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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 24 days ago

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I’LL MAKE A HOUSE INSIDE OF YOU, I’LL GO IN THROUGH THE MOUTH ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; what awaits you by the entrance to the woods is not a wolf, but a man. he thinks your grandmother can wait.

word count; 14.7k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader (’girl’ is used only in allusion to the actual fairy tale), fairy tale au, hunter/wolf!suguru x little red riding hood!reader, yan!sugu, captivity, forced caretaking, infantilization, excessive use of ’little one’, hints of stockholm syndrome, slightly suggestive in one part (suguru gets a hard-on, blink and you’ll miss it), noncon kissing but that’s the worst it gets, instances of gore (ie; descriptions of a corpse, horror-inspired imagery), depiction of cannibalism (not involving reader), violent undertones, suguru never physically harms you but it’s mentioned that he could. open ended + almost entirely from reader’s pov. meta narrative.

a/n; happy halloween <3 (i’m late)(it’s 2025) this au has been haunting me since last year so i’m happy to finally have it out …. i don’t dabble in yan!sugu v often but it’s . so so sooo easy to turn him into one just by tweaking him a little bit … if nothing else i hope he ended up awful & hot 🫡 + biggest shoutout in the world to my beloved mickey (@teddybeartoji) for all your help and encouragement w this fic :’< also my belovedest dilly for doing the same and supporting me always … i love u……

[ once upon a time, there was a dear little girl... ]

the sun is stuck in vitro.

a glance up at the sky, in tune with your rapid steps. you’re threading through a meadow, red hood over your head, a basket hanging off your arm; wine and apricots and slices of cake, covered by a crocheted blanket your mother made. the sky you see when you tilt your head is painted gray, a bottomless pit, cotton clouds sticking together like the light layer of mist laying its legs across the landscape. dewdrops stick to your bare ankles as you wade through tall grass.

everything smells wet, fresh, the heavy scent of leaves and dirt — the end of autumn. everything bursting and blooming and decaying all at once.

and you’re all alone. threading through the grass and flowers, nearing the edge of the familiar woods, on your way to see your sick grandmother. it’s a force of habit; from the basket hanging off your arm to the pep in your step, a feeling like that of a page being turned. all of it familiar. this story is your home, you live within its walls. you know your lines, you always have. you know how it begins, how it ends, what it feels like to be swallowed whole — you know your steps will lead you right into the belly of the beast.

you know this story.

(you should know this story.)

only this time, it is not a wolf that awaits you by the entrance to the woods. it’s a hunter.

it’s a man, of tall stature, a shotgun slung over his broad shoulder and secured by a thin leather strap. poignant, a threat and a reassurance all at once, barrel pointing at the sky like a maw wanting to open wide. the first thing you notice. his hair is tied up into a bun, neat and tidy, charcoal strands tousled by the morning breeze, bangs swaying almost hypnotizingly under the hunter’s hat he’s wearing; your eyes drink him in, from head to toe. a dark-furred vest, engulfed by a coat that does nothing to hide the outline of his meaty biceps. his boots are stained with mud.

it’s nothing new.

(but he isn’t supposed to be here.)

before you can look around, make sure you didn’t take a wrong turn, leave your mother’s cabin on the wrong clock-tick — the hunter turns to look at you. eyes like the bark of a tree, smudged at the corners with flecks of rusted gold, their warmth beckoning you forward. the jingle of a bell chime. and only then do you spot a splotch of red in his calloused hands, cradled closely, a poppy. young crimson petals.

he’s caressing them, and he’s smiling.

like he knew you’d be here.

molten, rainy clouds stick together in the sky, allowing no flicker of sunshine to seep through the gaps. once you step inside the woods, the mist will only thicken. a ceiling made of tree-leaves to obscure the world around you. it’s straight ahead, the main road that leads into their depths — the one you’re meant to follow. from where you’re standing, you can spot bugs on the mossy rocks, shimmering beetles, hear the buzzing of a lonely little bee busying itself with a honeyed tree trunk. shadows upon shadows. you’re right at the edge of the second act, but there is no wolf to be seen. no monster to fall into.

only a man, parting his lips.

”and where are you headed, little one?”

his voice is deep. steady, sturdy, seeps into your spine. but tailored with silk all the same; a pleasantly raspy undertone. he’s speaking softly, and your heartbeat slows down, grows quiet as a mouse.

it’s only him, after all.

(the ever reliable hunter.)

”… to my grandmother,” you answer, hands gripping onto the handle of your basket, a smile gracing your features. still confused, but polite, even sweet. he’s weak to it, you’re well aware. ”she’s sick, you see…”

he nods along, smile never changing shape — hand only briefly reaching down to his waist, slipping the poppy into his pocket. you wonder why he doesn’t just throw it away, but there’s no time to ponder on the smaller things; he speaks before you can try.

”i see,” he hums, a low buzzing in the back of his throat. ”and on such a lovely morning…”

the irony in his tone is evident, ripe like a peach. smiling along, you let out what could almost be considered a chuckle — it’s a little out of breath, your lungs constricting in wake of the mist-ridden air.

”mm… it’s alright. i don’t mind.”

that makes him pause, for a moment. ”how kind of you.” it’s praise, sweetened by a roll of his tongue — the hunter tilts his head, honeyed eyes ripe for plucking. ”i’m sure your grandmother will be thrilled.”

”… i hope so,” you hum, blinking through the dew. ”it’s the least i could do, really…”

golden eyes seep through the gaps between his lower lashes, gazing down at you. a piercing stare. you wonder if he can tell you’re lying. a moment passes, and then he’s speaking again, with a click of his tongue— that same pleasing lull to his voice.

”and where does your grandmother live, hm? not too far off, i’d hope…”

”it’s… still a bit to walk,” you chuckle, adjusting your hood, picking at a piece of lint dangling off the fabric. ”her house is just under the three large oak-trees, with the nut-trees below… you surely must know it?”

”… that i do.” for a moment, his smiles laces itself with sticky nostalgia; something warm.

then, suddenly, he’s taking a step forward. boots crunching against the ground, clicking against the gravel underneath his feet. like he’s walking on a frosted lake. aside from the low buzzing of tired bugs, and solemn whooshing of the morning breeze, it’s all you can hear. when he gets close enough for you to see the mole just below his jaw, he’s towering above you — shielding you from the wind, broad shoulders obscuring your view of anything but him. his eyes, his smile, the shotgun over his shoulder.

and he parts his pretty lips.

”would you do me a favour, little dear?”

a tug at your heartstrings. your eyes gaze up at his, wide with curiosity, rising up like bubbling foam in the sea of your iris. a request, something to do; it’s hard for you to ignore its call. always has been.

so you speak before you think.

”sure.”

a pleased hum. ”… i’m on the hunt for wolves, you see.” his eyelids flutter, but you don’t think he misses the way your smile evens out, your grip on the basket growing tighter. ”i know your grandmother needs you… but would you let me treat you to a cup of tea?”

”… tea?”

your baffled inquiry pulls a soft bout of laughter from the depths of his throat.

”tea,” he nods. ”any kind you’d like. i couldn’t sleep at night, knowing i’d left you all alone here with those beasts roaming around… and my home is close by.”

a pause. you inhale the earthy air, taste it on your tongue. a sense of delirious foreboding settles into your veins, a call from deep within your gut.

your mother told you not to let anything distract you.

(… then again, when have you ever been the type to do as you’re told?)

”i don’t know… i’m not really supposed to,” you try to convince yourself, fidgeting with the strings of your cape. you can feel the hunter’s gaze, heavy in a comforting sense; like a mother wolf gazing at her cub, making sure no harm befalls it. intimidating in the sense that you don’t know what he’s thinking.

”… how very well-behaved,” is all he says, adjusting the strap of his shotgun. he sounds like he wants to say something else, but he takes a moment too long to speak. then; ”you seem a little out of breath.”

and you are. your breathing is all out of sorts, your throat shivering under the force of your chilly inhales. it’s cold, and your legs feel sore. the fabric of your cape is too thin to shield you from the chilly autumn breeze, and your bones yearn for some respite.

your mind, however, yearns for something different. something new. a different story, another chapter.

(… you shouldn’t, but…)

”it was awfully reckless of your mother to send you off alone,” he mutters, a low click of his tongue, voice slipping down an octave— something rough gnawing at his vocal chords. ”a little thing like you…”

(… he shouldn’t be here at all.)

”i’d like to rectify that.”

there’s a stability to his words, something self-assured. he personifies a security you’ve never had, an absent smile that warms your numbed-out hands; there’s a warmth to it you couldn’t find in the woods, in the dark and gritty path carved out before you. it makes you think a cup of tea wouldn’t be so bad.

(maybe two wrongs do make a right.)

you stop to think, for a moment.

you could walk into the woods, down the main road, like you supposed to. one step after the other, right until you reach your grandmother — or a hungry wolf. you could wait by the flower meadow, and pick poppies until your hands grow weary, until you have enough to bring home to your mother. alternatively, just until the beast remembers his curtain call.

… or, you could follow the hunter. follow him, like a pliant lamb, until you reach his cabin.

(ultimately, only one of the choices entices you.)

”… alright, then,” your breath turns into white smoke. ”i’d be glad to. sorry for the trouble, though…”

his eyes gleam, suddenly; a honeyed whisper on his tongue. a sense of contentment in the sigh that slips past his lips, the sway of his bangs when he shakes his head. ”believe me — it’s no trouble at all.”

two sparrows take off from a branch ahead of you.

a breeze brushes past your cheek. he holds his arm out, ever the gentleman; waiting for your fingers to curl around his bicep, cling to it for stability. and you do, if only just to please him, because you know the hunter needs to be needed in the same way your grandmother needs pie and wine. the same way the wolf needs something soft to sink his teeth into.

his eyes crinkle, like autumn leaves on golden trees. pats your arm, once, then twice, and says;

”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

and you follow his lead.

you know this man. that’s why you aren’t afraid. why you can’t help but match his step, as he guides you away from the road you’re meant to take, slowing down his strides just so you can keep up. the sun is still obscured, a slob of amber in the middle of the sky, engulfed by sticky clouds. the woods sway in a solemn waltz, bugs scatter away like ravens from the moss-ridden rocks, and when you pass the bushes on your far left you swear you catch a whiff of iron.

before you know it, he’s led you away from the woods — across a field of poppies, beyond the bridge of a river, down to a cabin with a freshly-painted fence.

his home is as warm as his smile.

the moment you step over the threshold, a scent of sandalwood invades your lungs — thick like you just fell into a bag of sawdust. it seeps into your nostrils and burrows itself deep inside your chest, curls up and sleeps there. rich, earthy, firewood and basil from the living room and kitchen, liquid comfort in your veins. warmth, peace; even with the butterflies pinned to the walls, gleaming behind glass. a deer mount watches you from across the hall, its antlers curled up proudly, eyes dumb and dead and animal.

all you can think is respite. rubbing your chilly, frostbitten hands together, blowing hot air on the interior of your palms. the hunter leads you inside, hangs his coat and puts away his shotgun, takes off his hat and steps out of his heavy boots — waits for you to do the same. you leave your crimson coat as is. gently, he takes hold of your basket, gives your shoulder a break. it comes to him naturally, this sense of service; a perpetual motion machine.

you think him a dog, finely trained. it puts your heart at ease.

”make yourself at home,” he smiles.

an absent nod. you’re still busy glancing around, following just behind him as he moves towards the living room. it looks cozy. knitted blankets thrown over chairs, books gathering dust on the shelves, a lit candle by the windowsill. there are carnations in vases, all smelling of spring, the same colour as the eager fire crackling by the chimney — sparks of ember against freshly cut wood, fireworks for only you to see. an axe catches their angry flicker of light with its dull edge, where it lays against a pile of logs, leather sheath curled around it; serpentesque.

already, your eyes have strayed too long. he doesn’t seem to mind. when you raise your head he’s looking at you, standing by the threshold to the kitchen and waiting, lips curled into a soft, ikebana-like smile.

a flicker of amusement passes through his low-lidded eyes. and then he’s turning on his heel.

you follow him.

”take a seat,” he hums, dragging out a wooden chair for you to sit on; and you do so without putting up a fuss, absently scanning the walls and shelves, jars of honey and jam and spices, cloves of garlic hanging in a happy row. a kettle rests idly on the stove, white little petals soaking in a bowl of sweetened water right next to it, reminds you of a bleeding bride. the kitchen table is small, just big enough for two. cozy.

”thank you, mister hunter,” you offer him a smile.

”— suguru.” he pushes the chair forward again, makes sure you’re all sorted, and then steps away. ”just suguru is fine. no need to be formal, little red…”

his voice comes out as something like a purr, interwoven with a morning residue of smoke, fatigue. you can hear it, though, the tender hint of happiness beneath it. he faces the stove, lifts his large hands to open the cupboards above him, and you spot a vast assortment of tea bags; dried yellow leaves, petals and stalks, silken bags and paper wrappings, an earthy scent that pervades the air. cuts into it, forces its way through the thin gap. you inhale, deeply, and feel it take root in your kidneys — no exhale makes the feeling go away. chamomile, rooibos, earl gray…

a cacophony of remedies pulsing in your ribs.

as he busies himself with boiled water and strainers, you gaze out through the window to your left. all you’re privy to seeing is a field, speckled with ghostly pale flowers — barely visible under the shadow of a sky yet to be broken through. in the distance is your destination, the murky woods, tall pinewood trees and willows and clusters of dried up leaves. you wonder if your grandmother will worry if you linger here for too long, if your mother will be disappointed. if they’ll even notice. the basket of goodies you brought rests on the kitchen counter, unassuming.

”here you are,” suguru hums, setting down a mug for you. pure white ceramic. he slips in a teaspoon’s worth of honey, and fills it up with water from the kettle, piping hot, orange in colour, tiny calendula buds swimming like fish in the sea. ”drink up, little one,” he croons. ”we don’t want you catching a cold.”

when you reach out to touch the rim of the cup, you’re stung by the warmth — it sparks against the tips of your fingers, spreads throughout your veins. gives way to a soft smile. ”thank you, suguru.”

his eyes gleam under the dim lights.

”have a sip,” he encourages. ”tell me how it is.”

and you do. you bring the mug to your lips, feel the warmth of the tea seep through the ceramic, steam rising from it and tickling your skin. when you drink it’s an assault on your senses, like the flowers snuck inside your throat and bloomed along your windpipe. hot enough to burn your tongue, rich and sweet.

a sigh leaves your lips. laced with contentment.

”it’s delicious,” you compliment, still feeling the sting on the tip of your tongue. putting the cup back on the table, just to hear the clink against wood.

a warm smile.

”i’m glad.” seamlessly, casually, he leans forward; curling his fingers around the handle, bringing it to his own lips. you watch, owlishly, as he blows on the tea — quick to slide it back towards you. ”… there.”

he must notice your bewilderment, at his familiarity. but he only exhales a soft breath; grazing the surface of a chuckle. resting his jaw on the heel of his palm.

”… go on. have as much as you’d like.”

he doesn’t pour himself a cup until you’ve finished your first. watching you, from across the table, eyes melted into something fond, glimmering faintly.

enamored.

(in every version of this story, the hunter is in love with you.)

that’s why you aren’t worried. that’s why you can’t help but tune out everything except the faint glow of his kitchen, the budding warmth of his home, the tea he keeps on pouring you, cup after cup. the feeling of something deliriously new. listening to the purr of his voice, allowing time to slip you by — sinking into a state of dizzying comfort, slick with safety.

before you know it, he’s shown you around the house, told you all about the lilac-coloured flowers growing in his backyard, coaxed you into warming yourself by the fireplace — he insists. it’s already well past the time you would have made it back home after your outing. your grandmother’s basket is still resting on the counter, untouched, wine and pie and peeled apricots that have probably begun to grow stale. she won’t tell the difference, but you will.

with decision, you rise from the armchair you’re seated on, closing the book he lent you. feeling the stir of a pep in your step, like the kick of a rabbit.

a shallow breath — ’duty calls,’ you muse.

(perhaps it’s for the best; you were beginning to bore of the silence, anyhow.)

suguru makes a low noise, in the back of his throat, seated on the armchair to your right. sleeves rolled up; a light patch of dark hair running from his wrist to his elbow, muscles embraced by the flame-slicked shadows of the fireplace. he gazes at you, silently.

”thank you for letting me stay,” you smile, picture perfect, easy and polite; curling your fingers together as if praying. ”but i really should get going, now.”

the wind whooshes, sharpens its claws against the windows behind you. the sky still dark, rain drizzling down, nothing a cluster of trees can’t shelter you from. the hunter stands up, to his full height.

”… i don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

a twitch of his brow. covered up by a smile. for the first time since meeting him this morning — you catch a flicker of distaste dance inside his pupils.

you aren’t sure what to say.

it doesn’t matter, either way. he parts his lips to speak. ”it’s dangerous… and it’s already getting late. surely, your grandmother can wait until tomorrow?”

”i’m… not sure i should,” you try, fingers idly slipping into the pockets of your red coat. mustering a cheery voice. ”besides, i wouldn’t want to trouble you!”

”i insist.”

…

crackle, crackle, wood splintering into ash. the silence is deafening, thick like a slab of butter on bread. it makes a lump form in your throat, hard to swallow, though you aren’t sure why.

”… tomorrow,” he continues. smile a little stale. ”wolves roam around in the evening. it’s not safe.”

something in his tone tells you he’s already made up his mind. something staggeringly aware — like he’s stating a fact, something unquestionable.

it’s not safe out there.

(he’s right, of course, but…)

(when he opens his mouth, you swear his teeth look just a little sharper than they should.)

a kick to your heart makes you cough up a response, a string of jumbled words. it comes to you almost like an instinct, an unsteady voice. ”if it’s really okay…”

he perks up, at that.

”of course,” he smiles, a little wider. ”of course it is.”

a warm voice, and a warm home, the crackling of a warm fire behind you. it should feel peaceful — yet you can’t help but gaze out the windows, nervously, watching the faraway trees sway. if you squint you could almost make out those golden, piercing eyes, the black fur of a beast in a bush; unease settles in the base of your gut and gnaws at your flesh.

just until tomorrow, you think.

his cabin is a safe zone, of sorts. you’re well aware of that. nothing can get to you, as long as you’re here, with his shotgun close by. suguru is tall, reliable, the only one you can trust — at least he should be. even if he isn’t where he should be at the moment.

it’s in his nature. he looks out for you.

he loves you.

(it’ll be fine.)

”it’s about time for dinner, isn’t it?” he breaks the shaky silence, stretching his arms out, craning his neck with a quiet crack. a clean break of bone. his gaze is kind, attentive. ”time flies… let me make something for you. what would you like?”

”… anything is fine.”

”anything…” a low chuckle. ”what would you say to some warm stew, then? is that alright?”

it is. after a nod, and a moment’s pause, you sit back down; just to feel the soft fabric sink beneath your weight. suguru hums, pleased, makes his way over to the kitchen. the axe gleams under the glow of the fire, and the deer on the wall watches your every move. the butterflies, too. wings for eyes.

(just for the night, you repeat to yourself.)

a hearty dinner, a warm bed to sleep in, and tea with honey in the morning — it doesn’t sound so bad at all. your mother probably won’t be worried, and your grandmother probably won’t die. no repercussions, the script already broke. staying one more day is fine.

… except he doesn’t let you leave, the morning after.

it starts out small. it always does.

(creeps up on you like a bug in a carcass.)

“it’s too early.”

“it’s too cold, you’ll get sick.”

“don’t you want to stay for dinner?”

a warm smile, a smooth voice, a face with sharp lines and soft skin; tailor-made to put you at ease. suguru is beautiful, familiar, eerie in a sense that only makes you feel at home. he’s always been stubborn, you recall. some part of your body remembers.

but never like this. never, ever like this.

never as suffocating.

“you’re too small to know what’s good for you.”

— there’s that bite. it sneaks up on him and grows teeth. he pats your head, with a calloused hand, and you relent. only gnaw at your bottom lip, jutted out into a frown you hope won’t rouse his anger. you’re still not sure he can even get angry, but he’s scary enough when he makes these choices for you; makes you think you have control over your own actions, all the while stealing it from underneath your feet.

(soon, he’s outright denying you.)

“i— i really need to leave,” you try, almost pleading, on the third night. your lungs are constricting, from the heavy scent of peppermint in the kitchen air, and he’s watching you like you’re nothing but a child demanding candy before bed. “please.”

a sigh, and a shake of his head.

“you aren’t listening, little one.” he turns around, clinks a teaspoon against the edge of a porcelain cup. “it’s safer here. your grandmother can wait.”

nails paint crescents on your inner palms.

“… she’s waited long enough.”

frustration sneaks into your tone. bubbles up into your words like venomous pores. you think he must notice, because his smile is especially gentle when he turns to face you again, all lips and no teeth, still as composed as ever. he steps forward, curls an arm around your waist; he’s starting to lose all pretense of caring about your personal space, of not appearing too familiar. pulling you close. steady, steady, steady.

so much stronger than you.

even when you stir, he doesn’t budge an inch. only lets out another mellow sigh, that fans against the side of your face. you think it sounds a bit amused.

“she’ll be okay,” is all he says. “she doesn’t need you.”

…

“she needs you to be safe.” he must have noticed the crestfallen look on your face. “as do i. you’re staying here, for the time being — it’s no trouble at all.”

he gives you a smile, to ease your nerves, honey-slicked and sweet; but something rotten settles in your gut. bile at the base of your throat, sour. it feels constricting, to be held so close, to be forced to inhale the scent of oakwood and musk on his skin. he’s warm. squeezing you firmly, and you’re sure it’s meant as a comforting gesture, but all you can think is burly arms, solid muscles, the crack of a bone. all you can think is that you’re well and truly powerless.

”believe me.”

when he lets you go, lets you scamper upstairs, you feel as though you can finally breathe again. leaning against the door to the guest room — gazing out through the window at the end of the hall, finding comfort in the swaying of the jade-dyed curtains.

something is very, very wrong. wrong with the hunter, the story, wrong with the home you’re in.

(you think you’re beginning to realize what.)

the hunter’s name is suguru. he appeared right by the edge of the woods, seven pages too early — or four, depending on the edition. he hasn’t let you leave his home, despite his initial offer to shelter you for no more than a day. his voice is deep and smooth, gravelly in the mornings or late at night, like an axe dragged through rugged grounds; or the bark of a tree yet to be cut in half. rough. the pieces dig a grave inside your brain, start to reek of decay.

the hunter is trustworthy.

in the story you call home, this is code of law; a black-and-white truth.

