillow you send hurtling towards her head.

You sit up on her bed, squealing obnoxiously as you stretch. “Hitomi, I love you, but please shut up. My brain is melting. We’ve been at this for three hours now, can we take a break?”

She closes the textbook in her lap and pushes it to the edge of her desk. “Fine, fine. We can take a twenty minute break, but we have to go right back to studying because finals are this week and I cannot afford to fail,” your friend warns, despite how she whips out her phone at lightning speed.

Picking at a stray thread on the comforter, you gently try to get her attention, “Hey, Tomi?”

“Hm?” she responds, barely glancing up from the video she’s watching.

You’re not sure how to broach the subject, but you’ve never been one to beat around the bush so you just come right out and say it. “Has anyone told you your dad’s kinda hot?”

That makes her stop, her head jerking up from her phone at lightning speed. “What!? That old geezer?” She sounds dumbfounded, incredulous at the prospect that someone would be interested in her father.

“Yeah girl, he’s a total DILF,” you confess, making a little fanning motion with your hand like you’re burning up inside just thinking about him, and it’s not that far from the truth.

Hitomi makes no effort to hide her feelings, disgust clearly evident in her delicate features. “Ew! You have to be joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking! He’s really sexy,” you muse dreamily.

She claps both hands over her ears, yelling at the top of her lungs to drown you out. “I never want to hear you say that my old man is ‘sexy’ ever again!”

You childishly stick your tongue out at her. “Hey! I’m just speaking the truth. You have to have had friends say the same thing.”

Removing her hands from her ears, she brings one up to stroke her chin, seemingly deep in thought. “Now that I think about it, back in high school my friends were a lot more enthusiastic about coming over once they met my father.”

You feel vindicated by her personal testimony, even if she thinks you’re gross. “See? I’m not the only one who finds your dad ridiculously attractive.”

Hitomi gags dramatically as if she’s going to puke and judging by the look on her face, she just might. “Please, no more, I’m begging you.”

“Fine, fine I’ll stop, but don’t act surprised when I become your new stepmom,” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows at her.

“You’re younger than me, don’t even joke about that,” she shudders in horror. “Okay, with that we need to get back to studying amino acids and proteins.”

“Whatever you say, future stepdaughter.” You muster your best motherly voice, sickeningly sweet and a touch passive aggressive.

This time, it’s Hitomi’s turn to throw a pillow at you.

---

Since the day you met Keishin, you haven’t been able to get him off your mind. Even when you’re in class trying to learn about the sodium-potassium pump, you find your thoughts drifting to his hands, his lips, him. He’s simply become too distracting to ignore.

More times than you care to admit, you’ve fucked yourself with your fingers to thoughts of how his fingers would feel pumping inside you. You fantasize about how his hand would feel around your neck, squeezing with just enough pressure to make your vision hazy. His name is always on the tip of your tongue when you orgasm and when you finally let yourself moan out ‘Keishin,’ you know enough is enough. A man his age has to know exactly how to make a woman scream and writhe in pleasure, but you need to experience it for yourself or you’ll die trying.

You’re not oblivious to the way he looks at you with hunger and longing in his eyes, you know he wants you too and you’re not above using dirty tricks to show him just how much you want him.

If he’s too proud, too noble to give in to his urges, you’ll just have to break him. His resolve may be strong, but yours is stronger.

Your efforts begin innocently enough, gently probing him for more information about himself so you can get to know him better.

“I’ve noticed you don’t wear a ring. Is there a Mrs. Ukai in the picture?” you ask innocently.

Keishin clears his throat a bit too loudly, refusing to meet your questioning gaze. “Nah. It’s just me and Tomi, always has been.”

“Any… future Mrs. Ukai in the picture?”

The corners of his lips twitch slightly, the barest of smiles tugging at his handsome features. “Can’t say there is. Between the store and coaching volleyball, I don’t really have the time to date.”

You nod and make a noise of acknowledgement, relieved by the confirmation that he is in fact very, very single. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not a homewrecker.

On another occasion, you’re seated on their plush leather couch and Keishin’s in the well-worn La-Z-Boy recliner to your left. You’re watching some Adam Sandler movie on Netflix, but it’s paused while Hitomi is in the bathroom.

You take your alone time together as an opportunity to question him more, toeing the line of what would be considered proper. “So, Keishin, how old are you? I know Tomi’s twenty-one so you must be…” you trail off, hoping he’ll humor you.

He takes a swig of the beer in his hand and your eyes instinctively flicker down to watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Old.”

You roll your eyes and prop your chin up on your hand, readjusting your position on the couch so you’re leaning closer to him. “Obviously, but just how old?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?” he asks, head tilted and a well-groomed eyebrow lifted questioningly.

“I was just wondering if you’re older than my dad,” you tease.

His shoulders shake slightly as he chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m forty-four. Do I have him beat?”

“He’s forty-two, so just barely.” Your steady, unwavering eyes lock onto his own, which are glassy and unfocused from the alcohol. When he brings the bottle to his lips once more, you nonchalantly add, “Maybe I should call you Daddy instead.”

Keishin coughs and sputters in surprise, causing him to choke on his beverage and a spray of sticky beer splatters across your face.

Apologies tumble out of his mouth as soon as he realizes that your cheeks and hair are dripping with the craft IPA he was drinking. “I-I’m so sorry! I’ll get you a towel,” he blurts, shooting up from his chair.

In his panic and embarrassment, he rushes toward the linen closet and you can’t help the giggles that escape your mouth at how uncoordinated he is, now several drinks in. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not that big of a deal,” you reassure him, wiping your face with the back of your hand for emphasis.

He returns from the rummaging around the hall closet, a dark blue towel in his hand, which he offers to you with a nod of his head.

No matter your protests and assurances that you’re fine, Keishin is even more insistent in offering you the towel to clean yourself up. When you refuse to take the towel from him, he kneels down next to you and leans in to dab at the foamy liquid that has soaked into your hair.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his fingers on your jaw and you almost squeak at his close proximity. He hasn’t let you near him since your first encounter and now he’s right in front of you, so close that his breath curls around your cheeks, smelling of malted hops and the slightest hint of peppermint. You can map out the slight freckles on the bridge of his nose and each long, curled eyelash that brushes his cheeks each time he blinks.

He’s truly a beautiful man, all sharp angles and rough stubble and you can feel your cheeks warm when you realize that he’s right there. If you leaned forward just a little bit more, your noses would brush against each other.

A deep, rumbling voice interrupts your daydreaming. “Kid, are you even listening to me?”

