#and i was very on edge and itchy and i had non stop goosebumps the whole movie

[littleragondin]

"Regarde Vermines," me dit mon cerveau, "les critiques sont super bonnes et tu te plains toujours que y'a pas assez de bon cinéma français de genre." J'ai vraiment peur des araignées, mais mon cerveau ce bâtard a décidé que je ne pourrais rien regarder d'autre avant d'avoir vu le film.

Conclusion, regardez Vermines c'était vachement bien (maintenant j'ai pas interêt de croiser une seule araignée pendant trois à dix jours ouvrés ;_;).

[namazunomegami]

Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

[freshoutofthegutter]

Jackets

He laughed!

He had the fucking audacity to laugh.

The warm breath from his mouth, forming precipitates as his dusky pink lips grinned.

She didn't even bother turning her head to spare him a mere glance. Another car zoomed past them reminding her of the lack of clothing on her arms.

"I will squeeze your knees", she hissed.

This time he threw his head back and laughed. It was so far back that she prolly thought that he would tip over.

She started her March across the now empty road. Just as the signals shifted.

It took a moment for him to realise that he was alone and the evil vixen had crossed over to the other side. His driver approached him, distracting him. It was in that moment he lost where she was.

"Yes felix", he murmured.

"Car's ready sir". He informed.

"Have a spin then", he gestured spinning his finger as he crossed, j walked across the road. Barely missing a car.

Lifting his hands up in apology but a shit eating grin said otherwise.

"Idiot", she cursed. As she watched him risk his life casually strolling across the road. A kid in the small yet packed cafe was mesmerised by her two tier anarkali dress. As her mum waited in the line for a bite to grab. The bangles on her wrist was what had her hooked. She smiled at kid and hoped that her pursuer had fucked off.

"Are you allergic to flowers?", she asked the kid who appeared to be 7 ish. The kid shook her head which was covered by a neon pink cap.

"Here, you can have them", she smiled taking the jasmine and rose bangles off her wrists.

The kid's face lit up with joy. The mother was keeping an eye on her kid. As everyone was busy looking as the woman in traditional Asian festive drab. After a quick polite conversation the mother and daughter duo were out.

She moved in a corner away from the window. Stealing a glance at the clock it was ten past eleven. She had been in here for the last ten minutes. Reaching for strength the battle the cold weather outside. She dived into the reservoir of anger she held against her parents for what they had said to her this evening. She looked outside and rubbed her arms. That had goosebumps but no hair because of lazer. She Took her time release the veil that she had pinned earlier and placed it around her shoulders well aware that it wouldn't offer any protection from the cold. The front door opened, gush of cold wind and an overjoyed "there you are".

He walked up to her putting his phone in the pocket of his bespoke jacket . Every eye  followed him. Hoping for drama to unfold and drama did he serve.

"How did you find me?". Voice venomous.

"I just asked followed the breadcrumbs, well in your case the smell of the flowers", he. Smiled tilting his head to the side which only provoked icy glares from her.

"Oh, look at my sweet model throwing tantrums",  he teased.

She gave him a puzzled look. A man to her left offered her help if the suit was being bother some. Which she declined with the shake of her head.

" she is my muse. I'd never bother her", his eyes fluttered with mischief. "I was merely hoping that she would return back to me so I could praise and marvel her beauty for the rest of the night", he placed a hand over his chest signet glinting at the faux offence.

" stop it", she warned. Glancing outside.

"Oo. Grumpy. I get it you haven't eaten. I know those pesky photographs dont want you eating during shoots and you dont like to be filmed when eating", he pointed at her. Oozing cheekiness.

"Well, let me rectify that", he murmured turning to the menu being particularly unimpressed. " do you want a chocolate muffin or walnut darling", he inquired keeping his hand on his chin.

He didn't hear a reply.

Someone pointed out to him that she had left. He followed hot on her trail.

"How were you planning on paying?", he called keeping a meter of distance between them.

"I wasn't ordering anything". She called back. He took this as a positive sign and happily walked up to her side.