(but hunters don’t smell like wolves.)

hunters don’t watch your every move, or keep you locked against their chests, or make you sneak out in the middle of the night when everything is silent. hunters don’t will you to run away.

but on the fifth night, that’s exactly what you do.

once you’re almost certain he’s asleep in his own room, just two doors down from across the hall, you crack your eyes open and slip out from underneath the covers. shivering, shielded only by the flimsy nightgown suguru lent you to sleep in, sheltering you from the cold seeping in through the windowpane. it’s big on you. every step you take is slow and calculated, soft enough not to make any noise; you hold your breath as you crouch down to pick your coat up, lying in a pile on the floor, stretching your arms out through the gaps and pulling it over your head. then you walk to the door, the window behind you leaking in the faintest strings of moonlight.

the sky is dark, the room you’re in cocooned by its shadow. you can barely even see your own hands when you reach for the doorknob and twist.

no noise. no creak.

a soft sigh slips from your lips, just under your breath. your fingers pull it open, and you step out into the hall— not bothering to close the door behind you. paintings line the walls on the second floor, all depicting landscapes, fields of poppies, sheep in circles, a house on top of a windy hill. watercolour on canvas. you wonder if he painted them by hand.

out of the corner of your eye, you gaze at his bedroom door — you can’t help it. under the light of the moon, it gleams like an omen. sealed tightly shut.

your heart strings together a tale of worry.

(it’ll be fine, you tell yourself. he’s asleep.)

and so you venture down the stairs. placing one foot in front of the other, gripping onto the handrail with all your might, trying not to put too much weight into your steps. heart stuck in your throat. one steps, two steps. you can see the fireplace from here, though the flames have long been stifled. pieces of coal gleam under the light streaming in through the windows, blue flickers that disappear when clouds devour the moon. red carnations painted indigo.

eight steps. nine steps.

when your foot meets the rug on the living room floor, soft under your bare soles, a pang of relief squeezes your veins; a moment where you allow yourself to simply breathe. inhale, exhale, because the hardest part is over. almost there, almost free.

your next couple steps are hungry. burning with delight, moving towards the front door, still careful not to stumble over or into anything — but really, all you can think is that the crispy midnight air is just beyond your grasp. it’s all you can think when you fumble for your shoes in the dark, glance up towards the top of the staircase every other second. anxious, despite your excitement. it all bleeds together.

it’s all you think when you pull up the rug by the front door, grab the key you knew would lie beneath it. all you think as you stick it into the keyhole and twist.

freedom. that’s what the air smells like, as it floods your starving veins — as you move your feet to cross the threshold. floods your lungs, as you gaze up at the moon, smiling in the sky like nothing’s wrong. welcoming you back to the narrative. the wind feels cold on your cheeks, streaming into his house when you push the door open, wild and untethered; swaying the field of flowers just beyond his fence.

freedom. freedom. freedom.

you take a decisive step, leaving the boundary of his home —

and the door slams shut behind you.

(a betrayal of the wind.)

it rings in your ears. you stay frozen in place.

the light flickers on, behind the window right above you. casts a glow on the frosted landscape, on your figure — and you know he’s watching. you feel it.

so you run.

it’s sudden, the spike of pure adrenaline rushing through your veins, completely flooding your senses and numbing your legs — you do not feel the cold of the air, barely see the way your breaths turn into mist as you inhale and exhale. you only think to leap towards the fence, fumbling with the lock, your shaky fingers pushing and pulling until you finally decide to simply climb over — placing the sole of your shoe on the picket and tearing your nightgown on the way down, tripping over your own feet and landing on your palms, scrambling to get back up again. the bruising doesn’t ache, the drag of your skin against gravel — you don’t even hear the tear of fabric. you only hear the pounding of your own heartbeat, feel it crawling up your throat like a snake suffocating on the rabbit it just swallowed whole.

it pitters and patters, against your windpipe, and you run. sprint. everything in front of you is dark, mist thick enough to drown in, clouds devouring the moon again — you don’t really know which way you’re going, only that it’s away from here.

your lungs feel on fire, the air gasoline.

and you hear the door slam shut behind you.

(— the hunter begins his chase.)

tall grass melts around your ankles, ice-cold drops of dew and frosted flowers whipping your bare skin, but you don’t feel it, only feel the fear in your heartbeat as it threatens to make your ribcage burst. fear, fear, the primal kind. everything ahead of you is dark but it doesn’t matter, you’re only focused on running as far as your legs can take you — you’ve never felt a rush like this before. never felt so much like an animal being pursued. the wind tugs your hood away.

distant woods beckon you closer, closer still, swaying and waltzing on a moonlit night. you think yourself mad, to follow that shimmer, but you’ve never been quite right in the head, never really. frost, mist, harsh nips at your skin. the sky above is wide and vast, and everything is silent. everything except for you — a litany of frightened whines tugging at your tongue.

you don’t need to look to know he’s after you. yet you still cast a glance over your shoulder, shuddering suddenly, a gasp pushing past your lips —

he’s stares back at you.

golden eyes, sharpened in the night.

you’re knocked off your feet. thrown forward, with an almost brutal lunge, your body hitting the ground of the flowered field beneath you — it knocks the air from out your lungs, and for a moment you can’t breathe, can only feel the wet earth under your cheek and the sickening weight upon you. he’s pressing you down, with all his body weight, and he’s panting into your ear. holding your wrist so tightly you’re scared it’ll break. the fight doesn’t leave you. the rush is still there. but it has nowhere to go, with your legs stuck, it’s just wasted blood sugar.

you can do nothing but wriggle like a worm. fruitlessly. feeling his hair tickle your neck, hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, you want to cry, the fear is coursing through every narrow of your bones and you’re completely out of breath. you trash and trash, a sparrow with broken wings, but it’s futile.

(he caught you. he caught you. he caught you.)

”i caught you,” he finally pants, like a wounded dog, collapsed on top of you. but you hear his smile, that sickening sound of relief. ”silly, silly little thing.”

it hurts. he’s heavy. your knee is pressing into the soil, uncomfortably, you feel the moisture seeping through the fabric of your nightgown, his pulsing heartbeat against your spine. now the adrenaline is leaving you, sinking out of your body, leaving you boneless. like an animal about to be devoured.

resigned. surrender.

suguru presses a kiss against the side of your neck, teeth just barely grazing your pulsepoint— and the fear inside you spikes like the snap of a mousetrap.

”what were you thinking, hm?”

he doesn’t sound upset, only gently reprimanding. fondly exasperated. somehow, that scares you even more — the shift, the dichotomy, his voice a soothing thunderstorm as he keeps you pinned against the flowerbed. his overwhelming strength, in contrast to how relaxed he sounds. like this is nothing but the natural consequence of your actions.

”… you never change.”

the vice grip on your wrist begins to loosen, as he lifts himself up, no longer crushing you. it’s easier to breathe, but you’re still too rattled to try. still playing dead at your instinct’s demand, eyes pried open as you stare into the eyes of bugs above your nose. you can’t do anything but go limp, as he scoops you up, holds you against his chest, stands up straight. one heavy hand on your head and the other on your back.

he turns around, begins to walk back to his house, and your stomach fills with dread.

”n-no…” is all you can muster, too exhausted to make anything other than a quiet whimper, a weak weep of a protest. but he hears you, and he croons.

“shhh,” he soothes, as you whine into his neck, panting softly. rubbing your back. as if shushing a child that just had a temper tantrum. “you’re okay. i wouldn’t hurt you, little one, you know that.”

but you don’t.

(you don’t know anything anymore.)

”you’re my baby,” he continues, another sickening coo, and it sounds like a death sentence. giddy. he leans down to kiss your throat and you can only think of his teeth. ”only mine. my silly baby.”

a final glance at the sky, before he’s closing the door behind you. you see darkness, only darkness, a page being sewn shut. worms crawling out of the moon.

your skin itches from the burning cold.

suguru wastes no time in seating you by the fireplace, cocooning you with knitted blankets, murmuring something else about how you worried him sick, doing something so reckless. you barely hear him, there’s still blood on your palms and bruising static in your ears, everything stings and you’re still shaking from the rough fall.

he apologizes for that, too.

”i’m sorry i scared you,” he smiles, cupping your chilled skin, the slightest tufts of hair running down the tops of his fingers. ”but you needed the lesson.”

maybe you did.

he can hurt you. he’s capable of it.

you’re sure of that, now, no matter how much he’d insists he wouldn’t — no matter what he says. he’s fractured any dream of a cohesive narrative.

the tea he brings you smells of cinnamon, hot and sweet, but you make no move to drink it. just kind of sit there, as he tries to comfort you, rub salve into your bruised skin, assure you that he isn’t mad. you vacantly stare at the butterflies pinned to the wall, until he says something that catches your attention.

“once i’ve found the wolf, you can leave.” he promises, rubbing your shoulders, your already aching muscles. as if it’ll soothe you, as if telling the truth. “it’ll be okay… just let me handle everything.”

you raise your head to look at him, to meet the river of gold inside his eyes, weaving webs of silk. holy grails are always hoaxes, that’s how the stories go.

”… do you mean it?”

his lips curl up, just a bit, at the sound of your raspy voice, at the sight of you taking shaky sips from the cup. and he nods, silky, only slightly tousled hair swaying tenderly with the lull of his voice. ”i do.”

when he kills the wolf, you can leave.

if only it were that easy.

this is what you know; the hunter’s name is suguru. he appeared right by the edge of the woods, seven pages too early — or four, depending on the edition, give or take. he won’t let you leave his home, never runs out of tea to pour you, his voice turns raspy when it’s late and his arms are hairier than they were yesterday. this past week, you haven’t heard a howl echo from the woods at night even once.

it always starts small. small, decaying pieces, molding together and creating something bigger, more rotten. more than just a carcass.

it’s a corpse.

(and he’s inside it. playing hide-and-seek.)

he’s still smiling at you, making his hands useful, throwing wood into the fireplace when the angry flicker begins to sputter out. you recall your mother’s words, her many warnings. wolves are dangerous. wolves only want to do you harm. wolves don’t know how to love, they only ever show it with their teeth. always the same old stories, the same monsters at the end of every book. wolves, wolves, wolves.

always a wolf, never a man.

when you glance up at the hunter, his ever so softly parted lips, his keen eyes — you think to yourself that you can scarcely tell the difference. that even if you could, it wouldn’t matter. rot is rot, it still decays. you’re still at the mercy of it, of him.

(you’re beginning to think that’s all there is to it.)

you make no move to protest, when suguru pulls you into his lap. holds you close and kisses your wounds until you’re all warmed up, his honeycombed eyes never leaving your face, lit like a slowly sinking sunset. like a man who finally has what he wants.

by the end of the first week, a pit has opened up inside your gut. it smells of a freshly doused fire.

the more time passes, the worse he gets.

the more comfortable.

(he must have taken your resignation as an invitation.)

every morning, when you walk into the kitchen, he pulls you in for a kiss — always just his lips, no tongue, as if he’s afraid of what he’d do to you if he parted them. his big hands squeeze your hips and even if you struggle, try to push him away, he brings you back in, keeps your wrists locked in a steady grip if you’re really putting up a fuss. purse your lips and he’ll pry them open, as simple as peeling an orange.

he’s sweet, about it. gentle.

”let me say hi, little one.”

all you can do is turn limp. just give in, let him take what he wants — which usually isn’t a lot. a kiss, and he’s satisfied, a kiss and he beams like nothing about this is wrong even in the slightest. a kiss, and then he’ll make you tea, and then he’ll watch you drink it.

it’s been just shy of a month since he lured you into his home. you know what he expects of you, by now, you’ve settled into some semblance of routine; one that mostly consists of you being doted on, coddled. suffocated by his presence. he makes you tea every morning, every night, homemade meals of chestnuts and berries and meat. right now, he’s making lemon tea; slicing them with the blade of his knife, dipping them in honey, coating them in sticky-sweet residue. it does nothing to get rid of the sour essence, bitter on your tongue — only makes it bearable.

there’s a gentle smile on his face when he fills a tiny cup and hands it to you, watches you gaze into it. watches as you put your lips against the porcelain and sip, sip, sip. he doesn’t look away until there’s nothing left, his stare like a dagger to your throat.

it’s rare that he lets you out of his sight.

during the day, you’re free to do as you please — anything that doesn’t involve leaving his home, which isn’t a lot. you spend most of your time reading through the books on his shelves, tracing their spines, writing stories on the walls with sharp marker, painting animals and forests on the canvases he lends you. there’s joy to be found in captivity; you think of the rabbits your mother used to own when you were little. anyone can find comfort in a cage.

and it’s not like he never lets you push the bars a little. you may not be allowed to step anywhere near the woods, or outside his field of vision, but he’s taken to letting you play in his garden when he deems the moment right. just to give you some fresh air, as much sunlight as this time of year offers. of course, even then, he has his eyes on you — watching from the window, cutting wood just beyond the fence, each swing of the axe ringing in your ears like the drop of a guillotine. steady hands, toned muscles and arms, broad shoulders and those sharp eyes, sharp like his teeth when he smiles too wide on accident. you can always feel his gaze, and it keeps you from running away, even though the animal inside your chest screams at you to do it already.

but you’re sure you’d fail again.

and were he to catch you — you’re sure he’d no longer be able to resist. the temptation would be too much for him to bear. you were lucky, last time.

(lucky that he still hasn’t realized what he is.)

you’re stuck here, for now. forever. stuck with a man who seems convinced that what he feels for you is love, and not possession, something to hang up on his wall. love like hunters have for headless deer.

or a wolf for a stack of bones.

anyone can find comfort in a cage. it’s true, it’s true, you repeat it to yourself every night, try to find the silver lining in the home he’s made you. he does make it comfortable for you — a soft bed and fluffy pillows, warm food that settles nicely in your stomach, arts and craft to keep you happy. silken bags that never seem to run out. there are always more dried petals to pour into boiling water, a flavour you haven’t yet tried. he always expects you to drink it all. then, when the moon hangs itself in the air, and you’ve tired yourself out — he tucks you into bed. gentle, doting, his voice like a lullaby when he drags the covers up and sits by your bedside, or curls up beside you and reads you bedtime stories until you’re fast asleep. like you’re his grandchild. it’s never easy to relax with his hands on you, but the stories help.

that’s typically when it happens. when you’re lying in bed, when he’s unguarded, his own mind beginning to drift into slumber. he flips through the pages of a dusty fable, smooths your hair down with a steady hand, and his voice loses an octave; a noise that curls around the base of his throat, rumbles through his chest. deep, raspy, gravelly. just shy of a growl. it comes suddenly, reverberates through you, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

suguru clears his throat, and you pretend not to have noticed it. he rewards you with another page or two.

that’s how he is, you’re well aware. what he does best. he tells you things without opening his mouth, shows you his teeth without letting you see them. he knows you know they’re there, and he rewards you for pretending otherwise. keeping him content is in your best interest — he hasn’t hurt you, doesn’t seem like he wants to, but you know that he will.

no one can fight against their nature, and he has one set of teeth too many.

for now, playing into the part he’s made for you is your safest bet. the fire inside your eyes has dwindled, he’s suffocated it, and the rabbit in your chest is pretending to be dead. every morning, you drink the tea he makes you, go pliant as he kisses you, and every night you let him lull you to sleep.

a comfortable cage is exactly right.

(but the temptation to rebel never truly leaves you.)

it’s already been a month. a whole moonspin. that thirst for freedom is lingering, festering, pushing up against the walls of your throat. makes you nauseous, makes the thin thread of your patience tear at the edges. you yearn for the woods, the flower meadows, the squirrels and bugs of the forest grounds. willows and chestnuts and silky splotches of sunshine, fumbling fawns. your grandmother’s sickly stench, your mother’s striking hand. anything but this stasis.

you miss feeling alive.

(you’d cut your skin open to feel it again.)

you know running blindly would prove futile, but that doesn’t halt the desire. you’re trapped, one foot in a bearclaw, and you want out. he’s stronger than you, faster— and he’s always, always watching. you can’t outrun him, he’s always making sure you’re near.

the only advantage you have is this:

suguru believes himself to love you.

maybe, if you just beg enough — beg again, when the moment is right… he’ll let you go. maybe he’ll take pity on the pitiful, defenseless baby he caught.

(maybe if you hide your contempt, but show your desperation— you can win.)

the pot boils over with the stench of rotten apricots.

they’re still in the basket you brought with you, under the knitted tablecloth, discarded in a storage room linked to the kitchen. you just wanted a quiet place to read, but now you feel too sick. sick with the stench of rotting fruit-flesh. you can smell it even without removing the cloth, and you know what you’ll see if you do — a bottle of wine, molded slices of cake, and sticky, sickly-sweet decay. dirt-brown in colour.

you’re reminded of the day you came. reminded of how long it’s been, who these apricots were for.

and suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

(no one can fight against their nature. that includes you, too.)

with a start, you stand up straight, and leave the rotting basket behind you; opening the door of the storage and making your way to the living room. a wreath of bluebells is hung above the fireplace, crackling and sputtering, snowflakes falling softly from the skies beyond the windowpane. suguru is right where you knew he’d be, seated on an armchair and knitting a sweater, looping two needles through thick thread. his hair is down, and his eyes are closed in pure contentment; formed into thin crescents.

the air smells of chestnuts and incense.

you inhale it, walk up to him with a plea on your tongue — your voice a desperate push of air.

”please let me leave.”

his smile falls. before he even has a chance to open up his eyes, caramel spilling out through slits, before he can usher you into his lap and knead his hands into your body, ’warm you up’ the way he likes.

it’s rare, to see him without it. it makes him look naked.

(it makes him look unsettling.)

but he’s still gentle, when he breathes out a sigh, places the needles on the wooden table to his left.

”… this, again?” he clicks his tongue, sounding disappointed in a way you don’t like, a quiet lull. ”and i here i thought you’d finally decided to behave.”

his tone makes you shiver. something about it feels final, like you’ve pushed too far, reached some kind of dead end he’d been keeping concealed until now. there’s a barely noticeable crease between his brows, and his jaw is tense, lips formed into a tight line. not rough enough to be truly reprimanding, but it’s close. you’re suddenly aware of how small you feel, like this.

how powerless you are against him.

but you push through.

”… i just —” you try, gnawing at your bottom lip even though he’s told you not to bruise it. ”i’m just tired. i don’t want this, i — i’m not happy.”

a slip of your tongue, and a twitch of his jaw.

(his lips curl into a scowl.)

”you are,” he exhales, strained, like you just struck a narrow nerve. ”you’re happy. i take care of you.”

a shuddering breath. you inhale, shallow, trying to stay your ground, trying not to falter after snapping on the twig of his patience. you know what sleeps inside him, and you’re afraid of it. terrified. the hunter is one thing, the wolf is another. but there’s a line between the two, and you can tread it through —

tread it through and through and through.

”… you take care of me,” you concede, watching as the muscle of his jaw slacks, softens, ever so slightly. ”but i’m still not… i’m not happy. i want to leave.”

the fire crackles behind you, logs of wood splintering and snapping, budding heat easing the tension in your bones. silence settles over the scene, stretches out and lays itself to rest there like a wounded animal. suguru just watches you, with smothering eyes, like he knows something you don’t; gaze focused, expression set in stone. knitting your features into his mind with a broken needle.

and then a grating sigh.

”… how many times have we repeated this, little red?” he asks, his voice thick with anger, though you’re unsure as to who it’s aimed at. his eyes burn with something devastating, something that smells of a forest fire and wails like a bleeding dog. ”how many times will you make me go through this?”

suddenly, he’s standing up from his armchair. rising to his full height, towering over you, lifting a hand up to caress the apple of your cheek. it makes you flinch, and his lip twitches, and suddenly his fingers are trailing down to the very base of your throat. as gentle as if he were handling one of the butterflies on his wall. you’re worried he’s going to squeeze down, but he never does, just keeps a hand there like all he wants is to feel the rapid thumping of your pulse.

and his eyes burn you to cinders.

”how many times have i had to watch you be swallowed down… by someone other than myself?”

the question hangs in the air like a noose. grates your ears, heavy with an anguish you couldn’t hope to understand. a skip of your heartbeat — except it feels more like a crash. his fingers never move and your body turns to ice, accepts the hand that feeds it, if only because he looks like he could swallow you whole and still not feel satisfied.

”… far too many,” he seethes. palm finally moving from your throat to cup your cheek, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ”you’re too frail, too — naive. i can’t trust you to be good.”

a gasp pushes past your lip, when his other arm curls around your waist and tugs you closer, keeps a possessive hold on your hip. his body heat is suffocating, it only makes your heartbeat sputter.

”… you can’t keep me here forever,” you murmur, the words laced with fear. spoken carelessly.

(and this time, you can practically hear the snap.)

a dangerous flicker, through his earthen eyes. it’s there and then it’s gone, and it’s enough of a warning on its own, a spark of fury that has you biting your tongue, squirming where you’re held against his steady frame. his grip around your waist morphs into something almost painful, just a pinch away, not quite enough for you to get away with pulling back.

you hear the words before he says them. they rattle against the back of your teeth.

”i can.”

spoken in a whisper, through gritted teeth, an echo from deep within his stomach— he practically spits them out, eyes burning into yours, an overwhelming density in how he carries himself. the words are heavy like lead, and you can tell he believes them.

he can keep you here.

(forever, and ever, and ever.)

a shiver claws against your spine, drags its nails down your back, and you think he can tell, that he feels you shudder against him. like a frightened fawn in front of a headlight. it’s enough to have his pupils dilating, his fingers loosening their grip, a breath of shaky air escaping his lips— like he’s finding it hard to keep his composure. to be tender and merciful.

once the silence has stretched on for a beat too long, and your breathing still hasn’t mellowed— he speaks.

”don’t you think it hurts me?” he asks, just above a tender whisper, brushing a thumb against your cheekbone. just barely grazing your lower lashline, streaks of black hair framing his burdened eyes. ”watching you be deceived, again and again…”

suguru exhales a bated breath, chest moving in tandem, pressed flush against your own. for a moment, you think he looks rather sad.

”… i’m tired,” he admits. ”i’m tired of having to cut you out of his stomach. you did this to yourself.”

…

when you empty your thoughts, you can still feel it. the warm embrace of succulent flesh.

(you never asked to be devoured.)

”you can’t protect yourself,” he tells you, with the same tone that he always has, the tone that tells you he knows best. ”so i will do it for you.”

a twitch of his fingertips. you feel it, as his hand slides down the expanse of your face, tips your head up with a finger underneath your chin. you’ve gone pliant, again. he leans in, until you can’t tell who the breaths you’re exhaling are coming from.

”do you understand?”

every bone in your body wants to move, pull away, but you’re worried his nails will sink into your skin if you dare to try. he’s positively suffocating, like this. demanding a response. you want to flee, you want to fight, you want to grab the axe behind you and drive it into his skull. you’re terrified of him. you loved him, once. the hands that are keeping you locked away are the same that dug through blood and guts to drag you out of your grave. he’s never letting you go.

never again.

no matter how much you beg.

you can see it in his eyes, the trail of ash they leave behind when he blinks. the carnal desperation in his voice. there is no ’leaving’ him — the fire that burns in him is brighter than yours, far more damning.

so there’s no point.

his lips are inches away from your own. golden eyes peeled open, palm covering the expanse of your jaw, arm like a bear trap around your waist — snapped shut. suguru awaits your response, and you give it to him with a voice that barely sounds like your own.