You blink a couple times, coming to the realization that he’s been trying to talk to you for the last few minutes, but you were too busy admiring his beauty.

Keishin shakes his head as he leans back on his heels, using one hand to rub his face wearily. “As I was saying, you can’t just… say things like that. I know young girls sometimes have fantasies about older men like me, but I’m telling you now that it’ll only end badly,” he sighs. “I’m not a righteous man, I have my vices. God, do I have lots of them, and I don’t need another one.”

He mumbles the last sentence, barely loud enough for you to hear, despite how close you are.

Another one? Is he admitting that the attraction is mutual? You have to know, you just have to. Your body practically aches from how badly you want him.

“Keishin, I—” you start, reaching out to touch his arm, but he stands abruptly and quickly turns to shuffle away from the couch.

“This just isn’t a good idea, kid. Just forget about me, alright?” he says, his back to you. A tinge of regret and hesitation seeps into his words, as if he wants to take back everything he’s said.

After the beer incident, the man is even less receptive than he was before, making every effort to avoid being alone with you.

Even still, you’re not discouraged because he never outright rejected you. If he had, you would’ve stopped your pursuit weeks ago, but he only seems to be trying to maintain his composure as a righteous man.

Righteous men are wolves in sheep’s clothing, always putting on a facade so they can claim plausible deniability when they’re caught with their pants around their ankles. But no matter how honorable or virtuous a man tries to be, none of them can resist a wet, willing pussy laid out in front of them and Keishin is no exception.

That’s why you’ve shown up to their house the last few weeks in skirts far too short to be considered decent, flashing little peeks of your underwear each time you move too much or bend over too far. Each time you bend over to grab a pencil or a piece of paper off the floor, Keishin is always conveniently positioned behind you so he gets an eyeful of your pretty lace panties and the little dark spot where your wetness has soaked through the fabric.

After you retrieve your item from the ground, you look over your shoulder to make direct eye contact with him and say ‘oops,’ without a hint of regret in your voice. You revel in the clenching of his jaw and the way he exhales loud and heavy through his nose, frustration mounting each time you try to provoke him.

When your ass and clothed pussy are on display for him, you make sure to wiggle your hips a bit, an open invitation to fuck you the way you both want to. It never fails to elicit some sort of reaction from the older man, ranging from a few groans and a choked cough, to making a very hasty exit, a book or some other object held over the front of his jeans.

Without fail, Hitomi expresses her concern each time her father storms out of the room, red-faced and breathing heavily. He just waves her off, telling her he’s not feeling well, but you know the truth. He’s painfully hard, painfully hard from you, even if he doesn’t admit it.

Truthfully, if you weren’t trying to get him to fuck you so hard you can’t walk you would applaud his self-control and restraint. Even after weeks of teasing and provocation, the man refuses to give in to his desires.

That’s okay. If he’s not going to come to you, you’ll just have to take matters into your own hands.

----

It all reaches a tipping point when you’re unable to go home for winter break and Hitomi offers you their guest room to stay in for a few weeks.

Apparently she never asked her father for permission, if Keishin’s shocked, slightly panicked face when you walked through the door with your suitcase was any indication. When he tried to question Hitomi about whether or not it’s such a good idea for you to stay, she wasn’t having any of it and told him that you’re a friend in need.

Hitomi’s so sweet and caring that you feel a twinge of guilt for plotting to seduce her father in her house when she’s none the wiser. She just wanted to lend a helping hand by letting you stay with them, oblivious to your true plans, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Now that you’re under the same roof, all you really want to do is ambush Keishin as soon as possible, but you have to plan around Hitomi’s schedule so you have bide your time. What’s the saying? Good things come to those who wait?

And wait you do. You wait for two whole weeks, in fact. But then the stars align so perfectly that some otherworldly force must be looking out for you.

Hitomi is gone to work and won’t be back until the middle of the night when her shift is over, while Keishin is home reviewing footage from his team’s latest game.

He told you he does this right before a big game so he can tell his players what they need to improve on and get in that last bit of refinement before the day of. When he clued you in on his strategy you just nodded and hummed, not really listening, mostly focused on ogling his muscles through his thin t-shirt.

Your nerves have been buzzing since you woke up this morning, sensing the heaviness in the air. You’re wearing your prettiest lace panties and its matching bra and frankly, you’re feeling pretty damn confident. You look good and you know you look good. If you were trying to seduce any guy your age, they’d drop their pants as soon as they got a little glimpse of your underwear, but Keishin’s not any guy your age. He needs a little convincing, a little push in the right direction, and you’ll be the one to help him.

You’ve flitted around the house all day, just trying to find the right moment to pounce.

Currently, Keishin is sitting in the living room watching the recording on the big flat screen in the living room. He looks preoccupied with taking notes on the notepad in his lap, but it’s now or never, you suppose.

Before you try to talk yourself out of it, you stride over to where he’s sitting and put your hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey. Did you need something? I’m kind of busy analyzing my team’s last game.”

Not wanting to lose your nerve, you wordlessly swing one leg over his, then the other, planting yourself firmly in his lap. His entire body goes ramrod stiff, hands jerking away from your body as if you’ve burned him.

“W-what do you think you’re doing?” he stutters, alarm evident in his voice.

When he makes no move to throw you off his lap, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean into him, pressing your chest to his.

“What we both have been wanting to do since the day I met you,” you purr, lips barely brushing against the shell of his ear. He shivers when you gently nibble on his earlobe and your confidence only grows as you discover that he wants this just as much as you do.

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn't right. I’m your friend’s father and I’m... old enough to be y-yours,” he mutters, running a hand through his already messy hair, conflicted with how to proceed.

You can’t tell whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, so you decide to give him a little encouragement.

Leaning back slightly, you run your hands down his chest and bite your lip. “Are we going to keep playing games or are you gonna fuck me? Because if not, I’ve got several guys back at college who—”

You’re cut off when Keishin’s hand wraps around your throat, the other braced against your back to pull you flush against him.

“You think your little stunts are cute, don’t you?” he growls, his minty breath washing over your face.

“What, you don’t think so, Daddy?” you pout, batting your eyelashes at him innocently.

His eyes flash with something hot and primal and you can feel the gush of wetness between your thighs. “I’m getting a little tired of them,” he growls.

“This,” you palm at the bulge straining against his pants, “Tells me otherwise, you know.”

The hand around your throat tightens, cutting off whatever bratty remark you were about to make. “I’ve had enough of you prancing around my home in tiny skirts and flashing me your panties when my daughter is around. It’s unbecoming.”