" really. Not even a coffee?", he was puzzled. "I certainly could use one". He pointed out sliding his hand into his pocket.

" I'm not throwing a tantrum", she spoke.

"Really", he wasn't buying it.

"You have no idea the amount of self control I'm showing not to punch you". She smiled at him. "I deserve a reward". She spoke to herself.

"What time would that be around because I have an invitation for breakfast because I managed to unconsciously impress an uncle of yours",

"Do me a favour and dont go", she commented.

"Only If you invite me to your reward thing". He offered.

"Whatever it's your loss, Probably would want you to invest in a project", she dismissed with the wave of her hand.

"I'll do whatever I see fit", he spoke. Throwing her words from earlier.

"Wow", she mocked. Folding her arms across her front amazed that he would do this.

"Yes you look stunning, dressed in lace and anger. This is definitely working for me". He gestured to her 5'5" hundred pounds frame.

"Why did you come?"

"Because I was invited"

"Next time decline". She hissed. Stroking her arms.

He automatically assumed that she was cold.

"Its amazing how all this anger is keeping you warm. If not hot". He stroked her bare shoulder and unfolded her arms grabbing her hands. Finding them ice cold. He stroked her fingers.

He pulled her closer to him. "Have I mentioned it's working very well for me", he winked. She shivered again. Breaking eye contact.

" next time we will colour coordinate". He grinned.

"There will not be a next time". She clarified.

" there were several of your cousins. I'm pretty sure. One of them could decide." He began.

"I'm next and if not me then Tina", she managed to verbalize as a rush of cold air managed to shake her pin straight hair.

He lost his cheeky edge for a moment. That caused his security to take a step in their direction. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and he stared at her.

"I volunteer". He spoke.

Naturally she punched him smack in the middle of his chest. Now his security was standing to his left as he laughed. And she hugged her hand close to her chest.

" Ivon. She is a foot shorter than me do you really think that was necessary", he scolded.

" fuck you", she hissed.

"Ooo role play in public, I just have to figure how to get under that....." he was practically devouring her. That straight hair and braty behaviour entertaining him enticing.

"Run along Ivon". He nodded to his left.

She was clearly embarrassed to have a witness to this behaviour.

"I'll be....", she trailed off walking into an incredibly pricey high end store. Where only 9 articles were on display.

"You know my employees sign an NDA so you dont have to worry about anything", he stood next to her and settled his hand at the base of her spine.

A platinum blond approached them with glossy smile offering help. She didn't even look at her. He politely told her that they are still looking. She kept her distance.

Stroking the fur of a peach jacket smiled to herself.

"Care to share". His voice floated through the soft notes of the piano.

"Tina always said that stores that display eleven  items always over price". He nodded in agreement as he observed the lack of price tags.

" are these all?" Tirza said gesturing to the rack.

"We have more, these are just our best sellers". The attendant smiled.

" what is madam looking for". She asked trying to get an idea.

" a puffer coat perhaps", she said nodded.

" a silk and wool evening coat with a belt, preferably cream". He smiled.

" right this way", the woman turned on her heel.

"How much do you have on you?" Tirza asked. As she fixed her non functional veil for the third time.

"So you're letting me buy you a jacket", he delighted.

"No. I'm buying myself a jacket and am temporarily borrowing money from you", she clarified. "Black", she said as the woman held up two puffer jacket options.

"I dont see silk or wool in that", Oliver commented.

"One moment please", Tirza smiled quickly at the attendant and dragged Oliver away by his arm.

" look I can't accept an over priced jacket from you that I'll wear for just 30 minutes". She explained.

" it takes 15 to get to mine and 25 if you're walking".

Groaning she cried, " why is this fun for you?".

" because I got to spend a lovely evening observing you, looking absolutely delicious and angelic", his lips hovered over her cheek. " also it was my first time at an Asian engagement party, I throughly enjoyed myself".

" that's a first. I didn't know", Tirza hummed.