”… i understand.”

(obedience and ignorance, you echo inside your mind. obedience and ignorance is all he asks.)

a moment passes, and his muscles finally go lax, eyes softening like melted snow; a sigh slipping past his lips. closing in, claiming your own. you can taste what he’s feeling, but it’s too much to bear.

”… good,” he smiles, against your lips. ”good baby.”

the praise does nothing to soothe the pit inside your stomach, but it doesn’t matter. he’s not angry, anymore, and that’s as good as anything. you let him kiss you and it doesn’t even make you want to vomit.

it doesn’t make you feel a thing.

”if you just stay here, you’ll be fine,” he continues, breathing you in and out again. ”you’ll be safer.”

safer tucked between his ribs, or lodged inside his throat. so much safer playing dead all year.

(you think of rotten apricots, and bile rises in your throat.)

a moment’s hesitance. you find the will to speak. ”just… my grandma,” you murmur, pulling away from the kiss by a hair, not that he’d let you go if you tried. you look up into his eyes with a pleading gaze, voice a little broken. ”can you at least… give her the wine?”

suguru pauses.

then sighs, a rock from out his heavy chest. pulling back and giving you space to breathe, cradling a lock of your hair with greedy fingers. ”you don’t have to worry about her, anymore,” is all he says. ”believe me.” he’s smiling, just barely, voice meant to soothe you out of making a fuss. but there’s really no need.

you’re well aware of what he means.

(and that’s the end of that.)

”… okay,” you answer, the words pulled out of your throat by an invisible string. ”i won’t, then.”

the smile you muster is strained at best, but suguru glows in its light. looks proud, eyes crinkled at the edges, burning pages of paper on an open fire.

a coo on his tongue that he wants to let out.

”sweet thing,” he purrs, sweltering. ”you were just feeling a little cranky, hm…? must be hungry.”

his hand caresses your stomach, rubbing the skin just beneath your navel, and you feel the beginnings of nausea swell up in the very back of your throat. but you stifle it, lean into it, you have no choice.

you nod, and he smiles.

”i was meaning to use that wine for something, anyway…” he lets out a hum, thinking for a moment. ”coq a vin, perhaps? would you like that, little dear?”

”… mhm.”

he seems content, with that response.

the snow outside the window mocks you with its shimmer.

time continues to pass. the cycle repeats, the same as always.

you think you’re finally starting to get used to it.

suguru grows more wolfish by the day. there’s more hair on his arms and chest, his teeth are longer, when he kisses you he sometimes starts to drool. his voice is deep, his meals taste about the same, he still never runs out of lullabies or bags of tea. wolfsbane, lupine, ipomoea alba — he tastes them on your tongue, drinks them from out your mouth. you’re beginning to forget who you were before him. every day, he tells you that he loves you. you think you could believe it if you tried. maybe, you could even love him back.

if only you didn’t know the truth.

it’s more than a suspicion, now. no longer an if, but a when, a question you don’t dare ask — but there’s no need to. when the hunter falls asleep, the wolf makes tea in the kitchen. you live with them both. they’re a duo, a pair of lovers; never one without the other.

(one of these days, you’re sure they’ll eat you.)

the book you’re reading feels weighty in your hands. you’ve already read it before; you’ve read nearly all of them, fingers far too familiar with the dusty shelves. suguru promised to go get more, though you have no idea from where. you’re not sure knowing would do you any good. he’s upstairs, in your room, scrubbing at the walls to get rid of all your scribbles. it’s bound to take a while — if you dashed out the door now, maybe he wouldn’t notice. but the key is in his pocket, and he’d hear the crack of window glass.

it’s nothing more than a temporary comfort— something to indulge in, roll around and around in your head until you realize how silly you’re being.

you’re broken down, plain and simple, and winter is gnawing itself into the world. ice-cold teeth sinking into the ground beneath your feet, and eating the baby hares buried there. suguru chops wood for the fireplace every single day, just to keep you warm, made a sweater for you that smells too much like him. you sneak a glance out the window, admiring the heavy blanket of pure-white snow draped around the woods; a red fox scurries across your vision, yipping joyeously, skeletal trees shimmering faintly in the distance. a whole world just without you.

it’s comforting. the air smells slightly toasted and your feet are warm, clad in fuzzy socks. you haven’t been outside in some time; suguru’s been reluctant since you sprained your ankle on a sheet of ice in the backyard. you wish you’d hit your head instead.

(you miss the cold sting of the wind.)

each turn of a new page drags you deeper into your own subconscious, sinking into a fragile illusion of peace. paper-thin, falling upon your thumb, your eyes scanning the inked letters tiredly. stories aren’t worth reading more than once, you think, the magic fades away eventually. you can barely taste the citrus the protagonist eats, fingers dipping between the ridges, teeth sinking into the tender flesh. rinse and repeat. boring, boring, you want something new — a thriller, a romance, even something like —

a noise, echoing from the hallway.

rap, tap, tap.

(knuckles against wood.)

it rings in your ears. rattles down your spine. two seconds, eight, ten — all thoughts disappear from your brain and leave only misty foam behind them. a blank slate. rap tap tap, curling inside your ear canal.

when you come to, your heart is pulsing.

a moment of silence. the house is quiet, so very quiet, you’re afraid suguru will hear your breathing from the second floor. everything feels frozen solid and suddenly you want to hurl, get the sickness out of your gut — watch it spill out all over the floor. but you remain planted in front of the fireplace, watching flames flicker and lick a stripe from coal to wood, waiting for something to happen.

(it already has.)

another knock.

this time, you shoot up to your feet — like your mind just realized it wasn’t an auditory hallucination, another mass of hysteria seething in your frontal lobe — your hands clammy as they try to find solace in the fabric of your clothing. gripping onto the wool.

on shaky legs, you move forward. making your way towards the hall, slow and steady, soles against soft flooring. eyes blown wide, skittishly peeking around, out the windows and towards the stairs. suguru. you picture him on his knees, tail wagging behind him, dragging wet cloth against faded tapestry, salvaging his ruined walls so you can ruin them again. you picture him hearing the knock, rushing down, pinning you against the floor until your knees ache.

you picture him none the wiser, and inhale the air like you haven’t in days — gathering courage, dragging your feet towards the source of the noise.

pitter, patter, pitter, patter.

your heart throbs inside your chest, flexes its legs until it knocks against your ribs, makes you jolt — your lungs holding onto every breath you take with shaky fingers. the deer mount on the wall gazes at you, antlers pointing towards the front door, and when your eyes land on the handle you swear you can feel it. the presence of a living, breathing thing.

just behind the door.

and you can do nothing but stare. unblinking, heart still crammed at the base of your throat, scraping at the walls like a squirming bug. you feel like a deer trapped in headlights. your mind crackles, halts, comes to life again, the pages coming undone from their bindings and spilling out over the floor — smudged with ink, a seven-letter word.

freedom. freedom. freedom?

(hope.)

a third knock, more curt. it sends a tingle down your spine, down your bones, makes your hand twitch, as if eager to twist the doorknob. finally, someone is here. someone came to get you. no one forgot.

no one forgot about you.

you move your leg, and —

”keep still.”

… a breath brushes against your neck.

(ba-dump. ba-dump.)

only stillness. only silence, strangling you. there’s someone behind you and you didn’t even notice, there’s a hand on your hip to keep you in place, another latching itself onto your mouth to keep you from making any noise. your heartbeat spikes, collapses in on itself, but he is there to catch you.

he’s always there to catch you.

suguru has you enveloped, his scent like a heavy pelt tossed over your shoulders, familiar tones of earth and musk polluting your senses. you’re wrapped up in it. you feel so small, small enough to disappear into the dip between his chest and stomach, right between his ribs. he’s keeping you so still you barely remember to breathe, can only pant shallowly against his big hand and pray he isn’t angry at you.

too frightened to do anything else, you gaze at him out of the corner of your eye.

and ah, there it is. black hair, golden eyes, a silent quiver of his jaw; like he’s trying not to snap it, trying not to bare his teeth. they’re sharp. when he kissed you this morning you felt them nip at your skin.

(you think he was trying to control himself.)

his pupils are sharpened, eyes blown open, staring straight ahead. he’s making no noise, no sound, only the most subtle of breathing patterns — like a hunter in waiting, like he’s got one finger on the trigger.

yet another knock, impatient, and his grip around your waist grows tighter. a barely audible growl rumbles in his throat, you feel it against the back of your head, let out an involuntary whimper that has something growing hard behind you but you refuse to acknowledge it, refuse to think about it, you’d rather die. he’s immobile and you’re just as paralyzed, only able to watch the door, watch your salvation slip away. again. again and again and again.

one, two, six, nine. the seconds tick on in time with your mismatched heartbeats, and nothing happens.

then, the sound of boots against gravel.

moving farther, and farther away.

(they’re leaving, they’re leaving, they’re leaving.)

”… there,” he rasps, finally, lethally deep, as if culling a calm to your nerves. it doesn’t work, only makes your heartbeat pick up in speed, another tiny whimper muffled against his hairy palm—

you swallow down a sniffle.

and he loosens his grip, sharp eyes melting into liquored honey. a coo, as he spots the beginnings of tears at your lashline, glistening like morning dew.

(you can’t take this, anymore.)

”… my poor baby,” comes a croon, a voice thick with fondness; shushing you softly, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb. ”poor little thing.”

you’re still pressed against him, chest to back, he’s warm and suffocating and you’re reliant on his thrumming heartbeat just to find your own breathing. he’s cradling you like a mother to her child, and it makes you feel anything but safe— makes you feel like a bird in the maw of a rottweiler, like your clothes are soggy and dragging you underwater. your chest is caving in, hot tears burning at your eyes, and god, you’re just so fucking tired.

you’re tired of this. tired of him, tired of the story you’re in. tired of having to hope again and again.

(no one’s coming to rescue you. no one at all.)

”must have been so scary,” he continues, rubbing his cheek against your head, leaning down to smear a kiss against the side of your neck, ”’m sorry. i’ll handle everything, you hear me? don’t be afraid.”

another sniffle, you can’t help it. you bite down on your lip to stop it but all it does is make you taste iron, hot and heavy, a burning sting. your voice feels wobbly, forcing it into shape feels like trying to turn water into ice with your bare fingers; yet you try.

it comes out pitiful.

a broken, battered whisper.

”… i wanna go home…”

more of a whimper than a sentence, it pulls a sigh from out his lips. ”you are home,” he tells you, softly.

you struggle to withhold a bubbling sob, one you know will have you stuck in his arms for the rest of the night. your limbs feel limp but you still dig your teeth into your bottom lip and wipe at your eyes with frustrated humiliation, refusing to let him see you crumble. suguru stays still, just watching, waiting for the ripe moment to pluck your tears and comfort you, but he won’t get it. you won’t give it to him.

when he noses at your pulsepoint, something like an animal whine rips from your throat, scratchy and dry. you squirm, scratch at his forearms where they’re wrapped around you — panicked, feral — and he lets go. he lets you glare at him, through eyes wet with freshly spilled tears, only gives you a look you know means he’s feeling sorry for you. something like a silent oh, look how you’re trembling, look how much you need me, poor thing. it’s demeaning, but all you care about is pushing him away, storming up to your room. for once, he lets you. must think it’s best you deal with your little tantrum on your own for now.

you’re sure he’ll come knocking when it’s time for your bedtime story, but for now you’re alone. free to close the door behind you, collapse against it.

a weak, gurgling sob.

home. this is home.

(if you accepted that — would it hurt any less?)

all you can muster is the strength to smush your snotty face against your elbows, knees against your chest, curling in on yourself. choking out hitched little breaths, all broken and bruised and wrecked into bits. a marble bashed against concrete, over and over and over again, there’s nothing there but glass-splatter. you’re glad he isn’t here to see it. glad he can’t force you to seek out his body warmth, his steadying heartbeat, that you won’t have to hear him coo out reminders that you aren’t needed out there.

(nobody out there needs you. not your mother, or your grandmother, not the story you’re in.)

(you’re a lousy protagonist. better off in the ground.)

if only you could bring yourself to believe it. if only you were capable of swallowing down hope without spitting it back out again. if only you knew better than to trust a wolf, or a hunter, or anyone at all.

if only you weren’t you —

maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

broken, broken, a crack in the middle of your heart.

suguru comes knocking at your door, eventually. there is no lock, you have to let him in, but by then you’re fast asleep. faded into a dreamless slumber.

(you won’t feel it, won’t see it, won’t have to kiss him back. he’ll tuck you into bed without waking you.)

it happens, at last. a long overdue curtain call.

but not to you.

the smell of rot sticks to the walls, bleeds out against the carpet and wails like a dog. the stench of flesh, suffocating ever narrow of your cells, the marrow of your bones. he probably thought you’d be asleep. he probably doesn’t know how thin the walls are.

you stand by the threshold to the kitchen, and peek in through the gap left by the storage room’s open door.

pale moonlight spills in through the window, casts a dim-lit blue across the floorboards and shatters on suguru’s back. illuminates him, where he lays, hunched over like a dog. eating something.

someone.

(a man with a shotgun over his shoulder.)

you can barely make it out, seeing only shadows and shapes. hell on earth, hell permeating the world and forcing it down your throat. you can’t see his face, only his ears, his tail, beautiful blood pooled underneath his knees and glistening in the light. can only hear the noises of him chewing, the sickening crack of a bone being split, gnarls and growls like he’s having trouble fitting it all into his mouth, taking too-big bites all at once. they make you nauseous, make your stomach twist with panic and disgust. desperate to quell your terror-struck breaths, you keep a hand clasped over your mouth— willing your guts to stay unspilled. you’d rather not have him clean it up; rather not owe him any favours at all.

rather not interrupt him in the middle of his meal.

the stench is excruciating. iron and molding meat, damp clothes and patches of wet fur. thick. it makes tears sting behind your eyelids, burn at your lashline, your entire body shaking, skeleton rattling under your skin— panic wailing in your shuddering veins.

it’s happening. it’s happening, but not to you.

(and isn’t that a blessing? to play the role he always has. always just watching everything go wrong.)

(maybe you’ve always hated him. maybe you just couldn’t tell.)

it takes effort to keep yourself upright, to force your knees not to buckle. you’re scared, you’re scared, whatever rabbit made a nest inside your heart is trying to gnaw its way out and it hurts. you’re cold and hot all at once. you think you might pass out, like this; clutching onto the wall with unsteady fingers.

suguru seems to be enjoying himself, feasting on god knows who, tearing through veins and muscle tissue, carving a path that reeks of rotten fruit and guts. it’s horror incarnate. you pray it’s all a dream, a nightmare. you pray you’ll wake up soon. but you’re still frozen when you squeeze your eyes shut, and he’s still hunched over in the storage room when you open them. shallow breaths scrape against your throat, and you swallow down the bile building up at its base. taking a wobbly, wobbly step back.

you thank your lucky stars he does not peek over his shoulder. tip-toeing towards the stairs, leaving the blood and the grit behind before he spots you. you are gone by the time he’s finished, gone by the time he licks the entrails from between his teeth and cranes his head to look behind him.

golden eyes violating the dark.

when you crawl back into bed, fruitlessly trying to gain control over your trembling limbs, wipe the sight from your mind — you are sure of only one thing.

this is the tipping point. this is where the cup runs over. it has to, or it’ll break into pieces, bleed open. you’re never going to forget this; the buzzing of fleas, the smell of rotten apricots. the smell of death, hot and heavy, iron seeping into the back of your tongue and tearing out your teeth. warm, hot blood. gurgling up at the base of your throat with steady thumps.

(your story wasn’t supposed to be like this, a voice echoes in your head. not like this.)

terror. terror. desperation, a silent crack in the night. something in your gut settles, right when you feel so faint you’re sure you’ll pass out — a cold calm.

suddenly, you know what you have to do. you know exactly what the story is about to demand.

(keep that fire burning. even if you burst aflame.)

you stare at the ceiling until dusk turns to day.

a tentative sip.

you hold onto the rim of the cup with steady fingers, warm skin against cold porcelain, and drink slowly; one gulp after another. it tastes good. mellow and vibrant, makes a home on the roof of your mouth, sticks to the back of your teeth. there’s a nutty aftertaste that you can’t help but savour.

he’s trying out something new, today; a bundle of golden leaves, simmering in the liquor-like water, a trail of sweet-smelling steam wafting up into the air. beautiful, if nothing else. flickering softly.

it’s a wonder you still haven’t grown tired of tea. a wonder he keeps finding new ones for you to try.

(he’s fond of flowers, you’re well aware. fond of plucking them by hand, while they’re young and pretty, robbing them from the ground, putting them in hot water and vases and paintings on the wall.)

(yesterday, he asked if he could do your portrait.)

it’s time for your bedtime story. you’re curled up in bed, on freshly washed silken sheets, buried under a fluffy blanket with suguru to your right, sitting on a wooden chair with a fable in his lap. paintings of rabbits and foxes, girls and goats. they’ve grown more childlike, over time, the books he reads to you aloud; the ones he keeps on his shelves. he doesn’t like it when you indulge in anything too graphic.

a nightlight keeps you company, shines a light on the pages in the dark of your room. a small comfort.

in tandem with his words, the curtains sway, tender as the lull of his tongue— window barricaded just behind them. he’s wearing a blouse, with puffy sleeves that barely reach down to his elbows anymore. he’s gotten bigger. there’s a rasp in his throat when he speaks but the softness is still present, the silent turning of another page, he holds them in between his fingers before letting them fall. looks at peace. it’s raining outside, a quiet drizzle, warming up the earth from the frost and snow — a gentle pitter patter against the windowpane. you can almost smell the damp earth, the moss and worms, content to imagine it as tea trickles down your throat, pumps its way into your heartbeat.

content to watch your captor playing house.

(soon, this’ll all be over.)

(soon.)

”… your arms are hairy, suguru.”

your words cut into the silence, shatters the illusion of peace and quiet, spill into the open air. the wolf by your bedside looks surprised, for a moment; a silent series of blinks, raven lashes taking flight. usually, you’d be nothing but silent during this routine.

”do you not like it?” he asks, letting the page flutter shut, fall over his thumb. ”i can shave.”

you pay no mind to his response. only push yourself up on your elbows, sluggishly, reach your fingers out to curl around his roughed up knuckles.

”and your hands are big…”

a flicker, in his ashen eyes. he lets you trace along his hands, dip your fingertips down the valleys and across the bumps, the callouses and scars.

(and oh, he knows what you’re doing now.)

so he plays along.

”… the better to hold you with,” he whispers, low and sweet — bringing your hand to his lips, smearing a kiss against the inside of your palm. you feel the curve of his smile cut into your skin.

a beat. your hand slips away from his touch, travels down to his jaw, tips it up with a thumb beneath his chin. suguru eyes you. hungrily, your instincts tell you. he’s pliant, though, a domesticated thing — doesn’t bat an eye when your fingers tug at his upper lip and expose a row of white teeth. pink gums.

a silent intake of breath.

”… and your teeth are sharp.”

silence. you can see your own reflection in the gleam of his canines, watch it waver like great tides in the sea. you look nothing like you remember.

and suguru looks conflicted.

”the better to…” he whispers, latches onto your wrist and cups your palm— keeps it in place as he nuzzles against it, closing his mouth. ”protect you with.”

something in your chest tightens and coils, at that. he smiles, almost sheepish, and you want to kill him, want to drag his own axe through his stomach, hear the clanking of metal against the bone of a rib.

a voice like no other rings in your ears.

(at least have the gall to say it out loud.)

the fwhip of a book being shut. his thumb slips out from between the pages, comes to rest against the spine, and you know it’s time for bed. you feel a tentative lick, against the skin of your palm, before he’s letting go of your wrist. it makes you shudder, and his eyes crinkle like you just did something cute.

(it’s nearly over. it’s nearly over.)

you feel as if you might throw up.

”… goodnight, sweet thing.”

his voice curls into your mind, around your neck, wriggles like a worm inside your ear. you don’t say it back. you stay silent, as he pulls away.

the nightlight flickers off.

once upon a time, you’re sure your story had an ending.

it’s a distant memory, at this point. a bundle of blurry memories, a sense of knowledge about what goes where. but you can still recall the catharsis.

at its core, little red riding hood is a tale about foolishness. a tale about girls who stay snug in the bellies of beasts, curl up close to their intestines and wait patiently to be rescued. this is no surprise to you. you’ve been devoured thousands of times, it’s in your nature, what you were born to do— there is no version of the story where you aren’t tangled up in meat thread or being swallowed whole. no version where you aren’t a victim, born to wait your turn.

you’re well beyond accepting that.

all children must exit the womb, and all little reds must escape the wolf’s stomach. neither cage was meant to keep you, even if he’d disagree.

but now you really are trapped.

(trapped in the cage he made you, a bookmark glued to paper-skin.)

you sit in his armchair, and gaze into the fireplace. waiting for a cue. suguru is in the kitchen, as always, the sound of a whistling kettle seeping through the air, chattering with steam. gusts of wind claw against the windows, wail and whine against the glass. the woods sway in the distance, mocking shades of green shimmering faintly; beckoning you closer, closer still, into their depths. winter is about to end.

the sun is stuck in vitro.

the deer mount on the wall looks at you with dead, glazed-over eyes. dead like the pinned-up butterflies, dead like every single thing in his home. dead tea leaves, dead men in storage rooms, dead little reds.

the axe glimmers by the fireplace.

an inhale, inflating your lungs. it has to end. the story hungers for it — there has to be some way to reach it.

(everything’s already broken, anyway.)

crackling, splintering, wood on fire. ash gathers at the bottom of the hearth, tears itself into pieces and crumbles into a lifeless heap. your eyes watch the flames lick into each other’s mouths, make a home there. they’re consuming each other. getting their fill. you think of his tongue, his teeth, his voice— you think of the shotgun over his shoulder and the glint in his eye, his greedy hands squeezing at your midriff. you think of the axe, just resting there, leather sheath snug around the steel. waiting, waiting, waiting.

”the tea is ready, honey.”

— and you stand up.

his voice carries across the living room, a jumbled growl of syllables — you scarcely hear them, eyes fixated on the gleaming steel in front of you. fingers hungry for contact, eager to rip the sheath right off.

it’s time to choose an ending.

you could live in his belly, if you wanted, just like this. forevermore. could tuck yourself between his teeth and grow comfortable there. that, or you could cut your way out — stain the last page red yourself, before he gets the chance to. lick the excess off your wrist and tear the binding in half. it’s all or nothing, this or that; an axe in his stomach, his teeth in your neck. your choice, yes, but it’s time to make it.

you know which one you want.

(”and little red riding hood reached for the axe.”)

— it feels right, in your hand. feels right to hold, have it weigh you down, become part of your skeletal structure. everything finally feels just right.

an inhale. your breathing turns more shallow, quiet breaths seeping from out your throat, lips parting silently. a flicker, your gaze darting in the direction of the kitchen, zeroing in on the shadow cast across the threshold. heart, liver, lungs. you can feel them all, count them all. they’re all clambering up your esophagus. worms in your throat, under rocks.