“Then t-teach me a lesson,” you gasp, struggling to speak with Keishin’s fingers so firmly wrapped around your throat.

The way he grins is downright sinful and it stokes the fire already raging inside you. “Careful what you wish for, little girl.”

With some manhandling on Keishin’s part, you’re shoved toward the couch then pulled back onto his lap, but this time you’re on your stomach and both your wrists are pinned behind your back.

“Before we go any further,” he starts, trailing his fingers down your spine and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I have to ask… How old are you?”

You twist around to look him in the eyes, a defiant smirk on your face. “Old enough.” Your mischievous giggle is cut off by a swift, firm slap to your ass.

“Watch the lip, brat. I need a little more reassurance than that.”

“Since you’re just so concerned, I’m nineteen. Perfectly legal and more importantly, legally fuckable,” you say, punctuated by an enticing wiggle of your hips.

“Jesus, you’re two years younger than Tomi. What am I doing?” He seems lost in thought as the honorable side of him fights a losing battle against his baser, carnal instincts. Whatever reservations he has are thrown aside when you start to wiggle in his grasp, maneuvering yourself over his crotch to grind yourself against his hardness.

Keishin gathers your hair around his fist, harshly jerking your head so far backwards that your spine aches from the unnatural angle.

“Stop fucking squirming. You just don’t know how to behave, do you?” It’s phrased like a question, but he shoves two of his fingers in your mouth so you can’t respond.

You knew Keishin would be the perfect dom, but the ease with which he settles into the role makes your head spin and your insides throb. Latching onto his digits, you lick and suck like the good girl you are, coating them in saliva as he hums in appreciation.

“Foo wans tuh behav wen thith is wutt I ge fo bein ba?” you ask, garbled and muffled by the fingers massaging the back of your tongue.

A series of harder, heavier spanks make you squeal and squirm even more in his lap. He gently rubs his hand over your warm, stinging flesh as he speaks. “Such a troublemaker. Just what am I going to do with you, hm?” He tries to sound admonishing, but you can tell he’s smiling behind his words.

His hand leaves your ass, no doubt raised to spank you again, but before he can, you bite down on his fingers. Not too hard, just enough for him to jerk them out of your mouth. “You can do whatever you want to me, Daddy.”

You jolt when his thumb rubs against your pussy through your panties. They’re soaked with your slick, the material clinging to your skin uncomfortably. The barest touch has you gasping and pushing your hips back for more. You’re so sensitive from the teasing and you’re so turned on you just might pass out if you’re not filled up soon.

Keishin just laughs darkly at the pathetic humping of your hips and you can feel the rumbling in his chest. “This is what I love about girls your age. So sensitive…” He pulls your panties aside and gently eases a finger inside you, then another as you moan and shake in his lap. “And so reactive. I bet you’d cum just from me putting my cock inside this tight, wet cunt, wouldn’t you?”

He speaks with a hint of condescension that has you clenching around his digits, coating them in sticky, syrupy strands of your arousal as they pump in and out of you. You’d almost be embarrassed at how worked up you are if you had more self respect, but you don’t. All you can focus on is the way his fingertips curl into the little spongy spot inside you that makes you whine.

“Why don’t you try it and find out?” The challenge in your voice is severely dampened by how breathless and wrecked you are even though you haven’t really even done anything.

His fingers pull out of you with a lewd squelching sound and you can hear him suck them into his mouth. “You taste even better than I imagined, but I want to taste that sweet pussy of yours. Up, little girl.” He coaxes you from his lap and onto the couch so your back is nestled into the cushions.

Sweat is making hair stick to your forehead and you’re breathing so heavily you’d think you just ran a marathon, but Keishin is looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world and it nearly steals what little breath you have left in your lungs.

Oxygen is the last thing on your mind when his lips slot themselves between yours, soft yet demanding as they suck and lick. The movement of his lips doesn’t falter when he pulls your shirt over your head to reveal your light pink bra. Keishin pulls back to kiss along your collarbones, neck, and chest, his teeth occasionally nipping your sensitive flesh and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He expertly removes your panties with one hand so you’re left in just your plaid skirt, exposing your heated flesh to the coolness of the living room.

You’re nearly naked but he’s wearing far too many clothes for your liking, so you blindly grab at his shirt, but your fingers are shaking too much for you to get a good grip. Once he realizes what you’re trying to do, he puts his hands over yours and helps you take off his shirt. You nearly start drooling when all of his hard, rippling muscles and smooth, tan skin are finally revealed to your greedy eyes that can’t seem to settle one thing. You don’t know if you’ll get this opportunity again and you want to remember everything in painstaking detail, especially Keishin’s gorgeous body.

He momentarily disentangles himself from you to remove his jeans, leaving him in just his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. The outline of his cock is evident as it strains against the blue material and you reach out to stroke it, but he just takes your hand in his.

He brings it to his lips, then kisses up your arm until he reaches your lips. “All in due time, sweet girl. I want to taste you first.” Your mouth is claimed in another hungry, bruising kiss and you squeal when Keishin takes your lip between his teeth and bites, blood rushing to the surface of your skin.

His head dips down to leave featherlight kisses and teasing licks down your chest and stomach before he’s resting between your thighs. You whimper pitifully as he spreads your legs, awaiting the feeling of a wet tongue or his fingers against your folds. When he doesn’t move for several beats, you come to the realization that he’s just watching the way your cunt twitches and clenches around nothing and the wetness that drips onto the couch each time your muscles contract. You quickly bring your legs together to hide yourself from his scrutinizing gaze, but he simply pries them open with little effort.

Keishin grabs your chin so you’ll look right at him, squirming from the intensity of his gaze. “Don’t you dare hide this pretty pussy from me, do you understand? I am going to devour you until I’ve had my fill and you’re going to just lie back and take it.”

You nod obediently, your impudence quickly dying, giving way to the burning ache between your legs that can only be sated by a long, hard fuck.

With a satisfied hum, he settles at the apex of your thighs and licks a long stripe from your quivering pussy to your swollen clit and your hips jerk from the contact. Strong hands pin your hips to the couch as you writhe in his firm grip. He gives your clit a soft, quick kiss before he takes it into his mouth and sucks. You grab fitfully at his hair, back arching and hips pressing into his mouth as you gasp and groan from the incredible feeling of his tongue on your sensitive flesh.

His tongue teases your entrance and your cunt twitches, anticipating the first thrust of his warm, wet muscle inside you. He occasionally dips into your hole, but never breaches your entrance and you think you might go mad if he doesn’t give you more.