"Plus the ladies were pretty to look at". He joked.

" ofcourse", she swatted him on his arm.

" tremendously physical aren't we this evening", he murmured huskly grabbing her wrist.

" I'm just annoyed, itchy and cold", she sighed, " but proud" she added.

" because...." his eyebrows raised.

" because I wore flats". She raised the skirt to show her feet.

" cold I can fix, now where is the itch?". He teased eyeing her.

" no just drop me home", she said rubbing her hands on her arms.

" no. You're coming with me", he spoke sternly.

" Oliver", she warned. He raised his eyebrows at her taunting her.

Fine two can play dirty.

" home", she poked at his arm.

" no", he refused to look at her.

" I need to change out of this itchy top I'm pretty sure my boobs are scratched". She stated looking at his face. Waiting for information to click in.

" pardon", he was pretty sure his misheard her. Did she just say boobs out loud?

" Tirza, are you telling me that you haven't got a thing under that?" He pointed to her front.

"Yes. That's why I needed to get a jacket because I'm cold and you...", she was about to say something that would potentially have them kicked out of the store.

" Angi. I want the champagne silk and wool French style coat with a belt". He stared at her challenging her to defy him.

" but she asked for the puffer Oliver". The woman argued.

" I know what she asked for. But get me what I want. You've been dealing with us for ages please dont let your reputation waver", he almost snapped.

" absolutely, right away". She scampered off.

" cool. She knows your name", Tirza pointed out coolly.

" yes" he looked at her briefly and his eyes dipped south. She caught that. " benefit of being non existent" she joked.

" they are plenty enough for me". He groaned.

" did you know?". She smiled wickedly at him.

" no", he spoke after a deep breath.

"Honestly I didn't notice it until you mentioned so", he gestured to her front.

" because darling if I'd known then there would have been no way that I would have let you parade on the streets in this balls freezing cold".

"I kind of like the cold", she commented. " gives me time to think",

" about being an infuriating tease", he remarked.

" whatever". She rolled her eyes.

" shall we?", he offered her his arm.

"Why thank you Sir", she accepted it.

He directed her to the modern glass counter to pay. Like he did on those rare moments when he accompanied his mother.

The duo stopped before a behemoth mirror that was two stories in length approximately.

He readjusted the jacket and tucked at his collar. " you look fine", she patted his hand. A frown had settled on his brow. " mighty fine I may add and its absolutely working for me", she added using his arm, and her tip toes to reach his ear. But missed by a few inches.  She looked so cute. Tiny and pratically engulfed by the bottom of her outfit. She met his gaze in the mirror. "Okay. I look good too", she said shyly

"Ah, yes. But we could have matched and it would have been ever better". He murmured scratching the very mild beard on his face. " I wasn't even sure you were going to show up", she sighed.

" or else I would have matched my knickers" she blinked innocently at him.

" ofcourse you would have," he smiled sarcastically.

" Angie," he called the woman was next to him in less than  a blink. " I'd like to take the puffer and cream trench coat, do not place that on the family's account but on mine". He slipped his arms from Tirza to pull his wallet out.

" absolutely", she complied giving him a secretive smile.

" baby. we only need one. Tell her to put one away before she tags them". Tirza tried to reason.

" yes. One. You picked and the other I'm buying for you", he spoke placing a kiss on her hair.

" could I please have the bill?", Tirza asked.

The attendee immediately turned to see what Oliver had to say.

With a quick scan of their purchase. Tirza turned on her heal the bottom of her skirt twirling.

" I'm charging this to Tina", Tirza frowned.

" I have a better option", Oliver offered. As he kept her attention on her skin that she wouldn't look at both the articles being packed and halt the process.

" what may that be?", she thought.

"Charge Drew, I'm sure he can handle the damage and I'll tell him I got you something and his Aries ass will want to top that off", his eyes were overflowing with mischief.

"And buy Tina more shite and then they would fight". Tirza completed. Disappointed.

"Thank you Angi", he smiled taking the purchases.