(now. now. do it now.)

hunger. hunger. hunger.

you don’t care what the consequences are, anymore.

a moment of silence. you hear not the whooshing of the wind, the whistling of the kettle, or the sound of tea being poured into cups. you hear neither his voice nor your own footsteps — only the steady beating of your own heart, a bunny about to break into sprint. one step forward. two. his back is visible, the hair at his nape, he’s pouring tea into porcelain cups. he’ll never know what hit him, what he brought into his home. ba-dump. ba-dump. the floorboards split apart, and the binding comes undone.

his guts will spill out just the same.

[ … and ▇▇ ▇ne did ▇▇▇ing t▇ harm h▇▇, ▇ver again. ]

you creep up behind him, stealthy as a fox —

and swing.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #yandere geto #cw dark content #cw yandere

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ratatatastic · 4 months ago

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im sorry i love the timeline of this fucking hat that he wore it for two days (media day and the day of his signing) like a cartoon character

yeah if youd like to know hes got our whole team including our merch team whipped for him

#i keep coming back to this #if not because he really loves that hat #maffhew who becomes extremely attached to a single item like its charmed #his attachment to these items like its a security blanket must be studied

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smileycarat · 1 year ago

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idol!wonwoo x idol!reader pt 2

in which wonwoo and reader have more cute moments together in public that send fans into a frenzy

a/n: thank you soooo much for the love the other wonwoo x idol!reader received, it meant the world <3 this could be seen as a part two but it can also be read as a standalone! lmk what you think and pls like and reblog <3

talk about a power couple

the first time that you both get spotted at the airport, there was a mass surge of people and paparazzi trying to capture the perfect shot of you

not only did you have bodyguards form a circle around you both to separate you from the crowds, but the airport security also had to step in and provide another barrier

there were still video footage of wonwoo holding your hand and leading you out at a brisk pace as he followed the bodyguards in front of him

fans couldn’t handle the fact that you both wore matching bucket hats to the airport

there is also footage of him waiting for you to get into the car and away from the paparazzi's eyes before stepping in after you

since his Instagram post that confirmed your relationship, people have been all the more eager to capture moments of you both together publically

there was one day when there were pictures leaked of you both at the park, seemingly towards the end of a picnic date

in defense of you both, you had been at a park that was slightly more secluded and you had been in a corner under a tree

and you had both been wearing masks, but that did not deter fans from being able to recognize you

however, in the pictures, you were both sitting above a picnic blanket, and wonwoo was leaning against the tree that was providing you both with shade

you had your head lying on his lap as you spoke animatedly with your hands, and his own hands were playing with the ends of your hair as he listened to your story

there was another picture of where he was tugging you up from under your arms until your upper body rested on his own and he was hugging you from behind

lastly, there was a short video of you both still in the same position, looking around quickly (yet missing the camera facing in your direction) before removing your masks for a quick selfie

fans begged and pleaded under your posts for you to upload the selfie, but for now, they will have to deal with the grainy footage of you and wonwoo

you were known to tease your fans, so the day you posted a picture of the picnic, it being of the blanket with all the cute food set up, inadvertently confirming you knew about the picnic fiasco, people lost their minds

wonwoo was right behind you posting an instagram story of the sky, covered by the greenery of a very familiar tree...

at award shows, the dynamic between you two is very much similar to how it was before you started dating

you still sit with your respective groups, however, cameras are very much so watching for any and all interactions

especially how the corner of his lips quirk up when you send a bright smile his way

or how he slightly bows his head when your group walks by to approach the stage

whenever your group wins an award, cameras be damned, this man stands to applaud you

(this also prompts the rest of svt to join)

(you have some very enthusiastic cheerleaders thanks to him)

don't worry, he also gets the same treatment from you when svt receives a reward

you are one of the first people on your feet with your hands cupped around your mouth as you cheer along with the rest of the audience

cameras capture your adorable reaction to the win, projecting it on the big screen, and how your group members also join you in cheering

svt members (soonyoung and seokmin) copy your cheering and jumping on stage while seungcheol is giving their acceptance speech

wonwoo has to nudge them to calm down but he has a small grin on his face as he slightly bows in your direction

when walking past each other, you both smile at each other, and the cameras absolutely go OFF when he quickly interlocks his pinky with yours before continuing in opposite directions

despite being a very private person, this man is extremely down bad

when you perform, his eyes do not leave the stage, even leaning forward slightly to catch a better look

is always the first to stand to applaud after your performance

fans always await a photo from the event (especially if you both), and you deliver with a simple picture of both of your dress shoes from the event

when both of your groups have a comeback around the same time, people are begging for a dance collab

especially when other svt members collab with other members form your group

almost all the comments are asking for wonwoo and you

the day that your dance collab drops is the day that your fans will keep replaying

it very quickly became your most watched and liked tiktok video on both of your pages

anytime one of your groups were mentioned, the dance collab was to be mentioned as well

pretty sure it changed the trajectory of some people's lives

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innerfare · 5 months ago

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You See His Cabin For The First Time

Summary: You see their cabin (or in Sabo's case, his bedroom at the RA base) for the first time.

Characters: Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Luffy: He's literally so proud of just his hammock. Insists it can hold the both of you and could probably hold the entire crew if you tried, asks if you want to try, asks you if you’re sure when you say no. Definitely has a couple of dirty dishes that he’s forgotten about, as well as a few wrappers on the floor. Has some fishing poles, a net, quite a few different games, and a bookshelf that’s full of both comic books and snacks so that he doesn’t have to go all the way to the kitchen if he gets hungry in the middle of the night.

Zoro: Your first thought is, why does it smell so freaking good in here? You expected dirty laundry strewn around and the stench of sweat and maybe a hint of metal from those blades he was always sharpening. And sure, there is a hint of metal in the air, probably more from the many weights against the wall than his swords, but it also smells fresh, like laundry detergent. He has his own wanted posters on his wall- not just the current one, but the old ones, too, all of them lined up in order so you can see his increasing bounty. He also has a collection of unique booze bottles from all over the world, his equivalent of keeping a map with pins in the locations he’s visited. Oh, and there’s an anatomy coloring book and some markers that belong to Chopper that Zoro keeps in his room because sometimes when Chopper is having a bad day, he wants to chill with his dad big bro.

Sanji: Sparkling clean, and yet, he’ll apologize anyway because the pillows aren’t fluffy enough, the rug isn’t completely straight, etcetera. His closet is very well organized, all of his clothes ironed and properly taken care of (Sanji’s the rare type to actually read labels and do his laundry accordingly). His most prized possession is a book on the All Blue, which he’s poured over countless times, using color coded tabs to flag various pages and writing detailed notes in the margins. He also came across one of Zeff’s old wanted posters in Loguetown, and he keeps it framed next to his own, the closest thing he has to a family photo.

Usopp: You’re surprised to find he has quite a bit of clutter in his small space. He has a collection of different style slingshots and a surplus of supplies to fix them should they ever break, as well as literal boxes full of special stars and ammunition. He has an entire set up rigged on his desk to create more, and some plants in his windowsill to grow ingredients. In addition, his bookshelves are heavy with various collections of fables and tales; he’s working on his own and hopes to publish it one day, but he doesn’t talk about it because he’s worried nobody will take him seriously, and you only learn about it when you see the notebook he left on his bed. He also has a couple of fun hats, crazy sunglasses, and feather boas that he definitely pulls out when the Straw Hats get a little too drunk. Oh, and there’s a picture of his parents on his nightstand.

Ace: His cabin is pretty sparse because he tends to travel light. He has a collection of animal teeth secured from a menagerie of wild beasts he’s taken down over the years, and he’s very proud of those teeth. He'll tell you about each one if you ask, is practically bursting at the seems with stories. He has way more animal teeth than he does clothing or books. Also has a pretty sick tiger pelt for a rug (he had intended it as a blanket, but he runs so hot he can’t actually sleep with it). He has Luffy’s wanted poster on his wall, and beside it, a note reminding himself to send money back to Dadan on the first of every month. Buried in the chest at the foot of his bed, he has the original ASL flag.

Sabo: His bedroom at the Revolutionary Army’s base is a total bachelor pad, and when you see it for the first time, it wasn’t planned, so he’s a little embarrassed by the state of it. He has some dirty dishes he forgot about, some dirty laundry on the floor, and a pile of books on his bed. He spends virtually no time there and probably wouldn’t even have furniture beyond a mattress on the floor if it wasn’t provided by the Revolutionary Army as part of his living quarters. That being said, he did pin Luffy’s and Ace’s wanted posters to his wall, and he has a couple of different lotions and skincare products on his bathroom counter.

Law: You don’t know what you were expecting- would it be sterile like an operating room? You’re surprised to see comic books and a few action figures. He has some records, too- a bit of rock, some low-key emo music- and to your complete and utter surprise, a candy wrapper on his nightstand. And then there’s the coin collection on his desk, tiny pieces of metal he picked up on his many travels. You’re careful not to have a big reaction to his personality showing through for once.

“I like your action figures.”

“They’re kind of childish, but-”

You cut him off before he can dismiss his own interests as dumb. “No, they’re not. They’re cool.”

Kid: It’s as messy and ostentatious as you’d expect, but he sheepishly tries to fold the leopard-print blanket crumpled on the bed and put some laundry in the hamper, though you quickly deduce he has no clue which clothes belong in the hamper and which go in his closet. It’s shocking to see him care what someone thinks. He has a pile of lipstick and nail polish on his desk and an impressive collection of weapons he’s stolen from various pirates; he could probably open a museum with all the weapons he has. Also has lots of tools he forgot were in there. TBH, he’s probably as shocked as you are by the state of his cabin because he spends most of his alone time in his workshop, anyway.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

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narcoticv3nus · 3 months ago

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Ride or Die ❤︎ Arthur Morgan

Kinktober Day XXVI: Face Sitting

summary: you both have needed some stress relief good thing your man has the perfect remedy tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, face sitting, cunnilingus, praise, stress relief wc: 2.3k

MASTERLIST

The sweltering heat of mid-summer enveloped you as you stood in your dusty backyard in West Texas. The sun hung high in the sky, its relentless rays pouring down like molten gold, wrapping you in warmth. You balanced precariously on your toes, stretching to reach the wooden clothesline that sagged under the weight of the humid air. With each clothespin, you secured the damp fabric—its fibers still heavy from the wash—hanging them in a colorful line that fluttered gently, eager for the breeze to take hold.

After a long day tackling household chores that seemed never-ending, fatigue washed over you like the dew settling on the grass at dawn. Sweat trickled down your forehead and dripped from your chin, creating a sheen that glistened on your tanned skin. The air was thick and muggy, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, and you could feel the relentless sun creating that familiar weight in the pit of your stomach, urging you to seek shade and a reprieve from the day’s demands.

A sudden chorus of sharp barks erupted into the stillness of the afternoon, cutting through the air like a warning bell. You felt a thrill of anticipation as the rhythmic sound of hooves clattering against the grass reached your ears, stirring a smile on your lips. Rounding the corner, you caught sight of your "husband," Arthur Morgan, as he gracefully dismounted from his sturdy horse. He landed with a soft thud on the ground, letting out a weary sigh that hinted at the long day behind him. His presence, strong and rugged against the backdrop of the setting sun, filled you with warmth and a sense of home.

As you approached, Arthur turned towards you, his soft blue eyes locking onto yours, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Seeing you instantly eased some of the tension etched on his face. He removed his dusty hat, revealing a mess of sweat-soaked brown hair, and ran a calloused hand through the tangled strands.

“Looks like you’ve had a fair share of work yourself,” he said, his voice gruff yet tender. He walked towards you, closing the distance between you two, and brushed a strand of sweat-dampened hair off your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear.

“C’mon inside,” he offered, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, “I think we both could use a bit of relaxation.” As you entered your home's cool refuge, Arthur took a deep breath, surveying the room.

Guiding you to the small bedroom at the back of the house, Arthur closed the door behind him, allowing the sounds of the world outside to fade into a distant hum. The room was dimly lit by a single candle burning on the nightstand, casting dancing shadows across the wooden floorboards. He moved closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

You gently pressed your palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Maybe we should wash up first,” you proposed, your voice slow and deliberate. The remnants of sweat clung to your skin, a sticky reminder of the heat, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that came with it.

Arthur's gaze drifted downward, resting on your hand gently pressed against his chest. His expression was a mask of stoicism, revealing nothing as his intense eyes locked onto yours. The moment felt charged with a tension that lingered in the air between you.

“I want ya’ now,” he declared, his voice low and intense as he pressed his hand over yours. His fingers curled possessively around yours before he gently pulled your hand away.

Arthur moved closer, a hand resting on your waist as he gently guided you back toward the bed. The softness of the bedding awaited you, creating an inviting contrast to the moment's intensity. His presence felt warm and enveloping, heightening the tension as he leaned in, bringing you closer together.

The need for release and the desire to forget the world's harsh realities had consumed him, even for a moment. Arthur's hands trailed down your arms, his strong fingers gripping your hips and pulling you closer until you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He paused, looking deep into your eyes, silently asking for your consent.

He inhaled sharply, the scent of your skin mingling with the sweat and earthy aroma of the day's work, strangely alluring in its simplicity. Arthur leaned forward, brushing his lips against your neck, his tongue tracing a wet path toward your ear. He whispered huskily, "Let me take care of ya'.” he pleaded. “Let me help ya’ relax." With a gentle push, he guided you onto the edge of the bed, his fingers slowly working on undoing the buttons of your dress.

His actions were unhurried yet deliberate, each touch and kiss filled with a palpable hunger between you two. Arthur's breath hitched as your dress fell open, revealing the skin beneath. He pulled you to stand, sliding the fabric down your arms until it pooled at your feet. He stepped back, drinking in your sight, allowing the heat between you to build further. His hands roamed over your exposed flesh, feeling the goosebumps rise under his touch. Finally, with a low groan, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he guided you back onto the mattress.

The world outside seemed to disappear as his tongue sought yours, a dance filled with promise and passion. Arthur's calloused hands skimmed across your thighs, pushing aside the last barriers between you. He could feel the dampness gathering between your legs, his desire straining against his trousers. Breaking away, he gazed into your eyes.

"I reckon we both need this," he muttered, his voice gruff with want as he stood to undress himself. His fingers worked on his belt buckle with practiced ease, each movement deliberate and unhurried. His shirt came off next, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the tapestry of scars that mapped out his life's story.

Arthur's gaze never left yours, watching the hunger grow in your eyes as he exposed himself to you. Stepping out of his trousers, he returned to the bed, his naked form a testament to the raw masculinity that made up this rugged man. Sliding back onto the bed, Arthur positioned himself between your thighs, his gaze locked onto yours as his hands gently parted them. He lowered his head, pressing featherlight kisses along your inner thighs, teasing your sensitive flesh.

You could see his desire burning bright in his eyes, contrasting his usually guarded demeanor. His warm breath tickled your sensitive area, making you squirm in anticipation. Savoring the sight of your flushed skin and how your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath you took, he didn’t waste any time, diving right in to taste the sweetness he knew awaited him.

His tongue swirled and dipped, eliciting a moan from your lips as he explored your folds. Arthur loved how you reacted to him, your body tensing and releasing as he pleasured you. It made him feel powerful and needed, something he craved deep down. His fingers joined the dance, massaging your thighs before sliding further up to caress your breasts. He kneaded and pinched your nipples gently, feeling you writhe beneath him as the sensations built. Each sound you made only drove him further, pushing him to make you feel even better.

As he continued, Arthur could feel himself getting harder, his need for you almost unbearable. He knew you were close, your body quivering and muscles tensing around his tongue. He redoubled his efforts, wanting nothing more than to watch you fall apart in pleasure.

"Mmm...you taste so good," he growled against your skin, causing you to shudder in delight. His stubbled cheeks grazed your sensitive thighs as he continued to explore your cunt with his tongue, savoring every gasp and moan that escaped your lips. His hands wandered higher, gripping your waist firmly to keep you in place while his thumbs traced lazy patterns over your lower abdomen, heightening the sensitivity of every nerve ending.

He felt your legs tremble, your breaths turning shallow and erratic. Arthur knew you were on the precipice, so he slowed, drawing out the delicious torment. He wanted to savor this moment, to remind himself why he fought so hard to survive each day. He glanced up, watching your face contort in ecstasy as he finally brought you over the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders as your body convulsed, riding wave after wave of pure bliss.

Arthur pulled back only when your breathing evened out, his chin glistening with evidence of his desire for you. He gave you a smug grin, his blue eyes darkened with lust. "Feelin' better?" he asked, his voice rough and husky. You nodded slowly, a dopey grin spreading across your face as you tried to steady your breath. Your heart raced as you gazed down at him, feeling a mix of exhilaration and affection that made the moment feel almost surreal.

“I want to be on top,” you confessed; gently running your fingers through his damp hair, you pushed it backward, feeling the warmth of his scalp beneath your nails as they glided effortlessly over his skin. The soft strands, slightly tousled from the moisture, slipped through your fingers, creating a soothing rhythm that sent a shiver down your spine.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at your request, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. After switching your positions, he sat back, allowing you to take control, and watched as you positioned yourself over him, straddling his lap.

“Can I…” you began, a warm flush creeping to your cheeks as you kept your gaze locked on him. Your eyes lingered on the curve of his nose, tracing the rugged outline and drifting down to his lips.

He nodded, his smirk growing wider. "Go ahead," he said gruffly, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to caress your cheek with the back of his hand. His thumb brushed against your lower lip, gently urging it open before tracing its contours.

You swallowed, climbing up his body until your thighs encompassed his face, your bottom hovering over his chest as your hands grasped the wooden headboard, giving you balance and offering support for the pleasure that was to come.

Arthur's hands slid to your thighs, gripping them firmly, guiding you into position. Your wetness brushing against his lips sent a jolt through him. He leaned forward, parting your folds with his tongue, exploring your most intimate spaces with a newfound hunger. He tasted saltwater, sweat, and a faint trace of your arousal—an intoxicating mix that only fueled his desire.

His fingers flexed against your skin, holding you close as he indulged himself. Arthur's eyes fluttered shut, focusing solely on the feeling of your body against his mouth, the soft moans that escaped your lips, and the sweet taste of you. His tongue moved with deliberate strokes, teasing your sensitive spots until your hips began to rock back and forth in response. Arthur's hands tightened on your thighs as you moved above him, guiding you with gentle yet firm pressure. He could feel the tension building within you, each gasp and moan urging him onward. One hand moved up, thumb tracing lazy circles around your clitoris, while his tongue delved deeper, probing and swirling.

"Mmm..." Arthur hummed low in approval, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you. His fingers dug into your thighs slightly, urging you closer as he continued to lavish attention on your clitoris. His tongue swirled around it before dipping lower, exploring the wetness between your thighs with an insistent hunger. He savored each moan and whimper, his desire growing with each passing second. Feeling the tension in your thighs increase as your body responded to his ministrations, he pressed a finger inside you, moving in rhythm with his tongue, curling it just to hit that spot that made your breath hitch.

"Ride my face," he commanded, his voice rough with lust as he said your name. He opened his eyes to watch your reactions—the flush spreading across your chest, the way your nipples hardened under the cool air, and the unmistakable pleasure etched on your face. With a sultry moan, you obliged, grinding yourself against Arthur’s mouth, savoring the exquisite friction he created.

He held onto your thighs tighter, adjusting his position slightly to accommodate your movements. His finger steadily moved in and out of you, curling each time to massage that sensitive spot. His other hand found its way to your hip, guiding you with gentle yet firm pressure. He could feel your muscles tensing around him as you rode his face, your moans growing louder, more insistent. Arthur reveled in the sight and sounds of your pleasure—it was like a drug, and he was already addicted.

His mind fogged with lust as he watched your breasts rise and fall with each ragged breath. He increased his pace, tongue, and finger, working together in perfect harmony. His gaze never left yours, the fire in your eyes driving him wild.

"That's it, darlin'," he rasped encouragingly, his breaths growing shallower. He could sense your orgasm building, feel it in the way your body moved against him. With one final push, he sent you over the edge, drinking in your cries of ecstasy as you came apart in his hands. He didn’t stop until every last tremor had subsided, leaving you panting and spent against him.

Reluctantly, he released your thighs, allowing you to slide down his body until you were cradled against his chest. Arthur brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as you caught your breath. You yelped and were suddenly lifted into the air bridal style. Arthur carried you into the washroom, his steps slapping against the hardwood floor.

“Let me clean ya’ up,” he grunted, setting you down as he filled the tub with water. “Then I’ll get ta’ have ya’ again.”

main masterlist, rules

#tw:nsfw #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fluff #2024 kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #venus.arthurmorgan #venus.rdr2

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littleredwolf · 2 months ago

Text

Home for Christmas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve at the Avengers Compound and you and Wanda are busy making festive cookies for the team to enjoy upon their return from a mission.

Warnings: none. This is pure fluff/cosy Christmas content.

Words: 982

A/N: I wanted to have a go at something fluffy and festive, so I hope this ticks all the right boxes! Merry Christmas!

The snow fell in gentle cascades, blanketing the compound in a glittery shimmer that added a touch of magic to the view. Inside, the compound had been transformed into a festive haven, every corner adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, while Christmas music played softly over the sound system, mingling with the rich scents of sugar, vanilla, and freshly baked gingerbread. It was like a scene straight out of a Christmas movie, so cosy and picturesque.

“I think we may have overdone it,” Wanda mused as the two of you stood at the counter to admire your afternoon's work.

The kitchen sides were covered with trays filled with cookies of all shapes and sizes. There were snowflakes, gingerbread men, Christmas trees, candy canes, Santa, stockings, and even some questionable looking reindeer. To anybody else, maybe it was a little too much, but with a team full of superheroes to feed, you wondered if maybe it wasn't enough.

“I don't think that's possible,” you replied, straightening one of the cookies on the tray closest to you. “The super soldiers alone will get through most of these between them.”

“I'm surprised you haven't made Bucky his own personal batch,” she said with a teasing smile.

At the mere mention of his name, your cheeks flushed and your chest tightened.

It had been nearly three weeks since you'd last seen Bucky, he and a few other members of the team had been away on a mission, and while he'd sent a few texts and the occasional picture (one particularly adorable shot of him and Sam looking begrudgingly festive in Santa hats), you missed him more than you’d like to admit.

The compound had felt strangely empty since he'd been gone, you'd missed his dry humour, his quiet strength, and the way he always managed to put you at ease simply by being there. Your bed had felt too big without him in it each night, and the absence of his arms around you and gentle kisses to soothe you to sleep had thrown your sleeping pattern completely off balance.

The excitement of his imminent return had been bubbling all morning, making you so impatient and restless that Wanda had insisted you do something to keep yourself busy, hence the cookies.