“I-I need more, give me more,” you manage to gasp, grabbing a fistful of the pillow underneath you as the tightening in your belly gets stronger.

Keishin removes his mouth from your cunt just long enough to admonish you for your lack of respect. “You need to have more manners if you’re going to demand things of me,” he says, before latching back onto your swollen, twitching clit.

“Daddy, pleeease I need more. Ah! I want to cum!” Your voice is so high-pitched and whiny you almost don’t recognize yourself, but you’re nearly delirious from pleasure and your impending climax that’s been dangled over your head for what feels like hours.

“Now who am I to deny you when you ask so sweetly?”

He thrusts two of his digits inside you, reaching deep inside you and rubbing against your g-spot as he sucks your clit back into his mouth. You’re almost screaming at this point, clawing at his hair and humping your cunt against his face. The familiar tightening in your belly signals that you’re about to cum and your moans and cries get faster, louder as the promise of white hot pleasure is just within reach—

It’s almost embarrassing how fast you’re teetering on the edge of climax, as if you’re a virgin school girl that’s never touched herself before. But maybe that’s the difference that years of experience can make.

Not that you care. You just want to cum.

“Fuck, Daddy, I—I’m close!”

Sensing your impending orgasm, the man uses his free hand to slap your cheek then grabs your throat. “Uh-uh-uh,” he tuts, “Ask Daddy for permission to cum.” You’re clamping down on his fingers impossibly tighter as he fingers you even deeper, and the way he sucks on your clit renders you incapable of speech. Each time you open your mouth to try to speak, more desperate, wanton noises escape your lips.

You’re about to fucking burst at the seams and you feel like you’re on fire, but you want to be a good girl for your daddy, so you use the last bit of brain power you have left to ask for permission.

“P-pleaaase Daddy may I ahhh! May I cum!” you ask, but you can’t even hear Keishin give his approval from how loud the blood rushing in your ears is as you finally cum.

You try to muffle your cries with the back of your hand, but he grabs your wrist and wrenches it away from your mouth.

“Don’t do that. I want to hear you scream.” His tone is clipped and short, not caring how rough he is with your delicate flesh.

If you weren’t already cumming, you would have from the pleasure that’s so intense, it’s almost painful as your body is wracked with tremors. Your legs snap around Keishin’s head and you grip his hair even tighter as wave upon wave of your orgasm washes over you. You hear someone screaming and wonder what’s happening, when you realize it’s you, you’re the one screaming as you ride out your climax.

He greedily slurps and sucks up every single drop of your release that you can give him, as if he was stranded in the desert for a thousand years and your juices are the first sip of water to hit his dry, parched tongue. Your cunt is already so sensitive, painfully clenching around his fingers, but he just. Doesn’t. Stop.

“Fuck, K-Kei, wait ‘s too much,” you weakly protest, but your body is too spent to resist so you just lie there, twitching and gasping as he keeps sucking on your overstimulated clit.

His lips detach from your poor, abused bud and you almost sigh in relief before the fingers inside your cunt pump faster, stimulating every inch of your gummy walls.

Keishin leans over your sweaty, exhausted form, one hand braced on the couch, the other buried inside you. His fingers are hitting a spot inside you that makes you feel the urge to pee, so you try to push his hand away but it’s futile with how much stronger he is than you.

“Hold onnn, I’m g-gonna—” you slur, panicked, but it’s as if he didn’t hear you.

His digits are relentless, rubbing and stroking and you’re a fucked out mess. You don’t know what he wants until an uncomfortable tightness shoots through your cunt. You cry out as clear liquid gushes out of you, splashing all over you, the couch, and Keishin. If you were more coherent, you might be mortified because you just… pissed on him—

To your surprise, he’s laughing as he removes his hand from inside you, ignoring your halfhearted groans. “I was hoping you’d do that,” he says, holding up his hand, shiny and dripping with your juices.

“D-Do what?” you pant, unsure of what just happened and why Keishin seems so smug.

He uses his discarded t-shirt to wipe his hand off, then dabs at your stomach where a sizable puddle accumulated. “Squirt,” he responds. When he sees your confused expression, he follows up with, “It’s not piss, if you’re worried about that.”

“Ooookay.” You’re too dazed and exhausted to argue with him or question him further, so you just flop into the sofa and close your eyes.

“C’mon, little girl, don't tell me that’s all you’ve got. You were talking so much shit earlier and I have so much more to give you.” Despite how tired you are, his words spark new arousal in your belly and defiance revitalizes you, movement returning to your limbs.

You slide a hand down your stomach and spread the puffy lips of your cunt, sliding a finger through your wetness. “Of course it’s not. I’m ready to take that hard cock of yours, Daddy.”

“Attagirl, that’s what I like to see,” he praises, dropping his underwear and sliding them somewhere you can’t see.

His cock is gorgeous, but that doesn’t come as a surprise, considering the man it belongs to. It’s thick and curved in a way that you know will reach the deepest parts of you.

What you weren’t expecting is the many piercings adorning the shaft and the one that goes through the head. A long curved barbell enters through the tip and exits through the underside of his glans. Three evenly spaced rings are embedded in the skin where his shaft meets his balls. You’ve never seen so many piercings on one man, let alone in such a sensitive place, so you gawk at the smooth metal rings that shine in the overhead lights.

“You’re… You have…”

He grins widely and it’s so devilish you think he might swallow you whole and honestly? You’d let him. You’d let him do whatever he wants to you. “Haha, yeah I get that reaction a lot. Never seen a pierced cock before, huh?”

“No, but there’s a first time for everything. I’m dying to see how those,” you point to his piercings, “Feel inside me.”

Keishin wordlessly climbs on top of you and rubs the head against your wetness, spreading it along his shaft to ease his entry. “They’ll feel fucking incredible, but you’ll have to beg for it.”

You scoff, reaching to grab his hips so he’ll fuck you already, but he scoots backwards so you can’t touch him.

“Naughty girls that misbehave don’t get fucked, so you’d better smarten up quickly,” he warns, making you gasp as he thrusts his cock against your clit.

He lazily nudges the head over your flesh, occasionally letting it catch on the tight ring of muscle around your hole. When he slots between your pussy lips, you try to wiggle and hump your hips in his direction, in hopes that he’ll slide right in.

But he doesn’t, and you’re about to go mad with his cock so close, but so far away.

“Please fuck me Daddy. I need your cock so bad!” You’re on the verge of tears, the buildup of the last few weeks overwhelming your senses.