" oh, love do try them on", he offered her the bags.

" everyone is staring at us", she observed.

"So let them", he shrugged taking the cream coat out of its casing.

"Not wearing that",

"But it compliments your dress, that's why I picked it", he explained.

"It costs more than everything in wearing". She cried moving outside.

"Tirza you're awfully upset, it's just a jacket", he tried to calm her. As she started to walk again.

"Jackets, plural", she corrected.

"Fine. Jackets, you know I like to get you nice things", he said offering her the cream coat once again.

" now you sound like a sugar daddy. An investor, and I sound like a brat kept", she exclaimed. On the verge of cryin on everyone. Including myself", she began. Wiping a tear quickly. "I know I should be reasonable and accept the Jackets because its freezing I may end up catching pneumonia and die", she laughed at the end. Quoting Emerson.

His reaction was glacial at that statement but at least she was talking and he wanted to hear what she had to say.

"I've turned into this over analysing and controlling bitch just by being with them all for a few hours".

" That's enough, stop belittling yourself", he warned.

" why are you yelling at me?", she spoke through the heavy lump in her throat.

" oh luv, I'm not yelling at you. Please come with me". He begged stroking her cheekbones.

"You should leave before their", she paused and laughed. " my madness spoils what we have, I've turned into this controlling freak and telling you not to go places. I mean we are just seeing eachother". She spoke on a sneeze.

" excuseme", she heard him say. In a tone he had never used with her. Which only made her cry more.

"We have been together...we have been exclusively together....", he corrected himself.

"No one asked you to", she rebutted.

That was his limit. He had enough of this outburst.

" you listen to me Tirza", he transferred the bags to his forearm. With a firm grip on her waist he pulled her to him. " I'm aware that you're upset", he stroked her face. " I'm sorry that people say rude things. But, I'm in love with that over analysing brain of yours", he lifted her chin with his finger and placed a firm kiss on her forehead.

"Your family do have an effect on you, because that's how families are. You have had no one except them. And frankly speaking they guilt trip you into doing what you wouldn't possibly want to do", he signed. As she took a cold breath. Nodding. Casuing the remaining tears to slide down her face.

Which he wiped with his thumb.

" I choose to love you and be with you and this isint because of your family bullying me into loving you, it's how I feel towards you, what i feel is so intense that whatever happens when i meet your family. It will always be greater than them",

" I'm afraid of being the controlling woman", she croaked, "and being selfish".

He had silenced her with a kiss. What a sight it was. A woman  in a fancy garb experiencing an emotional breakdown while a man consolidated her. As his security watched. She shivered in his embrace as more tears flowed.

She needed to be held. And he held her. Completely understanding her. Slowly pouring strength into her along with warmth from his body.

He was aware that she had issues, so did he. But what they had and his emotions towards her were far too intense to be dismissed away.

The woman in his life was having a breakdown of sorts at eleven thirty-ish. He was honoured to hold her broken pieces until she found the energy to mold them back into a stronger version of herself.

She had shivered twice already. A third one that practically rocked his upper body.

"Tirza", he whispered at her crown. Inhaling the scent of her hair, he smiled because he knew that she had a weird habit of putting a small spray of perfume in her hair.

"Hmmm", she acknowledged, practically melted in her embrace.

"Please put a jacket on?", he requested.

She broke from his embrace. He prepared himself for a protest. He watched her turn around. Her back to him. As she gathered the shimmery barely there veil in one hand.

"Well, hurry up", she spoke as another car passing by caused her hair to whoosh.

"Sorry", he murmured, shoving his hand in the bag and pulling out the puffer jacket.

"Which one?", his hand hovered not daring.

"Cream", she managed inhaling sharply.

"Fucking....", he hurried to get the cream and silk creation out.

"Horse cock", she supplied slipping her arms in the sleeves. As he held her hair.

"Thank you Ivon", he spoke making her face heat up. She stopped and turned around to see that his security was standing two feet away from them. Holding both the bags. He had heard her suggestion.