Now you were finished, however, the nervous excitement was returning, and you couldn't resist the frequent glances out the window to see if you could spot the quinjet through the snow.

“You really love him, don't you?” Wanda smiled as she began to tidy everything away, sending the dirty utensils to the dishwasher with a wave of her hand.

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating her words, then slowly nodded. Although neither of you had used the ‘L’ word yet, there was no denying how you felt.

“Yeah, I do. It's different with him, Wanda - I can be myself around him without feeling like I have to dilute any part of my personality. I never thought I'd find someone who just accepts me as I am - even the messy, broken bits! He’s just, so damn perfect, you know? I feel like pinching myself sometimes because it feels too good to be true!” Your tone was light, but there was no hiding your insecurities from Wanda Maximoff - she knew you better than you knew yourself most days.

She reached over the counter to squeeze your hand, smiling softly. “He feels the same way, you know. Anyone can see it.”

Before you could respond, the compound’s security system chimed, announcing an incoming quinjet. Your heart leapt - they were home!

“They’re here!” you exclaimed, abandoning your work and rushing to the window. Through the snow, you could just make out the sleek shape of the jet landing on the pad outside.

Wanda laughed as she trailed after you.“I think you’re more excited about this than Christmas itself,” she teased.

You turned to her with a thoughtful expression. “I'd say it's a draw,” you smirked, and she shook her head with a laugh. You turned to the window again, but the snow was so thick now that you could barely see a thing.

“What are you waiting for? Go and greet your man!” Wanda urged, giving you a gentle nudge.

You didn’t need to be told twice - you slipped on your shoes and dashed outside, forgetting to even put on a coat in your rush. The icy wind bit at your cheeks, but you hardly noticed as the quinjet’s hatch opened and the team began descending the ramp. Sam was the first to emerge, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Merry Christmas!” he called, waving as he approached and pulling you into a bear hug. “Now, where are the cookies?”

“It’s good to see you too!” You laughed, giving him a playful shove as you sent him on his way, your attention snapping to the next figure emerging from the jet.

Bucky stepped out into the snowy evening, his eyes scanning the landing pad until they found you. His face softened instantly, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he hastily made his way down the ramp.

You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You ran to him, flinging your arms around his neck as he caught you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of him - leather and something faintly metallic - wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“You’re freezing,” he gasped, brushing his gloved hand over your cheek.

“I don’t care,” you replied, smiling up at him. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin mirroring yours as he cupped your face. “I’m home.”

He pressed his lips to yours, filling you with so much warmth that it instantly melted away the agony of the last three weeks.

Out of all the gifts you could have received for Christmas, being back in Bucky's arms was by far the best one.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes x reader #mcu fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes x reader

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aurorasgate · 3 months ago

Text

the corel incident

sephiroth x reader | 7.1k+ words

warnings: my little twist on what happens in corel, angst with a happy ending, gn!reader, graphic depictions of violence (towards the reader and others), drowning, protective seph my beloved - would and does kill for you, as usual with me sane!seph. please let me know if i missed anything!

dust kicks up under your feet with each step you take, the blaring sun beating down on your skin, the heat of it seeping into your hair and scalp, lingering on your clothes. the air is nearly as warm, almost hard to breathe in at the peak of the day's heat, and the smell of coal was just as prominent. it’s different from mako but the same kind of suffocating that could make one sick if you weren’t used to it and were more accustomed to cleaner air.

corel is different than you had expected. you knew of the economic decline for the need of coal with shinra building more mako reactors but there’s a quaint peacefulness to the town and a happy hopefulness to the people, though it doesn’t hide the signs of how badly off they have been. with the construction of the mako reactor however, a ‘promise of prosperity’, there was a reason to think things were truly going to turn around.

and of course shinra had pulled out the full stops to show them as much by bringing in water and supplies, public security, urban planners, and soldiers to clear out the monsters along with the construction crew. the project is nearly finished now, the reactor building shiny and silver, standing out against the brown dusty hues that paint the town, now in your line of sight and is your current destination.

you had joined sephiroth on this mission to corel hoping to help the townspeople however you might be able to but shinra seemed intent on putting on a show, the whole reason you assumed they had sent sephiroth to deal with monsters that could have been handled by a few 2nd class, and when you arrived you were quickly ordered to ‘enjoy the town’ and plan to attend the tour of the reactor. nothing more.

in no place to disobey, here you are, walking up the metal steps, the first few already blanketed in a thin layer of loose dirt, and joining the citizens already at the threshold of the reactor waiting for the tour to begin. you take a quiet place at the back of the group, thankful for the cooler air coming from inside that soothes your heated skin as you wait.

after a few minutes someone walks towards the front of the group dressed in a more casual dark blue suit, wearing a shinra hard hat and a smile that looks almost too excited. you don’t recognize the shinra employee who introduces themselves to the group as jaden, your tour guide for the day. not that you could say you know many employees outside of soldier.

based on his looks from the front to the back of the group, someone else has taken a place behind you and you feel a shiver run up your spine when you register their presence at your back. you hadn’t heard them approach or their steps as the group shuffled forward to meet the person conducting the tour and even as the tour starts with some bullshit introduction about the ‘wonders of shinra technology’, they don’t make any noise.

rolling your shoulders, you let the odd feeling slide down your spine and fall to the floor, finding your thoughts wandering to something, someone, else so easily.

what kind of monster might sephiroth be facing right now? or was shinra perhaps trying to force him in front of the camera? was he okay? realistically, you know that he’s unscathed but it wouldn’t stop you from worrying about your beloved until he was at your side again. it had only been a few hours since you had to part ways, so little time compared to how often you had to be apart at times, but it was enough to make you miss him already.

jaden continues to lead everyone down wide hallways and a series of doors that are all open for construction workers to get in and out of easily. a few of them pass by you carrying different tools and materials in their arms and over their shoulders without sparing anyone in the tour group a glance.

“these men have been working tirelessly to finish the reactor quickly and efficiently so it can be up and running as soon as possible for your town. soon, the prosperity of shinra and the miracle of mako energy will be shared with all of you,” your tour guide explains excitedly.

a few of the townspeople in front whisper among themselves, some of them not looking particularly sold on the words that they would likely hear a dozen more times in one form or another by the end of this tour. would they be sold on them by the end of it? was it really going to help as much as shinra promised?

“what do you think about the reactors?” the person behind you asks. her voice is so close, hushed yet gentle, and you nearly knock back into her as you startle. she doesn’t seem to pay any mind to it, doesn’t flinch or step back, she only waits expectantly for your answer.

“oh- i’m sorry!” you’re quick to apologize and had almost forgotten what she asked you in the slow moments it takes your heart to settle as you take in her kind looking features; light brown hair and dark hazel eyes with black lashes that could perhaps rival sephiroths in length and fullness. “i, um - i don’t know,” you finally answer, quiet and guilty like you shouldn’t be caught saying such things. jadens voice comes over the group, hopefully hiding the rest of your truthful answer, and you shuffle forward with the rest of them, tearing your eyes away from her. “i can’t say i agree with how wonderful they try to make them out to be.”

“hm,” she doesn’t seem totally pleased with your answer by the gruffness of her tone but doesn’t comment more on it and your tour continues with your mind floating between sephiroth and the familiar yet new things in front of you.

a place you had never been but a reactor nonetheless, hardly any different from the ones surrounding midgar or nestled in other cities and towns like this one. but really where you would rather be is with sephiroth, in midgar or far away from it. it hardly mattered as long as he was there with you.

you wish he was here with you right now, walking by your side, your hands brushing as you walk and observe the new reactor together. though you’re certain the people would be ogling him rather than the reactor if that were the case. most of them had likely never seen a reactor but just as so, they’d never seen him either and, like everyone in midgar, they’d fawn over the untouchable war hero without a care in the world.

what would it be like, you wonder, if both of you got to be here as normal people with a normal life. would you be holding hands like the couple in front of you, pointing things out to one another and whispering in each other's ears with a smile as you step just a bit closer into an embrace for lovers? would either of you have even supported the building of a reactor?

in your dreams of a life you and sephiroth would have together in another, kinder, life there was no mako or shinra and you had never been happier. is it possible these people would feel the same at some point?

perhaps. but there was nothing anyone could do about it now.

is it too late for you and seph to have a normal life without any of this too?

your thoughts are quickly cut off the moment you step into a spacious access room and feel the cold press of the metal to your side and an arm snake around your middle, capturing you against an unfamiliar chest. the room is lined with shinra boxes and big plastic blue tubs on one wall, a large window and open door leading into a small control room on the other side, devoid of anyone besides your tour group.

you’re quick to register just what is pressed to your side, to swallow the lump in your throat that’s keeping you from breathing and try to slow your heart that’s beating so rapidly inside your rib cage as you take in the situation. the huge metal doors leading to the next area are closed off, the people in front of you none the wiser to what’s about to happen and as soon as you look down to confirm that yes that is a handgun nestled to your side, the doors you entered through begin to close.

you’re all trapped.

“play nice, okay?” the woman who was behind you speaks in your ear lowly before addressing the entire room, pressing the muzzle of her gun deeper into your side until it’s digging into your skin uncomfortably through your shirt. “now listen here everyone,” she kicks your feet forward and you see everyone's gaze fall to you, quickly dropping into horror. “i’ll be taking over the rest of this tour.”

------------✧♡✧-------------

you stare at your phone as if continuing to watch it will make the gray and white blurs of the screen disappear and give you the chance to call or text sephiroth. it doesn’t and it’s hardly a distraction from the terrified aura that’s suffocating the room. it’s so palpable you swear you can grasp it with your hands and feel it stain your skin.

based on the fact everyone else with a phone was in a similar state and the very real lack of alarms going off, you can only assume whoever your captors are have done everything they could to prepare for this and compared to what was going on somewhere else in the reactor, the people watching over you were on the equivalent of babysitting duty.

the shinra employee jaden and the couple you had seen being affectionate towards each other earlier take the duty of trying to calm everyone down. they had from the moment your group was locked in the much too small control room, you being shoved in last, and though there was something uncomfortable, scared, sitting at the bottom of your belly too, you were more restless than anything. you needed to do something, anything.

you’ve sat here for too long but couldn’t afford to be careless. you needed to know more before taking action. you didn’t want anyone to die or to put these innocent people in any more danger than they were already in. did anyone outside know of what was happening?

what the fuck even is happening? where’s sephiroth?

you’d heard of the terrorist group avalanche before, had known they’d been a bit of a thorn in shinra sides. would they resort to trying to stop the completion of the reactor by.. what? holding random people hostage till shinra compiled seemed as stupid idea as any. shinra would never give into that.

moving along the back of the group with unhurried steps, you come to stand next to the bolted door and as though you might need to feel the coolness of it to ease your nausea, you wrap your arms around your stomach and lean against it with your head down, your ear pressed to the small crack between the door itself and the doorframe. what you wouldn’t give from some of that soldier hearing now, you think to yourself, letting the thought of sephiroth keep you calm. the voice in your head telling you he would be here soon is his own, deep and soothing, a most sacred promise.

the world outside is muffled and hushed compared to the worried words and cries inside the control room but you do your best to listen and gather what you can coming from the walkie talkies being used to communicate between the woman and the two others that had since joined her and those working with them elsewhere.

“but sir-,” the woman from before speaks.

the radio comes louder than her voice had. “a few casualties are sometimes necessary for change. do as you are told. team b is nearly finished and team a has successfully captured the target. we’ll continue as planned.”

silence follows.

“they said the explosion shouldn’t destroy more than core,” a man voices, one of the ones who had joined her armed with much bigger guns, chimes in almost soothingly. “if the building comes down that’s shinras own damn fault but we’ll get out of here.”

you hear the woman mumble something you can’t make out and then in a choked out cry, “they weren’t supposed to be here!” her voice rises at the end but you can tell she tries to swallow it.

another pause.

“we can’t save everyone eve,” the man speaks softer than before and had it not been for the words he was saying, you might have felt like you were intruding on an intimate conversation. “some people are just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

you don’t listen to the rest of their conversation and slowly make your way to the back of the group once more but this time you take your time observing the room in its entirety. the double doors closed tight leading into another sealed off room at the very back, the control panels shiny new buttons, the large vent on the left wall above one of the control panels and how it sits compared to the window, showing you the three people guarding this room.

with everyone complying without incident, albeit scared out of their minds, you wonder how often they had looked back to check on the group. as of now, the woman - eve, was tucked in close to a much taller man's embrace, their backs facing the window and the other man you could hardly see from where you stood but you can make out his shoulder near the door leading deeper into the reactor.

“you’re shinra too, right?” jaden breaks your concentration, his voice with a hopelessness to it. though you don’t love the identity of only shinra when addressing you. “you came with soldier?”

“i did.” you reply and try to quickly decide how much would be right to share with him from what you had eavesdropped. you aren’t even sure you’ve processed it fully. you couldn’t begin to wrap your head around who they might have been after and successfully captured. you didn’t want to think about a reactor being blown up, let alone with people inside of it. you wouldn’t imagine if you were to die here and leave sephiroth.. no. it wasn’t going to happen. you and everyone were going to get out of here if you had something to do with it. for now you decide the less he knows the better, probably. “would you help me get into that vent?” you point towards it. “and maybe try to talk to some of the more rational others so you can come up with a plan if.. if anything happens?”

he takes a breath before he answers. “are we going to die here?”

“not if i can help it. just do your best to keep everyone in here safe.”

jaden proves to be incredibly useful, keeping everyone as they had been, acting as though you weren’t standing on your tiptoes to reach the screw of the vent with the small tool one of the locals had given you that was barely enough to undo the screws holding it in place. jaden stood watch and took everything you handed him, delicately placing the items behind the control panel so they wouldn’t make a sound or be seen.

when you’re ready, with your heart still set to an unsteady rhythm, you lean down to give him the tool and whisper in his ear, quickly and quietly telling him what you heard your captors talking about so he could tell whoever arrived first to save them. “please keep that to yourself until the right time.” and then, as quietly as you could, you hop into the vent without daring to look back.

you thought you might lose your nerves if you saw any of their faces praying that you were going to get help. it was certainly an option but you were much closer to the core than anywhere else in the reactor and if anyone outside already knew that the reactor had been taken over, help was surely on the way and would reach them before the reactor core. you just hoped you could get to the core in time and be enough to hold whoever these people were off until help, sephiroth, arrived.

------------✧♡✧-------------

sephiroth was thankful for the quiet of fighting alone, even if it was stiflingly hot and the monsters prove to be no real fight at all. scarlet had insisted on a photo op that lasted much too long for his liking and then reporters swarmed him with questions and cameras to capture this historical moment for corel but he had been able to get out most of the questions in order to start his mission and begin to clear out a few monster nests lingering on the outskirts of town.

he was nearly finished, standing among the dust blowing in the wind, ready to come back to town to find you and whisk you back home or somewhere away from shinras gaze if but for a night, when his phone rings, a number he doesn’t recognize, and he begins to feel a heavy sensation in his chest before answering it, his feet already instinctively making their way to the last place you were supposed to be.

“soldier first class sephiroth,” comes the voice on the other end of the phone.

“what is it?”

“come quickly. the reactor has been taken over by avalanche terrorists and they’ve captured vice president rufus shinra.”

it’s mere minutes of running as fast as he possibly came before he’s back in town, trying your phone over and over the entire way but none of his calls go through. he immediately starts to make his way towards the reactor when an uneasy security officer stops him in his tracks, nearly petrified at the look sephiroth gives him when all he can think about is getting to you.

i’m coming. please be okay.

the officer stutters and all but pleads with sephiroth to follow him to scarlet. “w-we’re trying to get the - the c-cameras back up sir. they’ve shut down all e-electronic signals,” the words tumble out of his mouth almost too quickly to catch. “please sir.”

sephiroth follows for his own reasons, a chance to find where you are quickly instead of rushing in and slaughtering anyone who keeps him from finding you, but instead of leading him to the reactor he’s taken to another shinra building, shiny and new and full of people running around in a panic. the air is so much cooler inside than the mid days heat outside but it does nothing to ease the tightness in his chest and the impatience to get to you that’s already boiling over.

“this way, sir.” the officer says, leading them down a bustling hall and into a room that was in a different kind of panic.

the fuzzy screens of the monitors lining nearly floor to ceiling drowns the room in grays and flashing whites but unlike the rest of the building, the room was quiet, as if it was on bated breath, until scarlet's loud voice cut through the air, her voice sounding as if she had lost her calm long ago.

“i don’t care what you have to do! get the camera back on now so we can locate the vice president and plan an immediate extraction. and we need to find what the hell they’re doing inside the reactor! now!”

“y-yes ma’am,” it’s only thanks to sephiroths soldier hearing that the words of the small hunched over man in front of the screens working away furiously even meet his ears.

not an uncommon reaction to the woman scarlet is.

sephiroth steps are nearly silent across the room but his presence takes over the whole space in an instant. everyone, aside from scarlet and the man in front of the computer, turning to look at him and acting as though the world paused as he makes his way past them but none dare to meet his eyes.

not that he was focused on any of them anyways. every passing second he wasn’t any closer to being with you once more he was preparing for plan b; to leave here and start slashing through the entire reactor until you were in his arms. until then, his only focus was the screens in front of him and where you might be among them once they’re back on.

“good, you’re here,” scarlet says by way of greeting him as if he were a petulant child who hadn’t adhered to their curfew too many times to scold anymore. “once these fools get the cameras back up,” she speaks louder to ensure whoever ‘they’ were would hear very clearly, “and we locate rufus shinra we will be sending you to retrieve him. do stay put until then.”

“what’s going on inside the reactor?” sephiroth asks pointedly, coldly.

“another team is being sent to deal with that. your orders are to retrieve the vice-”

“i’m in!” the man in front of the computer exclaims in the same moment the screens start to clear from blurred lines to a live feed all around the reactor in a green hue.

sephiroth steps closer, his eyes trying to take in so much all at once, any sign of you anywhere, his pupils going so thin at the mix of bright and dark lights between the different screens reflecting back at him. he isn’t breathing as he searches, feeling like he’s losing a bit more of his sanity everywhere he looks and you’re nowhere to be seen.

this is where you were supposed to be. and while it would be an unbelievable relief if you found your way elsewhere, somewhere safe, something in his chest, his unanswered calls, told him that was not the case.

the screens change and the first security camera his eyes focus on is an access room, the control room behind it stuffed with people.

“this one,” sephiroth demands, pointing at the screen and without needing to be told twice the man enlarges the view.

mako eyes dart back and forth, studying everyone, every corner of the room and the leather gloved hands at his side clench tightly when he yet again does not see you. he can’t let himself think about if they might have taken you elsewhere, hurt you-

“the public tour group,” scarlet notes, studying the security view without any kind of hurry and hardly any interest but then, as if finding something amusing, her voice peaks up. “ah, that’s right. hojo said you’d grown fond of that little beast. they were supposed to be a part of the tour, no?”

ignoring her and the name hojo usually referred to you in, sephiroth takes in his first breath in what felt like so long. he looks down at the man sitting in the chair, noting how small and afraid he looks from sephiroths angle well above him. he tries to hold back his slipping rage that he usually keeps such a well and tight leash on.

“please show me more.”

“your orders do not change soldier,” scarlet says through clenched teeth, not even trying to control her own anger. “you are to locate and retrieve the vice president.”

sephiroth says nothing as the security view of the access room minimizes and he’s back to searching among the dozens of screen tiles with his heart in his throat and his body screaming to run and fight until he finds you. the screens change again a few moments later and before he can look at more than a couple, all of them without you, the man controlling the computer speaks quietly again.

“oh my god.”

sephiroth immediately finds what the man is looking at and in the next second the view takes over every inch of the floor to ceiling screens; an overhead view of the reactor's core room. it might look unassuming, nearly ready to be turned on, if not for the lone masked man standing in the middle of it and the cylindrical packages of explosives he strategically places all around. the red cylinders stand out, bright among the water below that’s already sparkling with mako and sephiroth recognizes the avalanche attire as the man moves.

he would have demanded going back to the other cameras had something, someone, not caught his eye in the corner of the screen. almost a blur compared to the main focus that everyone else watched and with scarlets demanding voice somewhere in the room behind him, there you were, holding tightly onto the long ladder leading to the platform, sliding down rather than taking them step by step.

when your feet hit the platform, followed by your quick steps forward, the avalanche man turns towards you and reaching for the gun at his side -

“get back here soldier!” scarlet's voice barely follows after sephiroth at how quickly he’s out of the room, out the building, holding masamune tightly in his left hand and running faster than he ever had before towards the reactor in the near distance.

------------✧♡✧-------------

you don’t know what you were thinking running straight for the enemy with no solid plan and no weapon. as if the heart on your sleeve that would plead for the lives of everyone here, including the terrorists own, would be enough or as sharp, convincing, as a blade.

but you meant what you said before. you didn’t want anyone to die if you could help it. you didn’t want to kill anyone. you didn’t want to be killed. you didn’t want to do nothing when maybe, just maybe, you could be enough.

your momentum hasn't stopped from the moment you kicked your way out of the vents and were able to sneak past one of avalanches look outs to a maintenance door leading right into the core. your feet carry you through the door and down the ladder so quickly, you hardly stop to confirm what is happening below before you’re sliding down the ladder and turning towards the danger with your blood pumping and pieces of hair sticking to your face and neck.

“wait! please!” you scream out, grabbing the attention of the only man who seems to be inside the room. the metal grated floor sounds loudly under your hurried steps, thundering alongside your heart beat.

the masked man turns on you so quickly, grabbing his gun with one hand, holding a stick of explosives in the other. your steps halt as he points the barrel of his gun right at you and though you can’t see most of his face, you can make out the surprise in his eyes.

“have you come to beg for your precious reactor?” he spits at you with venom, his voice rough and full of hatred.

“no,” you answer honestly, shaking your head and holding up your hands to show him you have nothing on you. “no. but i do want to stop you.”

“tch.”

he cocks his gun, the click of it joining the sounds of sloshing water below you. it’d be an almost calming sound if you weren’t in such a situation.

keep trying.

you take a tentative step forward that he doesn’t react to, your eyes locked on one another. “what about everyone that lives here? the innocent people that are in the building right now?” your voice cracks with emotion but you can’t let it stop you. you have to keep going. have to hold on. another step and this time he tenses and you will your heart not to drop to your stomach, to not let any of your fear show. “even if everyone survives the reactor being destroyed, what do you think shinra will do to this town when it’s nothing but a loss? what do you think they’ll do to you if you get caught? it's not too late to stop this and run!”

“will you be helping deal their punishment? shinra dog?”

“i don’t want anyone to get hurt. you included.”

“how can you say such things when you’re fine with hurting the planet?!” his emotions slip and you can hear how much this means to him in his voice.

“don’t send this town or your friends to their deaths - there has to be another way!” you can’t control the few tears that roll down your cheeks, the way your heart threatens to waiver with the loss.