Making a noise of sympathy, Keishin pets your hair affectionately and kisses your cheek. “All you had to do was ask.”

His hips pull back, then he’s thrusting inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt in your tight heat. You whimper and whine at the sudden intrusion, but any pain you feel is overshadowed by the way that his cock is filling you so full. The burn and stretch hurts so fucking good that your orgasm hits you like a freight train, fast and hard and blinding. Keishin fucks you through it, his cock touching all of the sensitive spots inside you and the pleasure is so strong you have to screw your eyes shut as you cry out and fall apart around him.

When you open them again, the man is staring down at you with the most shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen. “See? I said you’d cum as soon as I put my cock inside you.”

Using all the strength you can muster, you slap his arm. “Shut up and just fuck me.”

“You still haven’t learned your manners, but I just can’t wait to shoot my cum deep inside this cute cunt of yours,” Keishin groans, pulling almost all the way out before burying himself back inside the hot, welcoming clutch of your pussy.

You can feel each of the metal rings on his cock, foreign and strange, but the odd feeling soon fades to little shocks of ecstasy each time they brush against your insides.

The lewd slapping sounds of skin on skin are all you can hear besides the occasional moan or hiss from the man fucking you within an inch of your life, not that you can focus on anything else right now.

You nudge at Keishin’s shoulder and he stops the rapid pistoning of his hips, an almost annoyed look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but you just smile and push him backwards onto the couch, just like you were. He grunts in surprise as he falls backward, but he quickly quiets down when you climb on top of him and sink yourself back down on his length.

You both moan in unison as he fills you once more, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix each time you force your cunt back down on him. His hands wander to your tits, grabbing, squeezing, and pinching the sensitive buds of your nipples.

Ever the troublemaker, you can’t resist making a jab at him now that you’re on top. “I wonder what she’d do if she knew you were with me right now. What would your daughter say about you taking advantage of a young, helpless girl?”

Keishin takes that moment to pull you against him, thrusting hard and rough into your gummy walls that never stop pulsing around him. You’re shaking and gasping, your tongue lolling out of your mouth in your pleasured delirium. “With the way your greedy, sloppy cunt is clenching around me, I wouldn’t say I’m taking advantage of you,” he points out, only slightly out of breath. “But you get off on this, don’t you? Letting an old man like me fuck you. I’m old enough to be your father.”

“Like you’re any b-better,” you bite back.

You cry out when Keishin starts rubbing your swollen clit in tight little circles, your third orgasm fast approaching.

“Fuck! I can—urgh, I can feel your pussy pulsing around me. I’m g-gonna cum,” he grits out, thrusting impossibly deeper inside you. He's pressed so far into you, he’s just thumping the head of his cock against your cervix. You scream and write in his arms, seeking to relieve the sharp burning in your womb just a little bit, but he has you firmly locked in his clutches. “Be a good little girl and cum for Daddy.”

Almost on command, you shake and moan, loud and long, as you cream all over his cock and coat the base in milky white. “Oh fuck, oh god! D-Daddy I’m cu-mming!” you wail with the last of your energy.

You’re so exhausted you go limp against him and let him use your body as a fuck toy until he reaches his climax. Keishin follows soon behind you, his thrusts growing sloppier and less coordinated as he mumbles obscenities under his breath. “Shit shit shit, fuck I’m cumming! I’m gonna—fuck!”

With one last thrust into your fluttering, over stimulated cunt he orgasms, his legs shaking as he shoots rope after rope of cum into your quivering womb.

You both lay there for several minutes to catch your breaths. You’re so sore and boneless you can barely move, but you manage to extricate yourself from Keishin’s long limbs. Leaning into the arm of the couch, you let your eyes flutter closed and allow sleep to take you.

You’re awoken by a warm, wet washcloth rubbing against your sensitive folds and you whine, sleepily wiggling your hips to get away from the discomfort. “Kid, I know it doesn’t feel good but, uh, it’s kind of a mess down there. You can go back to sleep, just let me clean you up.” Keishin’s familiar timbre comforts you so you settle back down, still half asleep.

“Mmm, Keishin?” you mumble, making grabby hands at the man.

He takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” he responds as he wipes the washcloth between your legs with his other hand.

You rub your face against his hand before placing a sloppy kiss on top of it. “Thank youuuu,” you slur.

Keishin just chuckles and rubs his fingers over your knuckles. “Yeah kid, you’re welcome. Just get some rest, alright?”

You’re asleep before he even finishes the sentence.

----

When you awaken it’s dark, most likely the middle of the night. There’s a blanket thrown over your unexpectedly clothed body, which is now covered in a worn, oversized shirt. It smells like fabric softener and musk, so you figure it must be Keishin’s.

Looking around, you bolt upright when you realize you’re not on the living room couch anymore, you’re now in a large, comfortable bed.

The sound of a deep, rumbling voice draws your attention to the bathroom connected to the room you’re currently in. “Oh, you’re finally awake,” Keishin says sheepishly as he emerges from the bathroom, then points to the nightstand next to you. “There’s some water and ibuprofen, you should take it. Even if you’re not sore now, you will be later.”

You chuckle tiredly as you stretch your overworked muscles. “I’m already sore, so I’ll definitely be taking these.”

He sits awkwardly on the side of the bed, unsure how to treat you after your little encounter. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on he’s seemingly deep in thought.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just spit it out.” His head immediately snaps to you, eyes guarded and unreadable.

“What we did downstairs, it’s… not right. I’m supposed to protect young, impressionable girls like you. I’m a father—I would die if Tomi was after a man more than twice her age.”

You pull the blanket off of you and climb over to where the older man is seated on the mattress. “Keishin, let me ask you something.” He lifts his head, expectant. “Did you enjoy what we did? Because I did.” He nods slowly, still unsure what you’re getting at.

Taking his face in your hands, you tell him what you’ve been thinking for weeks. “At the end of the day, we’re two consenting adults who partook in consensual activities. Even if someone wants to clutch their pearls because you’re older than me, who cares?”

“Yeah, I get that, but… It has to be some sort of ethics violation on my part. You’re younger than my daughter, Bunny.”

“Even if it is, you have to allow yourself to live a little. Life is too short to deny yourself pleasures the world has to offer, and I don’t know about you, but I was very pleased by our… tryst.”

A cute blush spreads across Keishin’s cheeks as he remembers everything he said and did to you. “Aha, I was too. So, um… Would you want to do that again, sometime?” he asks, running a hand through his hair like he always does when he’s nervous.