She didn't dare make eye contact with Ivon or glance in his direction.

Oliver had a bloody grin on his face. Yep. He heard her.

'I hate you', she mouthed at him. Tossing him her crumpled veil. He simply shook his head and smiled at her.

She sneezed. Almost folding in half.

"Here madam", Ivon offered her a wipe.

"Thank you", she said quietly before a sneeze.

"Ivon, car", Oliver hissed as he watched her eyes water. Ivon nodded and rushed off.

Oliver tried to grab her hands but she didn't let him pointing out that there were germs involved.

"Fuck", he hissed. Slipping his hands in the jacket to rub her waist. Only to discover that the inner silk wasn't warm yet.

"Bloody hell', he cursed. Tirza looked at him confused as she was about to sneeze again. He wrestled out of his jacket and was no fighting the no good cream and wool devil off her.

"Ooo strip tease", she teased. As she rubbed her cheek against the warm material of his prized Burberry jacket.

"Now the shirt", she laughed as she watched him fold the jacket she had on formally neatly over his arm.

"You should return that, it's done you no good", she winked.

"Never", he practically growled. Pulling her into his side. Rubbing her arm. In an attempt to provide warmth.

"This is the first time a man has given me his jacket", she murmured as she snuggled him. His heartbeat fast.

"Thank you", she smiled. As she placed a small kiss on the skin right above the collar of his shirt.

"I love you too", he spoke in her hair as he held her closer.

"Madam," Ivon held the door open for her.

"Thank you", she nodded at him as she gracefully slid into the car.

The heated upholstery was a luxury that she moaned with relief.

"Where to Sir?", The driver who's name she couldn't recall asked making eye contact in the rearview mirror.

"Where to?", he asked turing to Tirza.

"Hi and hotel please", she smiled at the driver.

"Absolutely". The driver nodded.

"What floor are you on?", she asked as they entered the lobby.

"7th floor", he answered. As they walked to to counter. She looked at him puzzled.

"Key", he explained as he provided his name to the concierge who immediately provided him with an envelope.

" what's bothering you?", he asked.

"Just wondering who is cashing in on the over night stay?", she admitted.

He looked at her surprised. As he requested a few warm beverages and some fresh fruit for them to nibble on.

"Why, afraid you might run into someone?",

She nodded.

"Coffee or tea?", he asked.

"Tea, chamomile If they have it. Please", she requested. He conved it on.

The concierge informed him that his suitcase had already been delivered to the room.

"When did you get the room?", she asked amazed as they stepped in.

"Ivon did, this afternoon", he answered.

"Bath?", he offered.

"Actually a shower", she declined. Shrugging out of his jacket.

"Sure, I need to make a phone call", he pointed to the jacket that she had taken off.

She quickly showered. Relishing the intensity of the water. Upon leaving the ensuite bathroom she discovered him holding a cup of tea. He was still on the phone. So she busied herself with preparing on herself.

She was halfway done with the tea when he ended the phone call with and walked into the bathroom stripping.

She was surprised to see that the closet was already equipped with his clothes.

"How long are you planning to stay?", she questioned eyeing the contents.

"Two days", he answered startling her.

She jumped and her hand immediately went to the hotel supplied robe. While he wore a towel.

"Oh, God", she huffed. As he opened a closet door to pull out a small black bag.

He looked at her thoughtfully and motioned with his head to follow him to the bathroom.

"You didn't have to pick them up", he commented as he observed that she had picked his clothes from the their designated location on the marble.

"I didn't, house keeping did", explained. "I just handed it to her".

"Ah yes. Claire", he nodded. As he placed the contents of the bag on the double vanity. Which she sat on.

"That's a cute bag", she commented.

He shook his head at her.

"What", she cried dramatically. Getting off the marble.

"Stay", he requested observing his reflection in the massive mirror.

She hoped back on.

"You okay?", she asked tiling her head to the side.

"Yea. I might give up while shaving", he admitted. "If you go". He added.