“that’s enough from you,” his voice is eerie, unsettling, but it’s drowned out by another voice in your head, that of your beloved.

stay strong. i will always find you.

with all the strength you could muster, some you swore was lended by sephiroth, you launch yourself at the avalanche man, feeling more than hearing the ringing in your ears from the gun going off too close to your head. the bullet cuts through the grated flooring and into the water below behind you and the crashing of your bodies follows against the cold and hard platform, making it groan under your joined weight.

it was by sheer surprise you were able to take him down, you realize now with your much smaller body trying to keep him to the ground as you fight to get the gun out of his hands. he fights back with all his might, doing everything he can to keep hold of it and finish his job. ungentle fingers of his free hand find their way into your hair and pull with a tight fist, forcing you off of him enough for him to maneuver his body a bit and point the gun towards the bundle of explosives sitting on the core's control panel.

you swallow down the aching pain in your skull along with your fear and worry and use the adrenaline it gives you hold onto his arm, your nails digging through his shirt and into his skin so you can swing your legs up as you’re pulled off of him, the bottom of the guns handle hitting against the bridge of your foot just as the trigger clicks.

the reverberation of the shot kicks back on your foot but the following explosion is what sends the gun skidding all the way across the platform, out of reach near the main entrance door and both of you along with it. the bullet having hit another explosive that causes the whole reactor to tremble as it blows a hole in the side of it.

the air is so hot, full of smoke and dust and shards of metal that cut into your skin as you continue to tumble along the floor with the avalanche mans grip on you and yours on him. it’s hard to breathe, even harder to move with his crushing weight now on top of you.

sunlight coming through thick black clouds shines in your eyes from behind you, blinding the man when it comes through the bundles of smoke making its way out into the open air and you take the chance to gain the upper hand. using all the strength you can muster, you shove him off of you, almost tumbling right into the waters below, and you don’t hesitate to try to get on your feet as quickly as you can.

but he proves to be faster, long arms reaching out for you even as he struggles to get up himself and grabbing at your ankle unforgivingly, bringing you back down to the floor with enough force to knock the wind out of you. it’s not without a hell of a struggle that he hauls you over the edge of the platform but he doesn’t relent no matter how hard you kick or fight against and scratch at the hands plunge you into the sparkling mako waters, holding you below the surface.

it feels like chaos incarnate at first, the water sloshing and obscuring your vision, burning your eyes and ready to flood your lungs when you can’t fight it off any longer but moment by passing moment you feel the serenity of the water begin to wash over you.

it’s warmer than you had expected it to be, quiet and peaceful in your ears. the gentle sway helps to coax your muscles from fighting as your strength starts to leave you quickly. your head feels so very light, drifting from fear to searching for comfort while your lungs fill with water and your hands can no longer hold on.

it hurts at first, painful as your chest constricts and your lungs squeeze only to bring in more water than before. all you want is sephiroth. to cry in his arms like a child and apologize for leaving him. it adds to the pain in your chest but like most of your body, it numbs the longer you stay under the water and as you feel the hands holding you let go, so does your consciousness.

------------✧♡✧-------------

at the sound of the explosion, sephiroth runs faster than he ever has before. nothing more than a blur of silver and black kicking up dust and the embers of his powerful aura sparking in the air in his wake, ready to alight the whole planet in his fury if he were to lose you here and now.

smoke bellows into the sky on the opposite side of the reactor that he’s facing, the scent of it quickly invading his senses and like a beacon, he follows in directly to you. sephiroth doesn’t bother to enter the building by any normal means, choosing the fastest way to get to you, made possible by strength only few possess.

his heart is pounding, every breath he takes in only fueling the inferno kinding inside of him and the hand holding onto masamune is strong enough to have snapped the leather cords wrapped around her hilt had they been made of normal materials. still, they groan under his grip as he slashes through the outer siding of the reactor that he climbs to in the blink of an eye.

sephiroth can feel the steel ripping in two like aluminum underneath the edge of his blade that slash a clean x through the metal. the screeching sound of metal cutting metal doesn’t breach his ears, not when all he can hear is his own heart beating, searching for your own, and how it’s tearing through his chest and rib cage to get to you.

under the pressure of his boot, the bottom most part of the siding folds in and he forces the other panels away with his hands, tearing them away with adrenaline fueled otherwordly strength, allowing him to make a massive hole to step inside. the bright sun shines from behind him, a golden halo backdrop against the black of his coat and the shining in the silver of his hair.

it’s as if the world has stopped as he takes in the scene before him, a split moment that lasts minutes in sephiroths gaze that immediately finds you in the chaos of the room. your hands losing their strength to fight back as you’re being held under the mako waters by the same figure he had seen on the security camera. the blood dripping down arms that hold you there, bleeding and bruised from the fight you had put up in your attempt to stop this.

a choice that fills sephiroth with so many emotions he can’t and won’t begin to process them now. not until you’re safe in his arms.

like an angel, or perhaps more accurately to the dangerous expression on his face - a monster, sephiroth launches from his spot, the readying stance he moves masamune into cutting through the air as his broad figure consumes the light around the avalanche man. in the next millisecond the space around him is splattered in deep crimson red, droplets of blood trickling into and diluting among the water before the man's head has a chance to hit the grate under sephiroths feet.

without care and with more strength than was likely needed, sephiroth grabs ahold of the back of the man's jacket and throws him to the side, hard enough that as he pulls you from the waters with an unrelenting and yet gentle grip around your arms, the sound of the man's body hitting the metal door leading into the rest of the reactor echos in the space.

sephiroth handles you like porcelain, feeling himself breaking at the sight of your features losing color and your body completely limp, lifeless, in his arms. he can’t hear your heart beating. can’t feel any warmth from your body that’s only growing colder in his grasp. there’s no response to the urgent way he calls your name despite how his voice doesn’t reach his own ears either. his body works on muscle memory alone to give you first aid and it’s as if his eyes are watching someone else's hands give you cpr, trying to force you to breathe. water spills from your mouth and with each passing moment that you remain cold and unmoving, he feels his world crumbling around him.

“please..” with more force than he intended, he pulls your body into his. cradling the back of your skull with one hand while the other holds you completely and securely against him, he pleads into your wet hair. “don’t leave me..”

like in his nightmares where he’s coated in your blood and you lay against him like you are now, he feels frozen. in fear. in anger. in power that electrifies the particulars of the air that surrounds you both, ready to devour the world, and yet was not enough to save you. so unlike his bad dreams though, your warm palm was not there to smooth against his cheek, ready to hold the weight of his suffering like it was your own. your voice wasn’t there to tell him it’s all right and pull him back to reality. to help lull him to better dreams he hadn’t dared to entertain or give hope to until he met you. dreams that were now slipping through his grasp no matter how tightly he held onto them.

no matter how tightly he holds onto you or the remaining bits that would be left of him after losing you. jagged and bloodied shards that genesis nor angeal could -

*ba-dum*

a sound so tiny and small. enough to stop every movement of his body and light the darkness that was over taking him.

the first breath you’re able to take in is so painful. your lungs burn as you choke and fight for air and you can feel each aching beat of your heart, like it was sapping every last bit of strength from your muscles to pump and the echo of it riverates back tenfold throughout your entire body but trying to get your bearings through it all only proves to make it worse.

it’s so cold.. so hard to breathe. i’m still in danger, corel is still in danger - c’mon body you need to move.. everything hurts.. i can’t -

“it’s okay angel. you’re safe now.” sephiroth's voice. undeniably rough and wrought with overwhelming relief, it’s a soothing balm to the anxiety and pain coursing through you faster than your heart can keep up, that was keeping you from feeling his arms holding so tightly onto you and the warmth that always seemed to accompany him. “i’ve got you.”

you can feel all of him now, the shake of his hands that hold onto you like you might slip through his fingers, nothing more than a mirage. the wicked rate at which his heart beats. the deep irregular breaths he takes. the heat of him mingling with the chilling wetness of your clothes.

looking up at him, tears prick your eyes stinging and hot, you can’t help but smile. he made it. everyone was going to be okay. through your blurry vision, it’s hard to make out anything other than the curtain of silver hair that drapes over you both and the emerald of his eyes that stare back at you but you swear the air is alive with a mixture of his relief and pain.

the hands holding onto you tighten, his gloved fingers at your back flexing and the ones holding your head tangling further into your hair as he leans in to rest his forehead gently against yours and whispers your name softly, reverently, as though it was a prayer to the goddess; a secret spell that was meant to make everything right.

your muscles scream in protest when you bring your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, his head a comforting weight against your own, smelling of sweet flora and warmth; home.

“seph..” you murmur, an answering call to his prayer; proof that he hadn’t been too late, that he wasn’t without you. through the soreness of your lungs and throat, through your tears and the way your body trembles you cling to him with what little strength you have but knowing you were alive and with him made it worth every bit of tiring effort.

footsteps begin to sound in the distance, echoing yells from the shinra army having finally made their way into the reactor. sephiroths hold on you doesn’t waver in the slightest as he begins to stand, his footing sure and steady, his strength immeasurable and unyielding in the way it swore to protect you from any further harm and the regret he feels for not having been in time to stop any harm from coming to you.

you always feel small in sephiroth arms, something precious - treasured - and looking down at you curdled into him now, soaking wet and calming a bit more each passing second, breathing easier, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to let you out of his hold again.

the reactor core door swings open, the room quickly swarming with familiar uniforms sephiroth walks past without sparing another glance. if they try to talk to him, he doesn’t know or care. with you safely in his arms, he passes by them all, steps over the headless body near the door and makes his way into the chaos outside the reactor where it might as well have been only the two of you in the streets of corel as everyone parts for sephiroth while you remain in the safety of his arms and chest, where he intends to keep you for as long as possible.

#final fantasy vii #sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #ff7 x reader #final fantasy 7 x reader

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warcats-cat · 20 days ago

Text

Sacred Animal

Summary: Hermes takes you on a "mystery date" that becomes very cute and silly, very quickly.

A/N: I'm doing it, I'm being brave and posting one of the drabbles I wrote like over a month ago but felt kinda shy about. Biggest, most fluffy Thank-You to @lickoutyourbrains for reading and rereading and encouraging me through everything. If you guys enjoy this one I'll consider posting the others. Please let me know what you think, and as always let me know if I missed any tags!

Read on Ao3 here!

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Hermes' domains were a wide net that covered a lot. Travelers, Messages, Thieves, Trickery and Cunning, Athletes, Merchants, Speed, Language; the list went on for a while. And in keeping with the diversity of his domains, his moods and interests tended to whirl and swing around with the days.

It made for some chaotic date nights.

But really, you enjoyed the chaos; the thrill of his surprises, not really being able to guess but being able to follow where his mind was going. You could keep up with him, and he loved you for that. Therefore, date nights like tonight were surprising, but not completely out of left field.

You were bundled up in a thick coat with ear muffs on your head; it wasn't snowing yet, but it was cold enough that the snow predicted for the following days would stick, and probably make a thick blanket on the ground.

You faintly wondered if Hermes had ever made snow angels…

“Ready?” he asked at the front door of your apartment building; he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat instead of his usual helmet, and it cast a shadow over his eyes in lieu of his sunglasses. He also had a warm-looking red cloak, apparently lined with fur or some other fluff over a thin shirt that you couldn't quite see. He probably didn't need the cloak, he never seemed to feel cold, but it was important to keep up appearances when visiting public places.

So you were going somewhere that would have other people.

You huffed, checking the strap of the bag you carried to make sure it was close to your chest - he could still easily steal your wallet and phone, but it was a little harder when he couldn't just reach into your pockets. One of these days, you might just cave and buy the weird chest-strap bag that kept all your valuables up high and theoretically safe from nefarious hands. See if he could break into that…

Belongings secure, coat and muffs adjusted, you nodded and his face lit with a grin as he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. You could barely see the glow of his eyes under the shadow of the hat - the longer you dated Hermes, the more you learned to look closer for the little things. Right now, he was excited; more childlike joy than gleeful mischief, which was even more exciting for you. As much as you enjoyed his pranks and silliness, it was rare that he had this much anticipation for something.

He was usually all soft smiles and warmth, but this was bright like a star.

You tucked your face into Hermes' chest, knowing he was going to fly directly to wherever he was taking you. There would be no sight-seeing on this trip; another mystery to confuse you about potential locations. He pressed a gentle kiss into your hair before taking off, the wind quickly whipping around the pair of you as he sped towards your destination.

It was still bright out - the sun wouldn't set for another hour or two, and the light and wind surrounded you for a few moments before you felt Hermes slow and finally land. At least this time he hadn't gone high enough to make your ears pop.

You waited for his arms to loosen, looking up at him after a few moments.

“Put me down?” You asked, teasingly. He shrugged.

“Nah. It's pretty cold, it's nice to have a personal heater.” He replied. He only laughed when you lightly slapped his chest with the back of your hand, and finally released you.

“How does your hat not fly off?” You asked, noticing the tips of his hair under the brim were ruffled, but the hat itself remained secure. He shrugged again.

“God magic?” he theorized, jokingly. That was his answer to a lot of questions about his anomalies, and you knew better than to press. You rolled your eyes and huffed, crossing your arms.

“Ok, fine,” you gestured for him to lead, “where exactly are we?” He took your hand and began to walk across a rather large expanse of grass, passing a little gravel parking lot full of cars, and you could see some farm buildings in the distance.

“We’re gonna meet some friends!” the wide smile returned, as if his statement wouldn't raise more questions, but you just chuckled and followed. You were definitely on some kind of farm-store property; a place that probably did apple picking or a pumpkin patch in the fall. Right now, though, all of the trees were bare, the grassy field yellowish from winter frost, and the rows of dirt in the distance empty as the plants that grew there waited for spring.

The pair of you walked up to a little gate, where an older man was sitting with a little cash box. The man smiled as you approached.

“Well, how can I help you two?” he asked, a bit of a ‘country lilt’ to his words. You expected Hermes to wave a hand and work his ‘god magic’ on the man so he allowed you to pass, but instead your godly boyfriend handed over a real, American ten-dollar bill and responded “Two please.”

You tried not to look at Hermes in shock and confusion; he ‘paid’ for a lot of your dates, but not usually with actual money. You faintly wondered if he was starting to understand the difference between stealing from corporations and small businesses; a subject of many debates and discussions throughout your time together. You were impressed.

The man took the bill and traded it into his cash box for two bright green silicone bracelets, and began to fish out some change before Hermes held up a hand and told the man to keep the change.

The god handed you a bracelet and led you around the gate as the man wished you both to have fun. After it appeared Hermes was not going to say anything about it, you tugged on his hand, causing him to stop.

“Who are you and where is my boyfriend?” You asked, only half-jokingly. Maybe even less than half.

He bounced on the balls of his feet; damn he was really excited. “I learn things when we talk! I'm supporting some local farmers!” He defended with a grin. “I’m not only a Patron of thieves, you know.”

With that response apparently being all he planned to say, he began to walk again, taking your hand, and by extension, you, with him. The pair of you were walking around the main building which you were now certain was some kind of store, and as you turned the corner you could hear the excited jabbering of children.

What the heck.

‘Meeting friends,’ he said. You were on a farm. There were little kids. You looked at the bracelet now on your wrist which read ‘Friendly Fields Local Craftworks and Petting Zoo’ in thin yellow letters.

Well, this was certainly the most unique date he'd ever taken you on.

In the rapidly diminishing distance, you saw a series of low fences housing several animals, and about a dozen children with parents in varying stages of exasperation. Most of the little ones were crowded around a hutch of extremely fluffy rabbits, but there was also a pen with mini ponies, one with two alpacas, one with a cow, one filled with chickens, and one with a small handful of sheep. You were pleased to notice that all of the pens had little heaters for the animals, and were sheltered in case it rained.

You had to admit, this was kinda cute.

Hermes continued to lead, heading straight for the sheep who ‘baah’d at him as you both came near. This one was the farthest off, and it seemed none of the children were very interested in visiting the sheep.

“Hello, lovely ladies,” Hermes said as he leaned down and began to scratch one under its chin. You were a bit surprised; normally petting zoo animals were pretty apathetic towards their visitors, unless there was food involved. But all four of the wooly sheep had wandered over and were waiting for Hermes' attention.

“So you're the god of sheep.” You said, a wry smile on your face as you watched him pet one animal with each hand.

“Ha! You're close,” he replied, “I’m the god of shepherds. But sheep are one of my animals.” He paused, realizing you hadn't joined in, and stood back up to look at you. “Is this ok? You like petting things…” he asked, and now his face was hesitant.

You did like petting things. You constantly tried to pet the stray cats around your apartment complex, and the second someone offered for you to pet their dog you were all over those good boys and girls. You had even been to petting zoos before! Sheep were one of your favorite animals (although now you were absolutely not going to tell Hermes that). You felt your cheeks get hot, and it wasn't from wind burn.

“Well, you looked like you were pretty excited to see them, and I didn't want to get in your way…” you said lamely. In truth, you just thought watching Hermes talk to a small herd of sheep was adorable, and had forgotten you were also supposed to be interacting with the animals.

Hermes smirked, and pulled you a little closer, holding out a hand to the sheep closest to him, “here, just let her sniff you first. They'll probably feel a lot safer than normally because I'm here.”

You followed his lead, surprised when the sheep forewent sniffing your hand and plopped her little chin in your palm. You could almost believe she was smiling at you. A surprised giggle bubbled out of you; no animal had ever done that.

Seeing that there were now enough hands for all four to get pets at the same time, the whole little herd came up to the fence to vie for attention. It was strange and a little wonderful; their wool was thick and dense and incredibly warm, once you pushed your fingertips into the fleece. Hermes was saying something to the two in front of him, but you were only barely aware of that as you watched the little sheeps’ tiny, nubby tails wagging and twitching.

He was probably giving them a blessing, the big softie; to be warm and live long and always have the tastiest grass.

You had no idea how long the two of you had stood there, spoiling the little sheep with your scritches; thankfully the sun hadn't set yet, but it was a little darker. Hermes led you around to the other pens, now significantly quieter as several of the families and children left for the evening. There were still a good number of people around, but not so rowdy. One of the alpacas was interested in the pair of you, though not nearly as much as the sheep. The horses looked at you like you were some kind of aliens; as if you were the ones in the pens for their entertainment. Hermes avoided the cow, saying she was giving him a dirty look.

You knew he had a history with cows but you didn't think it went that deep…

The chickens were also quick to look for Hermes' attention, running over to the fence posts to investigate. They formed a wide clump of feathers, and would have been centered around him if there hadn't been a barrier in the way. As it were, several chickens were reaching their heads through the fencing, clucking and (apparently) trying to peck at the god. You giggled. Hermes looked around a moment, that mischievous smile on his face, and you saw him pull his hat down in the back just far enough to free the wings behind his ears, which flapped a few times at the chickens in return.

The chickens went wild, some of them darting away, some of them flapping their wings back, some almost screeching; to the point that one of the farmhands came over to make sure they weren't fighting, and Hermes had to quickly slip his hat back in place.

You'd never pet a chicken before; and the farm hand was kind enough to let you and Hermes each hold one. They were warm, surprisingly heavy, and you were taken aback when you realized the bird was purring. Not as deep and consistent as a cat’s purr, but still noticeable; the vibrations just barely palpable in your hands. Hermes' face was practically glowing in the low light, looking at you holding the chicken. After a little more cuddling of the soft feathers, and watching Hermes (probably) whispering a blessing to the other birds as well, the farmhand helped you place the chicken back in her coop, and Hermes led you to the last pen; the bunnies.

Angora rabbits, to be specific, with their carefully brushed fur and softly padded pen. A visitor could see clearly that these were the prized animals for the farm. And they certainly were cute; well-socialized and hopping over to see the newcomers, hoping for treats, clearly relaxed while being handled by the humans.

You opted not to hold a rabbit, but you did get to pet a few of them as they wandered from person to person - their fur was as silky-soft as you imagined; always hearing about angora wool being special and extra soft (and probably extra expensive) but never going out of your way to find clothes made with it.

The sun was finally setting in earnest, and the farmhands were beginning to pack up the petting area and move the animals back into their warm barns and hutches; the little country store was still open though, and it only took a little bit of begging to convince Hermes to go inside and look around.

He’d already been planning on going in, but you were cute when you made your sad-eyes and exaggerated pout.

Inside, the shop was warm and smelled like fresh cinnamon and vanilla. There were a few people milling around, looking at the different products - lots of fresh baked goods, homemade preserves, craft items, and even a cubby of milled goat milk soap. There was also a large sign on the counter that read “Chelly is OUT” in large red letters, and you assumed the tile that read OUT could be flipped to say something like IN as well.

You wondered if you'd get a peek at Chelly. You did love shops that had kitties wandering around.

Hermes unpinned his cloak so it hung at his shoulders instead of clipped at his throat, and you loosened your coat as well; the shop was nice and warm, and you were getting a little too warm under so many layers.

Hermes was definitely just showing off his shirt - a meme shirt, because of course he'd been collecting those recently...

You took your time looking at different things, eventually Hermes handed you a little shopping basket with a knowing grin, and you blushed again as you carefully placed a bottle of lavender oil for baking and a pack of flaky, delicious looking chocolate pastries into the basket. You were a bit surprised when Hermes actually added some things to the basket - namely two little crochet sheep that had a tag reading [80% angora, 20% wool] and a crochet chicken that apparently had a squeaker in its body.

Oh gods. That was going to drive his siblings insane.

And then suddenly, Hermes yelped and jumped, floating just a second too long before landing and looking down at the floor.

Looking at a little tortoise riding around on a skateboard-like contraption.

The yelp had attracted the attention of the woman running the counter, but Hermes was unbothered; consumed with the sheer delight upon seeing the little reptile appear from under the shelves.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” the woman said frantically, “she's perfectly healthy, I promise, she just gets a little feisty when it's close to closing time, because she knows once the customers leave she gets a strawberry. She didn't bite you, did she?”

Meanwhile, Hermes had become a metaphorical kid in a candy store, sitting down right on the floor and cooing at the tortoise. He waved the woman off, saying, “She's so cute! So fast!” And then addressing the turtle, a mess of babbling that included “Look at your little wheels!”

You'd seen many moods from your godly boyfriend. You'd seen him happy, frustrated, confused, annoyed (usually by your car and your coworkers). You'd seen him drunk and giggly, when he had twirled you around until you both threw up. You'd seen him cry, though rarely; he rarely felt safe to do so. You'd even seen him divinely angry once when a nymph at one of Dio's parties asked why a mortal like you were allowed to attend.

You had not seen him like this. This was newborn-baby-cute-aggression levels of babbling. He gently scratched around the tortoise’s shell, watching the reptile wiggle when he apparently hit a good spot. (It was admittedly adorable.) You were pretty sure you could see his wings ruffling under his hat.

Thankfully, the woman was pleased with Hermes' excitement. “Oh, yes. Poor Chelly was hatched without her back legs working. My son made the little wheel board for her. She has one that only has wheels on the back, but she seems to prefer the ability to race around.”