You giggle and tackle him on the bed, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Of course I do. We can even do it now, if you’d like…”

A couple hours later, just before Hitomi comes back, you limp across the hallway to your room and pass out, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

And that is how your little arrangement begins.

Most of your time is spent with Hitomi, mostly shopping and going out to eat when she has the day off, or just watching Netflix in her room when you’re both too tired to go anywhere.

However, in the wee hours of the morning when you’re sure that she’s asleep, you sneak up to her father’s bedroom and get fucked so hard and so good you can barely make it back to your bedroom before the sun rises.

It’s a good arrangement, you think, you both get what you want and your friend is none the wiser. You figure no harm, no foul. At the end of the winter break, Keishin will likely want to cut things off with you and you’ll go back to your college dorm as if nothing happened.

But the winter break isn’t over yet, and you plan on making the most of it.

Keishin has been fucking you into the mattress for so long, time no longer even makes sense anymore.

You’re sweaty and exhausted, muscles so sore and shaky, but the thrusting between your legs shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. The harsh grip on your hips will likely bruise, but luckily you can hide them, unlike the few close calls you’ve had with poorly-placed marks on your neck.

Despite your exhaustion, you continue to meet Keishin’s thrusts by humping your hips back at him.

He gives your ass a harsh spank and fucks into you harder, making you whine and clench around him. “You’re an insatiable little thing, aren’t you? So fucked out and dripping with my cum, yet you still want more,” he says, but all you can do is gasp in response. You’re too far gone to produce any meaningful response. “What am I going to do with you?” If you had the energy, you’d tell him whatever he wants, but you don’t and the familiar tug of an orgasm is too hard to ignore.

“Fuck Daddy, I-I’m—”

Suddenly, his phone comes to life, Hitomi’s face lighting up the screen as it vibrates. The pistoning of his hips slows, then stops completely as he reaches over and grabs it off the nightstand.

He suddenly pulls out of your sore, abused cunt and you almost whine at the loss before he buries himself back inside you. The way your face is pressed into the mattress makes it difficult, but you manage to turn your head to see what Keishin is doing behind you.

Your eyes widen and you try to wriggle out of his grip when you figure out that he’s going to answer his phone as he keeps fucking you.

A hand wraps around your neck, lifting you up from your position on the bed and you have to follow its movement to prevent your windpipe from getting crushed. You’re pressed against Keishin’s hard chest, and his cock is nestled right against your cervix. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just stay still and take it like a good little girl.”

The harsh grip on your neck releases and you’re shoved back into the bed, falling onto the comforter.

Keishin sounds completely normal when he answers his phone and it almost pisses you off—how can he be so unaffected when you’re at your wit’s end?

He chirps into the phone, “Hey sweetheart, what’s up?” The only indication that anything is amiss is the slight breathlessness in his voice and the occasional curse under his breath.

He forces himself even deeper inside you so forcefully that you’re afraid he’ll punch straight through to your womb. You know it’s not possible, but with Keishin, it just might be. He’s always full of surprises, especially when it comes to your body.

“Oh yeah, sure I can drop it off to you later. I’m just a little… preoccupied at the moment,” he says with a sharp thrust of his hips and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. Keishin stiffens above you, waiting to see if Hitomi heard you through the phone.

“No, Hitomi, I’m not watching porn! But hold on a second, I think someone is at the door.” He sets the phone on the bed, muting the call as his cock hits your g-spot and you’re shaking, practically shivering in his arms. A couple of hard, coordinated rubs of your engorged clit and you’re cumming, gushing around him and keening as your muscles clench uncomfortably. You scream silently and fall limp onto the bed, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum, but it’s to the point that each successive orgasm borders on the edge of pleasure and pain.

“Better keep quiet, wouldn’t want my daughter to hear you getting your pretty little cunt stuffed full of my cock,” Keishin snarls into your ear and you feel yourself clench painfully around him. Your body is just so worn out, but you know he won’t stop until he’s satisfied. “Or do you want her to know what a slut you are for her father?”

You shake your head vehemently, but the man inside you just chuckles as he keeps fucking you.

“Oh my god, oh fuck I-I…” You’re babbling nonsense to no one in particular.

“Ahh it was just-fuck, it was just some dude trying to sell me security cameras. Anyways, I’ll see you later honey, I love you.” His last few sentences sound rushed, urgent and you can tell from the twitching of his length that he’s close. The moment the phone is hung up, Keishin cages you between his body and the mattress. “Your cunt feels so fucking good, I’m gonna fill you up with my cum. Would you like that?”

You try to nod and make a noise akin to ‘mhm,’ but you’re not sure what it sounds like. You’re not really sure of anything right now, but what you are sure of is you want him to cum inside you.

“I could never deny you anything, sweet girl,” he groans.

Keishin fucks into you harder, faster, and it feels as if he’s quite literally rearranging your guts, he’s so deep inside you. He reaches down between your legs and pinches your sensitive bud between his fingers. “Think you have one more in you, hm?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for your answer. Of course you do.” He rubs your sore clit the way he knows will have you shaking and coming apart around him.

“Fuck Daddy, fuck I’m cumming!” you squeal, writhing and squirming from the painful, aching tightness of your orgasm as it builds once more.

“Ergh, fuck yeah, cum on Daddy’s cock as he fills you up. You’re such a good fucking girl for me, I love this sweet pussy.”

You shriek as you cum, your climax so strong that your vision blurs at the edges and you convulse, sore muscles twitching with overuse.

“Daddy’s gonna breed his sweet little girl, fuck, feels so fucking good!” Keishin groans, burying himself as deeply as he can inside you and shooting his cum into your quivering hole. You sigh in relief at the feeling of his warm cum flooding your womb, thankful he finally came because you couldn’t have lasted much longer in your state.

He flops next to you on the bed, sweaty and exhausted from your hours-long fuck marathon. Throwing an arm over your waist, he pulls you to his chest and buries his nose in your neck.

Hitomi’s not supposed to come back for several hours, so you both deem it safe to fall asleep as you are. Just when you’re about to drift off, your phone buzzes from the bedside table.

You reach for your phone, expecting it to be some spam email.

Your heart stops, the whole world seems to freeze when you open the text message.

From: Tomie <3

So when were you going to tell me you’re fucking my dad?

#haikyuu smut #ukai x reader #ukai smut #haikyuu x reader #ukai keishin #server collab #bunny scribbles #hq smut #hq fanfic #hq reader insert #haikyuu imagines

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chiwhorei · 3 years

Text

the folly of man

pairing: e. todoroki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: ~2.6k

tags: the softest!enji there ever was, crybabie!reader, age gap (20ish vs. 50), d/s dynamics, belly bulge, squirting, overstim, daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, a spank, breeding kink, creampie, i am dramatic and clinically melancholy so it’s a little angsty but it’s really just unabashed, self-indulgent fluff

a/n: i screamed about soft!enji to @messwriting a few weeks ago, then the other night enji took me to paris and wrecked my shit in my dreams. the result? complete self-indulgence. i will not be taking criticism on my desire to fuck this man, he is a drawing. (the banner image is from the lonely doll by dare wright, if you know this book we probably have very similar issues sksksksksk)

hymn: angel by finneas

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss,” ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

He swears it’s your quirk that got him. Grabbed him by the collar, stole his soul from his chest— you swiped it right from his rib cage.

You sit across from him, legs folded under each other and pen pressing against your lips. Is it your lips? Or the way words curl past them?

A siren’s call in the form of a 20-something journalist. He hates the likes— prodding for sound bites and snippets to plaster across front pages. But your figure buckles in on itself, nerves weighing down the fabric of a light pink blouse and tight-yet-tasteful pencil skirt. Your presence is gentle and honeyed, it feels warm where Enji is usually burning hot.

Your fever spreads across his cheeks and nose.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need me to repeat the question?”

Your bottom lip trembles nervously, pulled in between your teeth to gnaw on. Freshly graduated and on your very first assignment, it seemed hilarious to send the newly minted recruit into a white-hot tongue lashing.

“Mr. Number One has chewed the head off of every reporter in Japan, it’s a right of passage.”

The echo of your colleague’s stifled laugh rings in your ear as you stare back, you scan over the small wrinkles by his eyes and the jagged scar across his face. The silvered skin curves around his features like atonement. There’s something about the prolific hero that seems to pull you towards him. You grab the side of your chair so as to not fall forward right into his orbit.

Any attempt at distance was doomed from the beginning.

He shakes his head, eyes darting from either of yours to find the question you asked him. He coughs awkwardly, nodding his head for you to continue. Any desire to snap at you dissolves into the carpet with the very first laugh. You let out a small, tinkling giggle against better judgement that cracks the glassed tension.

“What is your biggest inspiration?”

The question hangs in the air a moment before a rehearsed answer falls from his mouth, something about the citizens of his community and the desire to keep his country safe. Whatever tumbles out is less interesting than how you smile in response.

Every person in the room-- agents, publicists, the poor intern holding a black coffee in his trembling hands-- watch on, collectively agape, at the scene before them.

Flame Hero: Endeavor breaks composure for a moment to send you a docile, lopsided smile.

You decide it’s something you won’t soon get tired of seeing.

“Did you get everything you wanted,” his voice trails off with a hint of uncertainty, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head, “I could answer a few more questions over dinner.”

Enji stands in shock at his own behavior, the inferno flickers little more than a candle in your eyeline. Every minute holds sixty seconds of opportunity, and Enji’s hair is graying at the ends. Even if you brush the dusty old hero from your shoulders with guffaw, even if you roll your eyes or kiss his insole with a pointed heel. He can’t afford to waste a moment more.

It has to be your quirk, he decides, reciting like a prayer the only logical answer to his sweating palms and clambering heart. Nothing makes sense but keeping you within arms reach. It must be some kind of hypnosis, maybe a pheromone.

Enji’s penance lies in the soft, supplied skin of a quirkless civilian.

***

There are few places that have felt like home, no matter what four walls build a house around him. He alone is responsible for each one decaying. He deserves a spot in every plane of hell.

Enji leans against the headboard, scanning over pages of John Milton and enjoying the quiet just after dusk. Looking over the top of his glasses, the book in hand falls out of frame, like most everything does.

Pink lace hangs like bated breath from your shoulders and hips. You look on to him for approval, the set your eyes had lingered on in a boutique window now brandishes the swell of your breasts.

“My perfect girl.” His words are filled with wonder, pulling at the ends of his mouth when you twirl, the ends of flowing lace pick up around you like wings.

Winter air creeps from the open balcony to hit your skin, spreading chills down every inch. Enji watches as you shiver, the cool breeze prickles past pick lace with little effort.

“Come here.” Enji tosses his glasses and book to the bedside table and pats his lap.

Nothing feels more like home than when you settle to lie atop his naked chest, cheek pressed firmly against his pulse.

You rest your chin against his sternum, hands crawling up to find warmth from his skin. He feels the thin, golden ring as your touch trails around his neck.

His own hands, calloused and battered, eclipse over your lower back to find purchase against your ass.

Away from the prying eyes of domestic paparazzi and forty minutes outside of Paris— Enji cuts out what feels like a stolen heaven.

Idle chat about the museum he took you to today fills the room comfortably. Your fingertip comes down to trace the lines of marred skin across the bridge of his nose, he hums and smiles as you talk about paintings.

None stood out to him.

He takes your hand in his much bigger one, kissing the band that mimics his own. You tangle your fingers together.

“This feels like a dream,” your voice is barely above a whisper, lest the night air hears the talk of lovers.

“I’m not totally convinced you aren’t a dream.” Enji pulls you to sit back against his legs, in this position you can meet his eyes without straining upward. Strong hands come down to rest at your hips, thumbs rubbing lightly against the lingerie’s fabric.

You scoff, batting at his chest, you laugh his comments off in moments like this. But Enji is convinced one day you will lift straight from the world with nothing left but your shoes keeping the earth weighted down.

Soft lips ghost over his, an invitation he’ll never refuse. Your mouth is against him, small hands coming to either side of Enji’s face. His graying stubble is coarse under your fingers. You inhale deeply, he smells like campfire and expensive cologne. Your tongue slips between his lips. His mouth tastes like the remnants of the bottle of red wine you shared after dinner

The hands around your middle pull your impossibly closer, pressing into your lower back to grind your hips down against the bulge in his sweatpants. Your body moves against him, panties rubbing against your already throbbing clit.

“Daddy.” The title wraps in chords around his vertebrae, the sounds of whimpering hits his ear, and he notices the wet patch rubbing right against his knee.

“What do you want, princess? Tell daddy what you want.” The maneuvering of your hips starts slow, but Enji has you almost bouncing on his leg before you can answer him. Both of your hands wrap around his left wrist, tugging it in between your legs.

“I want you to touch me, please. I- I need it.” You bite the inside of your cheek when the pads of his fingers graze the damp, thin material of your panties, his burning touch sets every blood cell aflame.

“You’re so wet, princess, what’s got you all worked up?” There’s a gleam of humor in his voice, seeing you desperate for him has Enji stiffening beneath you.