Ah. Chelly was the tortoise.

“It's brilliant!” Hermes' replied, and then after a moment of hesitation, he surprised you again. “Can I pick her up?” He asked, almost bashful.

The woman only laughed. “Sure, if she'll let you! Just be careful, she likes to give love bites.” She patted the reptile’s shell gently and asked if you needed any help before returning to the counter to attend another customer.

Your boyfriend was still sitting on the floor.

Not knowing what else to do, you joined him on the floor.

He gently wiggled his fingers in front of Chelly, and when she didn't reach out and bite, he carefully scooped her off of her skateboard and held her right up to his face.

“Helloooo, Darling! You like to go fast, huh? Go Zoomies? You're such a pretty girl!” He was almost blushing, and for the second time you wondered what clone had spontaneously replaced the man you were dating. Meanwhile, the tortoise was content to extend her neck and brush his nose with her face. Her front legs wiggled as if she was still walking or possibly swimming, and he continued to talk to her.

The longer you sat there, the more you wondered if they could understand each other.

With a sigh, you gave Hermes a kiss on his cheek, told him you were going to look some more, and left to explore the other shelves. (You may or may not have snapped several dozen photos of him cooing at Chelly in the meantime.)

He sat there with the tortoise a full ten minutes; meanwhile you found your own mischievous gift. You had paid quietly and hidden the item at the bottom of your purse, under the ‘valuables’ and wrapped in a brown paper bag. That was for later.

When he finally rejoined you, you playfully bumped him with your elbow as he took some offered hand sanitizer from the counter to clean his hands. He paid for the rest of the items in your basket, once again with real money, and you knew better than to question it at this point. The pair of you rebuttoned your extra layers and prepared to go out into the night.

“So, are you replacing me?” you asked. He smiled, nuzzling your cheek with a little huff.

“Nobody could replace you.” He replied softly, and your face suddenly felt a little warmer. He easily picked you up once more, having put your purchases into his trusty messenger bag, and with little warning he took off.

This time, he did fly a little higher, just so you could see the stars on the way home. The cold wind bit your nose and you would probably have chapped cheeks in the morning, but it was worth it.

He landed easily outside your apartment building, fishing the brown paper bag out of his pack. He would have to be back on Olympus tomorrow morning, and was leaving tonight to have time to leave a trap for Apollo. You barely had a moment before he pulled you into a kiss, then twirling you around and dipping you backwards, throwing off your balance. At least he kept you from falling, even if it was an almost cartoonish dip. He was probably floating to have you so far back.

“So,” he panted lightly, his breath making little bursts of fog in the night air, “did you have fun?” You laughed, patting his shoulders as a request to stand back up. His face was positively glowing as he helped you right yourself.

Yes, he had been floating, damn god powers…

You laughed anyway; “Yes. More fun than I have in a while.” You said, and it was the truth. Hermes' silly side was your favorite thing about him, and you had gotten to see so much of it tonight. His smile was brilliant once more, and under the shadow of his hat you saw his eyes start to glow silvery.

“I love you.” he said, and kissed you again. “I'll be back in two days. I'll pick you up from work.”

“Okay. Don't be too mean to Apollo, okay?” You teased. He rolled his eyes, and began to break away, before you grabbed the strap of his messenger bag and stuffed your own small gift inside, feeling it disappear into the organized clutter of the bottomless bag. He quirked an eyebrow in question.

“Don't open it until you get back to Olympus. Promise?” You asked, and held up your pinky finger.

He snorted. “Sure. Promise.” He linked his pinky with yours, and you shook. Truly a sacred oath. One last stolen kiss, and then he was gone, zipping away into the night sky. You hugged the bag from the store to your chest, and went inside to your (thankfully warm) apartment.

The treats went into the kitchen, to be enjoyed for breakfast tomorrow. You were already scrolling your phone for that lavender shortbread cookie recipe you'd seen a week ago and thinking you would have to go to the store tomorrow after work anyway. The little sheep plushies (you now noticed one was a ram and one was an ewe. Dork.) went onto your shelf of ‘Hermes Trinkets’ for now, though you knew you would probably move them to your bed for cuddling soon. Damn those things were soft. There was also a pair of thick purple socks that you hadn't seen him grab, equally soft, and you already planned to change into them with your pajamas.

Not even an hour later, as you were settling in for bed, you received a text message with a photo attached.

Hermes, his hair wild and hat off, with a gigantic grin on his face. Proudly wearing the crochet headband with a carefully curled pair of stuffed ram horns. Captioned: ‘Better than my laurels.’

You suddenly really hoped he wouldn't wear that to council meetings. You'd created a monster.

(If you enjoyed, please reblog!)

#warcats writes #epic hermes #epic the musical #reader insert #hermes x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #petting zoo #sheep #turtles #chickens #sillies #ask to tag

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 8 months ago

Text

Get Some: Bigby Wolf x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Chapter 5

Contains: Werewolf sex, light werewolf transformation, mating, breeding, rutting, biting, vaginal licking, rough sex, creampie

This shit long >:)

You could still feel it in your ass whenever you would walk up the stairs to the Woodlands. You could still feel the way it touched you, smacking against your bare behind and shocking the life out of you in one of the most amazing ways possible. Whenever you would feel the tug of the tight muscles in your rear it made your face heat up and your heart flutter in your ribs.

Even now, you had to stifle the soft groan that wanted to make it’s way out of your mouth as you walked up the stairs of the Woodlands. You were thankful Grimble was passed out in his dingy old chair like he usually his, snoring away with his security hat covering his entire face and his jacket draped over him like a blanket. Looking at that poor overused chair from the 80’s made you stop in your tracks as a thought illuminated in your mind.

Where was Bigby?

You stood there in the lobby for a minute, looking around hazily as you tried to put the pieces back together in your mind. It had been a hectic day at work, your mind was scrambled from the load that was dumped onto you when you first walked into the building that you actually hadn’t realized that you hadn’t seen Bigby in a few days.

And that worried you.

You immediately started for the elevator, slapping the flickering button to go up as you fished your phone from your pocket. Your texts were bare save for his last text thanking you for the coffee the morning after that night he spanked you with Crowd Control, having brought it after work knowing he had been running himself ragged all day with something. He seemed fine then, or at least as fine as Bigby normally could be on the job.

It wasn’t like Bigby to suddenly go silent like this. As much of a bland texter that he is, he still texts you.

The sharp ding of the elevator startled you, nearly making you drop your phone before you hurried inside.

Should you text him? Is he actually that busy? You would’ve heard something by now if something had actually happened like the Crooked Man case. The walls of this damn apartment building are paper thin and word travels fast with these gossiping Fables.

Your thumbs swiveled before you could even think out what you should say.

‘How’s work?’

Simple. Easy. You know exactly how Bigby will answer it in own special Bigby way with one little word: Bullshit.

But as the elevator kicked off and rose with an eerie hum to fill the dreadful silence, you watched your phone screen with bated breath for him to respond. The doors opened and he still hadn’t even opened your messages.

Why were you acting like this? Bigby’s a busy guy, it’s obvious he isn’t at your beck and call 24/7. So why are you staring and worrying at your phone like a Mundy teenager?

You stepped out of the elevator and nearly turned towards your apartment at the end of the hall when you stopped in your tracks once again. Your head turned in the opposite direction to where Bigby’s apartment was. Should you go look? Knock? See if he’s home? You worried at your bottom lip before you decided that a little peek wouldn’t hurt. If he wasn’t home, he would probably be in his office swamped with paperwork or out on the shitty streets of New York City with a cigarette clamped between his teeth as he did his best to blend in with the Mundy crowd.

You knocked first, you weren’t rude after all. He didn’t call out asking who it was, it was just silence. Not even his tv had been left on and you couldn’t hear the old rotary phone being kept off the ringer. You fished out your keys and pulled out Bigby’s key from the ring and slotted it into the steel knob. The door was locked, the deadbolt unlocking with a heavy clunk before you creeked it open, revealing an empty apartment-

Until your eyes landed on the overgorged talking pig fast asleep in Bigby’s trusty chair. Your shoulders deflated as worried settled in deeper into your gut. You walked right up to Colin and tapped at the thick skin of his shoulder, startling the snoring pig from his dreams. He shot you a dirty look and snorted before realizing it was you and not Bigby.

“Do you know where Bigby is?” you questioned the animal.

Colin seemed taken back by your question before he cocked a fleshy brow.

“Bigby? I thought he was at your place?” That made you feel even worse. Colin slid off of Bigby’s chair with a heavy grunt as his hooves hit the floor. He trotted up to the small side table and did his best to stand up on his hind hooves for a brief minute, just enough to grab the cigarette carton Bigby had left on the table. “A little help?”

You rolled your eyes and fished a cigarette out of the box and lit it with the spare lighter left behind.

“I haven’t seen Bigby in a few days.”

The pig shot you a smug look, puffing smoke from his nostrils.

“Oh, you mean after he spanked you all-”

“Colin,” you glared down at the pig who only snorted out a laugh.

“No, I haven’t seen Bigby. Sorry.”

You left Bigby’s apartment with a huff, locking the door behind you and starting down the hall once again. You paused at the elevator, eyeing it as though it were Pandora’s box, like it would magically give you the answers. Should you go up to his office? Was he really just overworking himself and falling asleep up there amongst the cigarette piles and mountains of paperwork?

You decided that it wouldn’t hurt to go look. If he was actually there, that would soothe your tensed nerves for sure, even if you got to see him for only a minute before he would have to rush off to deliver something to Snow or whoever.

The ride felt even longer than the last despite only going up one floor instead of two. The hallway was empty once again, allowing you to walk faster than you normally would to Bigby’s office where you found the door closed and locked. Through the frosted glass and chipping black letters you could see the lights were off and nobody was home. You sighed through your nose, pulling out your keyring again and fishing out his office key. He had given you a spare after he kept locking himself out of his office by accident one month, feeling bad that he would have to keep asking for Flycatcher to come help him.

His office was… the usual. Dare you say it looked as though he tried to clean up a bit in here. For starters, the mountain of stubbed out cigarette butts he had stacked on an opened up chinese takeout carton was thrown out in the trashcan in the corner and he had organized the filing cabinets in his usual Bigby fashion - not by sorting the alphabetically but by how thick their files were. It’s not a shock that Gren and Bluebeard have some of the thickest files.

It didn’t look like he had been in here for a few days either. No freshly stamped out cigarettes, no cups of coffee half drunk, no takeout boxes stinking up the painfully small office. Even the file that was in front of his chair was a little old, having been dated to the morning of your little rendezvous with the paddle. You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you when you opened the file and saw Bigby had wrote in bold red letters ‘Bullshit’ on the first page.

Typical Bigby.

You closed the file as worry bubbled in your chest like a cauldron. Where was he? You dreaded to think that he was hurt or even… worse.

You had to find out.

You locked Bigby’s office behind you and started for the Business Office. You hated the way your throat tensed up at the mere thought of Bigby getting hurt. You saw how mangled he was after his fight with Mary, and that honestly scared the shit out of you. And to think that something like that could happen again?

You opened the door to the Business Office, shocked to find nobody around. You stepped in, the magical door closing softly behind you as you walked deeper in. It looked like they were in the process of moving things around, bookshelves mismanaged as books themselves fluttered and floated from shelf to shelf. The large pirate ship creaked eerily in the background. The enchanted knights armors were alive for the first time in awhile, pushing and pulling furniture around on King Cole’s orders. You watched as two knights heaved a big bookshelf in front of you, and as they passed you saw it sitting before you: The Magic Mirror.

Long healed since the shattering incident, the crystal clear glass seemed to fade into the usual swirling green when he sensed you looking in his general direction. You swallowed thickly and walked up, fighting back the whimper that nearly escaped you when you got close. You don’t even think you could figure out a rhyme right now you were that frazzled.

Luckily you didn’t have to.

You heard the flapping of big feathery wings before you felt eyes on you. You felt him soar over your head before he landed on the genie lamp long since vacated. You turned to see Bufkin sitting tall, bald hands placed on his hairy knees as his tail swished behind him with his usual delight.

“Hello, Ms. (L/n)! It’s been a while since your last visit here,” Bufkin smiled at you. For such dark eyes, they really did sparkle with life and joy. “How are you doing today Miss?”

“I- Not so good Bufkin.” You noticed the flying monkey’s face hold some sort of hesitance, brows knit with slight worry. Though he had no irises, you could tell he was looking between you and somewhere else behind your shoulders. “Bufkin, you wouldn’t happen to know where Bigby is, do you?”

The little guy froze, wings stiffening and tail becoming straight as an arrow.

Gotcha.

“M-Mr. Bigby?” he echoed back to you. His wings drew in close to his shoulders, almost like he was trying to hide himself from your gaze. “No, ma’am!” he answered all too quickly. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Mr. Bigby in a few days!”

You made to press the monkey further when you heard two voices pipe up from somewhere amongst the mess. It was Snow - of course it would be, the woman never gets a chance to rest around here since her promotion to Deputy Mayor - and a male’s voice that sounded familiar to you. Bufkin didn’t dare take off with you this close, knowing you could snag a hold of his tail if he tried to get away, so he sat there and watched the shadows on the bookshelves grow larger.

“... should be go to go in a few more days,” you caught the tail end of what the man was saying.

You heard sigh in defeat, her heels clacking against the freshly polished floor.

“I suppose I should ask Beast if he can take over until Bigby’s back,” she stated unenthusiastically.

Your interest was peaked to say the least. Bigby wasn’t here?

The shadows eventually gave way to reveal a very tired Snow White at the end of her rope as well as Dr. Swineheart, both of whom seemed shocked to see you standing there with Bufkin as still as a statue. You saw Snow eye the doctor nervously out of the corner of her eye, but the doctor stood firm and emotionless as he always is.

If Dr. Swineheart was saying those things about Bigby, it really drove it home that something was wrong. Was Bigby sick? You’ve never seen the man sick a day in his life aside from being sick of work and the accompanying annoying fables. Injured? You’ve seen that plenty of times, that’s for sure.

“(Y/n)-” Snow swallowed thickly before putting on her best false smile. “What brings you by?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Snow.” You took a few steps forward and Bufkin took his chance, flapping off somewhere amongst the clutter, but you paid him no mind. “What’s wrong with Bigby?” you eyed the doctor warily.

“I assure you, Miss (L/n), that Sheriff Wolf is fine. He just needs… rest.”

“Why’d you word it like that?”

It was becoming more and more obvious that something was up. Snow shuffled her stance from one foot to the other, folding her hands to her front as she avoided eye contact.

“It’s complicated. Bigby cannot have visitors, especially you. I’m sorry.” You took slight offense to his statement and you saw the doctor regret his choice of words. “Miss (L/n), I promise you, he’s fine. He just needs to be alone for now.” He turned his attention back to Snow for a moment, nodding his head. “I must be off. I have to start planning for my visit to the farm. Miss White.” He spared you a worried glance. “Miss (L/n).”

He quickly exited the business office, not sparing either of you a passing glance as the door opened and shut behind him.

Snow seemed to shrink under your gaze, avoiding eye contact and all. You’ve never seen her look like this before.

“Snow-”

“(Y/n)-” You both stopped and made eye contact. The tension was so thick in the air you could choke from it let alone snuff it out like it was a dragon. Snow cleared her throat and you let her do the talking. “(Y/n), Bigby really can’t be around you right now. Trust me,” her gaze faltered, looking away with an odd look of embarrassment on her porcelain face. Was she… blushing? “I saw it happen before the first time it happened and…” she glanced your way again, “it wasn’t pretty.”

It took you a minute to piece together what the fuck she was getting at when it hit you suddenly.

“Where is he?”

Snow’s eyes widened.

“(Y/n), Bigby wouldn’t want you to see him like this-”

“Where is he, Snow?”

It took her a minute, obviously weighing her options here. She knew you weren’t going to stop looking anytime soon, and she knows Bigby won’t be able to talk himself out of it this time.

“He’s in the basement. In one of the cells towards the back of the cellar.” You nodded, thanking her under your breath. As you turned to leave, Snow stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Wait.” You spared another glance at the deputy mayor who was still red in the cheeks from beating around a topic like this. “Bigby… Bigby won’t be like how he normally is.”

“Thanks, Snow.”

This place gave you the chills, filling you with a horrid sense of dread as you trekked slowly through this place. Light by dim lighting, you followed Snow’s directions through the rarely used crypt, even catching a glimpse of the witching well on your journey. Every step you took echoed, the beams in the ceilings were caked in cobwebs as spiders and other insects crawled around. It smelled musty down here, damp with the sweet smell of rot swirling around. It made your stomach rumble uncomfortably.

You eventually came up to the cell blocks, opening the heavy and very enchanted door, nearly throwing your back out as you barely opened it enough to squeeze through before it slammed shut behind you. The sound boomed down the hall. If Bigby hadn’t sniffed you out the second you stepped into the basement, he knew you were here now. You spied a light on at the end of the long hallway and started for it.

The entire way down, you could hear this odd scratching sound echoing from the room along with deep animalistic groaning and whining. You stalked forward encased in the shadows, but you knew it didn’t do anything for you.

He could smell you.

You could hear him snuffling and snorting behind the door, see the looming shadow of him pass over what little light was let out by the few short bars acting as a window. He was panting, his voice deep and heavy. There was something heavy and metallic rattling in the room as you heard his lumbering footsteps roam around as much as the room allowed him to.

You made it to the door, eyeing the handle as though it were the bane of your existence before you peered into the room only to be startled when Bigby’s clawed hand sank its nails into the door. You jumped back with a shout, your heart throbbing in your chest and blood roaring in your ears.

“Get out,” Bigby ordered.

His voice was pained, holding himself together as much as he can, but even you can tell by the way he was breathing that his mind was dwindling.

There was a wolf at the door.

“Bigby, let me help you,” your words barely made it out of your mouth. It felt like you had shot him with a silver round, your lover openly groaning as he denied his primal nature bubbling to the surface. He can’t do it, he can’t let it happen. He’ll hurt you. “Bigby, pleas-”

“Get out!” he boomed even louder.

“No!” You stood your ground, getting close to the door again as Bigby quickly retracted his claws from the bars. You stopped again when your eyes met bloody red ones. Not yellow, not those glowing golds, but red. You’ve never seen them red before. “Let me in, Bigby.”

He was half-turned already, but he looked so much bigger than he normally does. He looked more animalistic, more primal. And fuck- the way he was glaring at you through the bars had your entire body feeling feverish with carnal need. His gaze softened ever so slightly, your lover fighting for more control over the beast.

“(Y/n), I don’t wanna hurt you,” his voice was so soft.

“You won’t,” you wrapped your hands around the bars. “I trust you. You need me and I wanna help.” He hesitated, near pupilless eyes boring into your soul. “Please.”

Bigby was fighting a losing battle with himself, the scales of judgment were starting to tip in favor of his unfavorable side. He could hear the call of the wild baying loudly in the back of his mind. His body was coated in a sheen of sweat that did little to cool his overly hot body. He hated the way his ruts made him feel, like he was some sex-hungry beast Mundies make werewolves out to be in movies and smutty novels. To say he’s terrified out of his mind was a major understatement as he eyed the keys to his cell behind you. As you turned and followed his eyes, he nearly barked at you to leave, wanting to back out at the last second only to give in completely as his hardened cock seemingly throbbed at the sight of your backside.

He was ashamed of himself.

The keys felt odd when you took them down from their hook, the enchantments sending odd tingles down your fingers and settling deep in your wrist. As you turned back, Bigby’s eyes pinned you in your spot for a minute once again, your lover growing hungrier and hornier for you as the seconds passing like sand in an hourglass.

“Back up, Bigby.”

He did as you commanded, stalking back into the barely lit cell as you slotted the key into the heavy lock. It took a minute for the enchantments to finally open the damn door, almost like the witches on the thirteenth floor were giving you one last chance to get out of there. You quickly slipped into the cell, closing it behind you, turning your back to Bigby as you locked the door.

That was your mistake.

As the lock settled with a heavy thunk, Bigby had suddenly pinned you up against the cold wood, one of his hands suddenly fisting the material of your jacket as his other hand dug grooves into the stone brick wall beside your head. His nails were long and dark like obsidian, glinting dangerously as his hairy arm slowly grew bulky. You could feel his hot breath hitting the side of your face as you struggled lightly, letting out a short whimper when Bigby pressed himself closer to you.

He was completely naked.

It made your cheeks heat up for sure, especially when his cock pressed into your backside. Your eyes widened, mouth hanging open just a bit when you felt all of him. Even something else you’ve never felt before digging into your ass as Bigby shamelessly rutted into you. What was that? It was like something was swollen at the base of his cock. Was that also a part of his rut?

You could feel Bigby growing behind you, his strength increasing, see his hand and arm growing hairier and thicker with rippling muscle. You couldn’t help the meek little noise that came from you when Bigby leaned down and dragged his fangs lightly against your exposed neck, his hot breath still held the taste of cigarettes as he panted and sniffed at your skin.

Your back was suddenly against the door now, Bigby’s monstrous hands caged you in. You couldn’t help it when your eyes widened at the sight of him. He had fully turned, looking like something out of a horror movie with how he towered over you and how saliva clung to his fangs and nearly drooled from his muzzle. His eyes were hypnotizing, so big and so bright, you oddly felt calm despite a near eight foot tall werewolf was in front of you ready to fuck the lights out of you.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen Bigby like this before, hell, it’s how you both really got acquainted and soon turned it into your blossoming relationship. You’ve just never seen him like this, and you couldn’t lie to yourself: This was actually kind of hot.

And then you saw it. Your eyes made contact with his dick, and there was indeed some swelling at the base of his cock. He was so much bigger like this. Would that even fit inside of you?

“Bigby,” you whispered his name, making eye contact again. You could tell he was fighting his urges still, pupils contracting and growing, ears swiveling, claws sinking in deep into the stone. “Let-Let me get my clothes off, okay? Please?”

Bigby was lucid enough to understand that, eyes lighting up as his shoulders eased up, lowering his hands to let you out.

You quickly stepped away, shucking your jacket off of your shoulders and peeling your shirt over your head. You toed off your shoes and unhooked your bra, earning you a deep growl from Bigby as he watched your breasts be freed. As you went to unbutton your pants, you took a little inventory of his makeshift room. There was a cot in the corner with a thin looking pillow and an even thinner blanket. There was a plain wooden end table with a lamp turned on. In the other corner was a small table with a single chair, an ashtray was filled with ash and stubbed out cigarettes. Laid across the back of the chair was a change of clean clothes for Bigby when he was finally out of the woods, his usual attire of dark slacks, a button up and his tie.

When you wriggled your pants down your legs and kicked them to the side, Bigby advanced, pinning you to the wall again. You couldn’t help the moan that left you when his tongue licked a solid stripe up your neck, inhaling your scent from your pulse point. His cock pressed against your stomach, his body was radiating such intense heat, his fur started to stick lightly as sweat gathered on your skin. You placed your hands on Bigby’s hairy shoulders, nails biting in, caressing the brawny muscle as Bigby lapped at your skin.