“My precious little thing, I’ll take good care of you.” His words write you a promise, it extends far past a night of love in Paris.

You can feel his assurance carved into your heart.

Enji’s hand dips into the front of your underwear, ghosting over your clit and running against your swollen lips. He marvels at your response, the smallest ministrations have your head rolling to the side.

His pointer and middle finger prod against you, inching inside carefully. Even with the utmost care, you wince at the stretch. No matter how many times he’s fucked you open in this whirlwind year,

“You’re tighter than a fucking vise, Christ.”

A long moan escapes you, knees moving to dig into the mattress below you for leverage to buck against his hand. Enji curls his fingers upwards, calloused tips finding the spongy patch of skin that has you squirming. His fingers cross over each other, pumping into you and easing you to relax against the intrusion.

“Daddy, I want your cock. I’m ready, please.” The heat in your core is rising, licking against your nerves like wildfire. Enji tutts in response to your begging, his thumb coming down to rub taught circles into your clit.

“I know, princess, but you remember the rules. Cum on my fingers, and I’ll give you what you want.” Enji picks up the pace of his fingers, his own patience thinning at the edges with each call for your daddy.

“Close, ‘m close,” your voice wobbles, aching legs pushing you against him, chasing desperately for that first release.

Enji feels you clenching tight in finality, a squeal breaching the steamy space around you. You crack in his tight hold, the taste of bliss coats your tongue-- it tastes like tears.

You slump forward against his chest, coming to float back down to earth before he sends you hurdling back towards the sun.

“You’re so beautiful, princess, absolutely perfect.” Enji’s voice is heavy, lined with a certain bitterness you are familiar with. His compliments always sound like apologies.

You lift your head, forehead pressing against his, the stray hair around your face tickling his skin.

There aren’t words that could heal decades. No amount of atonement, no prayers to any gods will fix a life of despair. He shoulders the blame of it all, heavy against bones and muscle.

Moving to kiss him tenderly, lips pulling him back into the world's sweetest direction. You shouldn’t let him use you as his redemption. If Enji were another man, a better man, he would have walked away from you that fateful afternoon under fluorescent light with just the fleeting feeling you dipped his heart in.

He’s not any kind of good in this world, Enji is a foolish bastard.

He’ll keep kissing you, he’ll touch and lick and fuck you until your wings pick up in the wind and fly you away.

“I want to ride your cock, Daddy. Let me make you feel good too.” You beg for him once again, you beg to be a distraction, the sweetest kind of diversion-- hidden snugly in the quiet of a French villa.

Enji is meticulous with stripping you of the dainty lace, brushing off the straps of your bra so the cups fall right under your pert nipples. He moves his hands slowly, snaking up your sides to swipe his thumbs against the pebbled buds. You don’t try to stop the wines falling like prayer, your body still on edge from your first orgasm.

He pulls off your soaked panties, eyes tracing the strings of slick collecting and breaking off from your glistening cunt.

“Such a precious little pussy, and it’s all mine.” Enji frees his cock from his sweats and boxers, the length springing to slap against his abdomen. He pumps his hand a few times before pressing it against your stomach. It’s no surprise that his size is impressive, long and thick in an ever-intimidating way.

Enji admires how his cock presses against you, tip nudging against your belly button. In comparison to your smaller form, it’s a wonder he hasn’t ripped you in half.

You’d let him.

“No more teasing, Daddy. I need it, please.” Desperation sparks against your nerves, igniting with the sharp sound of Enji’s hand against your ass.

“Don’t get mouthy now, princess.” His warning is light, he’s never been good at denying you.

He pulls your hips up, lining himself up so you can sink down onto him. If his fingers make you whimper, the first breach of his shaft makes you wail.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging in to steady yourself with every deliciously unforgiving inch. You’ll never get used to his size, you never want to.

Enji has held composure with white knuckles, but his resolve is rusting with every movement of your descent. His desire to tear into you becomes untamable, his mind swims in with the velveteen grip you suck him in with.

“You’re mine, fuck, you’re mine forever.” He will promise you until he believes it himself.

He’ll believe in forever if forever means you.

The folly of man is nestled at the apex of your thighs, is pleading gasps, is begging for more, is too much and too little.

And Enji is a fool in love.

The gates of heaven open between your quivering legs to let the devil in. He’ll take every moment he can steal.

As your hips settle down finally, the feeling of being so completely full has tears collecting in your lashes to run down your cheeks. It’s depraved, truly, how beautiful your destruction is.

Enji gives you a moment, adjusting to his size and relaxing, his hand comes down to rub against your stomach, tracing against the skin lightly.

“I can feel it,” his breath hitches, the pulsing around him is dizzying, he feels his tip as it moves inside of you, “fuck, I can feel my cock in your tummy.”

Shaky thighs start moving above him, the bounce of fat and flesh atop his hardened body. He can’t help the declarations flying from his mouth, he can’t stop the itching feeling to make you his completely.

“I want to fuck a baby into you, want to fill you so full.” He can feel the way your body reacts to his most perverse desire, “I want you round and swollen with my child.”

Enji grabs your hips, taking control and quickening the pace of his assault on your weeping pussy. You cry out, a string of babbled, “Please, daddy, please fuck me full, s-so full.”

You can feel your second orgasm bubbling up with each stroke of Enji’s cock against your abused pussy. All words are lost, all thoughts fuzzy aside from the man pounding himself into you from below.

“Cum around me, little girl, cum around my cock.” Enji’s words are little more than a growl, head thrown back into the pillows as you constrict around him. His fingers come down against your clit again, rubbing with fervor. He’s adamant on throwing you head-first, body limp and overstimulated in every way.

You feel it in the gnashing of your teeth, the wound chord snapping like floss around Enji. You feel yourself gushing, your cum leaking around him and dripping onto the bed sheets.

Enji cums with one final buck, hips lifting off of the bed as he spills into you. You can feel the thick spurts against your still pulsating walls, filling you to the brim and trickling out even before you separate.

He stays inside of you for a moment, large hands wrapped around your middle, pulling you to crumble into his chest. You collapse against his warm, jagged skin. He lulls you with soft strokes to your hair, behind the flush and sweat on your face, he sees the dizzy, love-drunk expression tugging on your lips.

No matter how many times you disagree, Enji knows it’s true.

The swelling, disorienting feeling of your smile. The visions of a future, of the life he doesn't deserve but wouldn’t give up for any deal the devil could make him. The sight of you, simply and without motive, every day.

It has to be your quirk.

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