He gathered you into his beastly arms, crooning and huffing against your skin as you combed your fingers through his fur. You moaned as his tongue traced up the column of your neck to your jaw, licking the salt that gathered on your skin and inhaled your sweet sweat. His claws dragged lightly over your flesh, catching at your panties that you had yet to take off. He knotted his fingers in the backside of your panties and tore them completely off of you, dropping the scraps of fabric to the floor before he lifted you off of the ground.

You clung to him, your legs although were starting to shake drew up to his waist, knees digging into his sides as you couldn’t link your ankles behind him. You only let go when he carelessly dropped you onto the cot, batting the blanket away as the thing rattled and shifted. Bigby had snatched the edge, the metal bar caving in under his monstrous grip as he yanked it away from the wall to give himself more room. He enjoyed the little gasp you let out, red eyes hypnotized with the way your breasts swayed at the sharp movements.

The cot was old but sturdy, although, the poor thing may not last long with how riled up Bigby was. It was at least fifty years old, probably an old one used from some war. You knew Bigby served in some wars, you saw the medals he received stuffed into one of his dresser drawers. The green canvas bedding was cold, a blessing against your hot and sweaty back as Bigby towered over you.

You felt a little embarrassed under his gaze, drawing your legs closed and pulling them up a bit to hide your cunt that was absolutely soaking wet at the thoughts of what Bigby could do to you. As if you offended the wolfman, Bigby snatched at one of your ankles with a vicious snarl curling his muzzle and spread your legs wide open. You winced as his claws sank into your ankle, blood beading at the flesh as Bigby pulled you roughly to the edge of the cot. Bigby’s other hand snatched at the meat of your waist, pressing you against the cot so you couldn’t get away. He spread you wider, crying softly as you felt the stretch burn painfully sweet between your legs. You shivered when you felt Bigby’s breath ghost over your cunt, the wolfman hunching over to sniff and indulge himself in your scent.

A loud whine slipped from you as Bigby’s tongue lapped up your cunt, his long tongue spreading your nether lips open as the tip dipped nearly into your womanhood. He growled with pleasure, almost like a purr as he drew himself closer to you. His fur clung to your sweaty skin. His shoulders were too wide and brawny, forcing you to toss your other leg over his back, the heel of your foot digging into his dense muscles.

You sighed and moaned, squeezing your eyes shut and digging the back of your head into the strong canvas. The smooth material drank up the sweat that beaded against your skin, Bigby’s body heat blanketed you, nearly suffocating you. Your hands latched onto his fuzzy shoulders, tugging on the fur and pulling deep snarls from your lover.

His tongue dove even deeper inside of you, licking at your velvety walls, tongue fucking you. The tip of his tongue reached depths inside of you neither his tongue nor your fingers could reach. You couldn’t last long like this, already feeling an immense pressure building up inside of you, the wolfman snuffling and groaning as he felt your walls flutter against his tongue. You cried even louder when he bared his fangs, grazing them against your sweet cunt to pull more noises from you. He could get high from the noises you made alone, but now?

You came suddenly on the wolfman’s face with a loud cry that rattled off of the stoney walls and echoed down the hall. If anyone was listening, they would surely be red in the face and turning around right then and there.

He wasn’t done just yet. Although he seemed satisfied to have dragged you through your first climax of the soon-to-be many, he still lapped at your cunt with his agile tongue. You whined and wheezed, begging pitifully for Bigby to let up only for it to fall on deaf ears. He lapped at your sweet nectar as though you were the fountain of life, crooning at how perfect you tasted to him. His grip on you was tight, keeping you spread like a deer about to be dressed, eating you out as though you actually were.

“B-Bigby-” you whispered out. “Bigb- Please! AH!”

He nearly drew another sweet orgasm to the surface, pulling away at nearly the last second and left you feeling hollow and blazing hot. You whined like a child, scratching at the bedding of the cot like that would do something, eyes flying open as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

Your eyes came face to face with his cock.

You felt the color nearly drain from your blazing hot cheeks. He was big. Much bigger than you’ve taken from him before. His cock was standing at full attention, hefty balls taut with his seed that was to coat your womb white, the swelling was still present at the base of his dick. Semen had leaked a bit from his head, rolling down his thick shaft, following along the vein that ran along the underside of his cock. You whimpered, eyeing between his wolfish face and his dick as he slowly advanced. Your ankle was still in his grasp, the wolfman pulling you to the edge completely so your legs fully dangled off, the edge of the cot’s metal bars cushioned your ass that laid half off the bed.

Bigby kept your ankle in his grip, his claws lightening up as blood started to roll down your calf towards your knee. His other hand caught his weight as he came close to you, planting it on the metal bar beside your head, the metal groaning and the canvas hissing under the added weight. The poor thing could probably handle two people sleeping on it, not one person and one big werewolf. Bigby’s eyes were haunting, dual seas of red, pupils dilating, your reflection obvious in the shine of his eyes.

He hesitated. You could see the strain in his eyes. He was giving you one last chance to get the fuck out of here. You only sealed your fate when you lazily laid your arms over his broad and fuzzy shoulders, nails lazily scratching him, your eyes practically begging him to fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

Until it took.

Just the thought had your cunt tightening, begging to be filled again by his thick girth. You suddenly loved the idea of being bred by him and loathed the idea of his warm and fertile seed leaking out of your abused pussy to the cot below.

You wanted to be bred.

You winced when you felt his head roughly press against you, rutting his hips in a way that slowly spread you out again. An immense pressure erupted from your passageway until a horrible pain nearly split you apart. Your core felt like it was being torn apart, your cunt aching as Bigby mounted you. You screamed and squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth hanging open as Bigby sank his cock deeper inside of you. He wasn’t quiet himself, baying and crooning and howling as your walls clamped around him. His tongue lolled out of the side of his muzzle, drool as well as your climax from minutes ago made his fangs glisten in the low lighting. He huffed and puff, snapping his maw as his claws once again sank into your ankle until it made your toes curl and your leg tense and seize in pain. His claws next to your head tore into the metal, squeezing it way beyond repair, way worse than what he had done when he dragged the cot out of the corner, bending it in a way that made the cot kind of buckle and tilt.

“Bigby!” you sobbed aloud.

He snapped his jaws again, slobber wetting the side of your face and neck as he took in your sweet scent again, huffing against the side of your neck as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. You felt the swelling at your cunt, his tip kissing your cervix. It was like he was slotted in perfectly, your entire passageway stuffed with his cock to the point you worried for when he would start thrusting. He continued to rut inside of you, barely rocking his hips in a slow motion, his head teasing your tight cervix and pulled another orgasm from you. You sobbed, chest heaving, your lungs feeling like they would pop from the pressure that's built up inside of you. Your stomach was in knots, your brain lost in a thick fog, your vision going completely white for a few seconds.

He slowly started to rock his hips a little faster, working his way up to a steady pace, fucking you into the cot as his thrusts started to get rough. You lost your voice, only able to gasp and sigh and whimper, eyes drooping as Bigby mounted you, fucking you like the animal he is.

He nosed your head to the side and started licking at your neck, favoring right where your pulse pressed against your skin.

His heavy balls smacked against your cunt, the swelling started to get a little bigger, Bigby’s thrusts began to get rougher and rougher.

He suddenly pulled out of you and turned you over so you were forced onto your hands and very shaky knees. Bigby placed a hand on your upper back between your shoulders and forced you down onto the cot face first so your ass was sticking straight up. Bigby wasted no time in remounting you, fully sheathing himself up to the root in one fluid motion. Your scream cut off with a choke, eyes flying wide open as your entire body seized up from another orgasm. Your hips nearly fell had it not been for Bigby wrapping one burly arm under your belly to keep you where you were. You groaned, feeling your body growing heavy and weary. Your entire body felt sluggish, ready to tap out, but Bigby had other plans.

He fucked you, fucked into you, rocking your near-limp body in the opposite way he was fucking you to really drive it home. The cell was filled with the quick slapping of his cock against your flesh, wet and warm and full of your breathing.

Bigby suddenly snapped his jaws and snarled, feeling his saliva lightly splatter against your naked back. You felt it, the twitching of his cock inside of you rutting against your velvety walls. The swelling at the base of his cock suddenly became thick, and in a few more thrusts, it was like Bigby was locked into you. You groaned, feeling him sink fully into you, the pressure building up, the head of his cock nestled right in that special little area inside of you. Bigby ground himself inside of you, growling and crooning as he licked at your body. His tongue ran along the curve of your neck and shoulder, favoring the crook as his teeth ghosted over your skin.

You’ve been bitten by Bigby before, plenty of times, but you knew this one would be different. You didn’t know much about this kind of thing, but you had a feeling this was something to do with his rut.

He sank his teeth into the meat of your shoulder, locking his jaws around the joint as he ground himself inside of you, desperate for any friction he could get. You screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you felt his fangs tear into you before a calming sensation rolled over you, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, calming your nerves as Bigby unhinged his jaws from your body. He lapped at the blood that dribbled loose, tongue rolling over the divots he made in your skin.

Bigby suddenly seized, arching his back, lifting his muzzle into the air towards the ceiling and howled, cumming deep inside of you. You moaned along with him, nails dragging down the length of the cot bedding as you felt thick ropes of his semen right into your waiting womb. He halted all movement, the head of his cock pressing right up against your cervix as he painted your womb white. The swelling around the base of his dick acted like a damn plug for the most part.

You groaned, eyes fluttering to stay open. You were practically drooling, like putty in Bigby’s beastly hands, limp and heavy and full of his cum. You felt so warm it was almost impossible.

You don’t know how long it took for the swelling to go down, but it slowly did, allowing Bigby to slowly unsheath himself from you. He gently place your belly down onto the cot and you shivered, missing his warmth at your back as well as his cum now seeped from your aching pussy and onto the canvas beneath you.

Bigby hovered over you again, a gentle croon pushing from his muzzle as he lapped at the bite that was now lightly throbbing against your shoulder. You whimpered, trying to push yourself up from the canvas only for Bigby to push you back down, and rather forcefully.

You were about to protest, trying to form words when you felt Bigby try to clamber onto the cot.

And then you felt it again, poking against your ass, slowly rutting against your cunt and using his spilled semen to lube himself back up again.

#bigby wolf #bigby wolf x reader #twau #the wolf among us #bigby x reader

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hellishjoel · 1 month ago

Text

guardian angel

536 words / pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

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word: freezing

warnings/information: war, injury, blood, medical-related stuff, angst, frankie harbors secret feelings for you

a/n: I wrote half of this whilst at the car dealership for 5 hours so you all get ANGST! my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

The chopper’s blades roar above you, but with each heavy blink, the sky turns brighter, and the rhythmic whoop whop whoop in your ears grows distant.

All sounds echo and leave a ringing sensation that makes your head feel a strike of pain. You whimper and writhe against the stretcher, willing yourself to pass out to evade the agony.

Every time you open your eyes, you see something different: the tail rotor spinning, the doors to the cockpit closing shut, and the air thickening as you take off until your body feels weightless.

“Easy now,” a protective voice barks. The man’s dark waves whip around in the wind, his hat keeping them tame. The roar of the chopper faded, but Frankie’s voice stayed steady, a lifeline pulling you back.

The rotors are loud, whipping dust and debris into the air upon takeoff. “What happened?” Frankie’s pilot asks for clarity as they evade an ambush in a country they had no place being in.

His hands tremble as they carefully search you for blood, his vision clouded by panic and his thoughts racing in a frantic blur. His training should take over—it’s what he’s prepared for, what he’s done countless times when life changes in an instant. He knows he should focus: take a breath, assess the situation, and help the person in front of him. But this is different. He’s not just saving anyone; he’s saving the woman he’s loved with an intensity he’s kept buried for years. Out of respect for the bond you share as partners in the field, he’s guarded that love like a secret, but now, with you in his arms, the weight of it feels impossible to ignore.

There was no room in war for love.

The pilot snaps at him again, soaring through the air at a speed that has his lungs chasing lost breath. “She—was caught in the aftermath, there was an explosion, she didn’t pull back when we radioed, I think she was trying to get others to safety.” Of course, you were. War did a lot of fucked up things to people, but your humanity stayed constant.

Every beat of the rotor felt like a countdown, and Frankie wasn’t ready to run out of time.

Your eyes peak open, and he can only imagine the unsteadiness you must feel. “I’ve got you, just stay with me, cariño. You’re gonna be okay.” His tone was reassuring, his hand in yours. Your grip was strong.

His other hand gently cradles your head. His fingers retract at the warm blood that drips crimson down his fingers. “Definitely got blown back. She’s got a hit to her head. Maybe a concussion.”

Frankie’s no doctor, but you’re looking at him with eyes that prays he’s a God, someone who can save you and be your guardian angel.

“Frankie,” your teeth chatter, “I’m f-freezing, please don't let me go.”

Not a moment later, he’s securing a heated blanket over your front and squeezing your hand tighter, not wanting you to lose your hold. “We’re almost to base. They’ll get you patched up, okay? You're gonna be okay, baby.”

You close your eyes and interlock your fingers with Frankie’s. With your hand in his, he silently vowed that losing you was never an option.

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#frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #SeasonsOfLifeChallenge #frankie morales

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 5 months ago

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Law Reader x Record of Ragnarok

Where they fight in Ragnarok and stun many with their powers.

And Corazaon, I forgot how to spell his name-, is in the Audience as well-

-Bepo was snoring quietly behind you as you were leaning against him, your hat pulled over your eyes, as you were relaxing for a short while, preparing in advance for your battle.

-Brunnhilde asked you to fight for humanity in Ragnarok, to ensure humanities’ salvation, and while at first you weren’t going to accept, because you had questioned what humanity had done for you, thinking back to your childhood when you were still alive.

-However, when Corazon, who had been walking over to meet up with you and the rest of your crew, slipping on nothing and falling backwards and somehow set himself on fire, you agreed to fight, as you didn’t want to lose those you were closest to, not again.

-Now backstage, waiting for your turn, only Bepo was with you, serving as your pillow, but also as your security blanket, keeping you calm. You had faith in your skills and abilities, especially after Brunnhilde told you that your abilities with your Devil Fruit could be used, since it was a part of you when you died, so you knew that you were going to win, but there was always a chance, and that had you a bit nervous.

-When it was time, Bepo hugged you, not wanting you to go, but you just smiled, “I’ve got this- go join Cora-san and the others.” He sniffled softly, agreeing to your command and he headed off as you headed out into the arena.

-You were different than the warriors who came before you, you didn’t seem as jacked as many of them were, despite the long sword you held to your shoulder and your cocky but mysterious looking smile on your lips.

-Your opponent was arrogant and rude, reminding you a bit of men you had met in the past, as he laughed at you, thinking you were a weakling due to your smaller size compared to other competitors.

-You weren’t bothered, a soft chuckle leaving you while you heard Bepo, Cora-san and the others all shouting behind you, being irate for you, calling your opponent names. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at their antics.

-When the match started, you smirked, holding your free hand out in front of you, “Room!” a dome appeared around the two of you as many shouted, wondering what it was before you quickly charged, drawing your sword and sliced through your opponent, but there was no blood, and he wasn’t dead.

-your crew cheered as you tossed your opponent’s head up and down like a ball, making him yell, “What the hell did you do? Put my body back together and fight me like a warrior!!”

-You did as he asked, reforming his body before you were quickly on him, not giving him a chance as a smirk appeared on your face, “I’m a pirate- not a warrior.” Before you took his head from his shoulders, the correct way this time.

-Your crew cheered loudly, and you rolled your eyes as Cora-san slipped and fell into the arena, landing hard and you came over to help him up, dragging him backstage to patch him up again.

-Zeus was furious at the outcome, seeing the ability you used, and tried to dispute the result with Brunnhilde, who provided him proof that your Devil Fruit ability was something you had when you died and ascended to Valhalla- it was legal as it was a part of you.

-While your crew was celebrating in your waiting room, with you just nursing a mug of booze, being held in Bepo’s arms, the tournament came to a standstill as they had to go over the rules on what was allowed or not, but that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying your drink and the antics of your crew.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #one piece law #one piece bepo #one piece corazon

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valkyriexo · 8 months ago

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VAL!

You are already one of my favorite writers. I really love your work so much ( I'm lying I'm obsessed i visit your page every day). I was wondering if you can write something for a plus-size reader? (if your comfortable if not I totally understand) Your feeling insecure about your appearance but your boyfriend Hyunjin wants to go to the beach. When at the beach maybe some people dont find you pretty or dont think you should be with him? and hyunjin comforts you and makes you feel special and good (and maybe a little spice 😉) idk i think it would be fluffy and cute.

At the Beach | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Hyunjin x plus sized!Reader

ᑉ³genre; Fluff, comfort , Suggestive MDNI

ᑉ³warnings; contains insecurity, online hate, and hurt/comfort, Mentions of weight, mentions of food, mentions of hate, kissing, fingering minors do NOT interact

ᑉ³Authors Note; might be a hard topic for some, please read at your own discretion. Thank you for your request :) i hope you enjoy it!

As the sun peeked over the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink and gold, Hyunjin's excitement was palpable. He had carefully planned a special day for the two of you, packing a picnic basket filled with your favorite snacks, a cozy blanket, and an array of paints and canvases.

"Don't forget your sunscreen!" He said popping his head in through your door. " It's going to be sunny all day." He flashed a bright smile before darting off. You could hear him him the living room testing the portable speaker.

Meanwhile, as you stood before the mirror, doubts crept into your mind. Your reflection seemed to magnify every insecurity, every curve that society deemed less than perfect. Your gaze lingered on the parts of yourself you wished you could change, the parts that whispered cruel lies about your worth. The thought of baring yourself on the beach filled you with dread, but you couldn't bear to dampen Hyunjin's excitement. So, with a tentative smile hiding your fears, you agreed to go, hoping the sea breeze would wash away your worries.

A moment later, he reappeared, holding a hat. "Here, wear this. It'll keep the sun out of your eyes," he said, placing the hat gently on your head. "Looks good on you," he added with a wink.

You forced a smile, trying to match his enthusiasm. "Thanks, Jinnie."

He beamed at you, his joy almost tangible. "I think we're all set! Are you ready?"

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be."

With everything packed, the two of you headed out to the car. The drive to the beach was filled with Hyunjin's cheerful chatter and your shared laughter. He played your favorite songs on the radio, singing along dramatically, trying to coax you into joining him. His antics eventually drew a genuine smile from you, easing some of the tension you had felt earlier.

As you arrived at the beach, the sunlight danced on the waves and the sight of the sparkling waves and the gentle hum of the ocean began to soothe your nerves. Taking a deep breath, you followed Hyunjin onto the soft sand, the warmth seeping into your toes with each step, nerves fluttering in your stomach.

As you ventured further onto the sand, Hyunjin's excitement bubbled over as he guided you toward a spot he had already chosen. With practiced ease, he began setting up the tent, its billowing fabric providing shelter from the intense sunlight, and a makeshift painting station, carefully arranging his canvases and paints while you watched.

With the tent secured in place, he beckoned you over with a smile, inviting you to join him beneath it. The soft rustle of the fabric and the gentle lapping of the waves provided a soothing soundtrack as you settled in beside him, the warmth of the sun tempered by the cool shade.

"How about we go for a swim first?" he suggested, his voice filled with enthusiasm as he snuggled a little closer to you . "The water looks so inviting..."

You hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. The thought of exposing yourself in a swimsuit still stirred up feelings of insecurity. "Um, maybe later," you replied, trying to mask your apprehension. " I'm still a little cold."

"Okay, how about we paint first then?" he suggested with a warm smile. "We can capture this beautiful view while we relax."

You accepted the brush with a grateful nod, feeling more at ease with his compassionate approach. As you began to paint, the worries that had been nagging at you gradually melted away. You found yourself increasingly immersed in the joy of painting and the peacefulness of the beach.

You smiled, feeling a flutter of affection in your chest. "What are you painting?" you asked, leaning in closer to try to get a better look at his canvas.

Hyunjin chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he subtly shifted the canvas away from your line of sight. "Ah ah ah, no peeking," he teased, his tone playful. "It's a surprise."

You pouted playfully, feigning disappointment as you turned your gaze towards the water. "Fine, keep your secrets," you teased back, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

He grinned, delighted by your reaction, before shifting his attention back to the picnic basket.

He grinned, delighted by your reaction, before shifting his attention back to the picnic basket. "How about we take a break and enjoy some snacks?" he suggested, "I made sure to pack your favorites."

The picnic basket was filled with an assortment of delectable treats: Chocolate dipped strawberries, chips, chocolates, and more.

However, as you glanced at the tempting array of snacks, a wave of insecurity washed over you. You couldn't shake the nagging feeling that indulging in these treats would only add to the weight you already carried—both physically and emotionally.

"I'm okay, thank you," you replied with a forced smile, your voice wavering. "I'm not very hungry."

Hyunjin's expression softened with concern, though he tried to hide it with a reassuring smile. "Are you sure? You should eat something," he urged gently, reaching for a piece of fruit and offering it to you.

You hesitated, a myriad of conflicting emotions swirling within you. You struggled to find the words to explain your reluctance. But in the end, you simply shook your head and forced yourself to decline, offering him a weak smile in return.

His heart twinged with a hint of sadness at your refusal, though he chose not to press the matter further. "Okay, maybe later then," he said softly, trying to mask his disappointment with a cheerful tone. The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the beach. "What do you say we take a dip?" he suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You hesitated, the thought of baring yourself in swimwear sending a shiver of apprehension down your spine. But as you glanced at Hyunjin's eager expression, you knew you didn't want to make him disappointed. With a deep breath, you nodded, a tentative smile gracing your lips. "Okay, let's do it," you agreed.

Hyunjin beamed at your response, his excitement palpable as he stood up, his hand reaching out to intertwine with yours. "Great! The water looks amazing," he said, his enthusiasm contagious. "I'll race you there!"

With each step closer to the ocean, the knot of apprehension in your stomach tightened, but you pushed the fear aside, determined to seize the opportunity to share this moment with him.

As the cool water lapped at your feet, Hyunjin turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes. "Ready?" he asked, his voice filled with excitement. You took a deep breath and nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you braced yourself for the plunge. You both took the leap, the rush of the ocean enveloping you in its embrace.

The water was cool and refreshing against your skin, washing away the heat of the day. As you surfaced, laughter bubbled from your lips, mingling with Hyunjin's joyful chuckles as he splashed playfully nearby.

As you laughed and played in the water, Hyunjin's gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his affection for you. With a tender smile, he reached out and gently lifted you into his arms, effortlessly wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you close.

Your heart swelled with love as you looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but adoration and devotion reflected back at you. And in that moment, as the world faded into the background and it was just the two of you, you felt a sense of completeness—a feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

With a soft sigh, you leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of Hyunjin's lips pressing against yours. His arms wrapped around you securely, drawing you closer as the gentle caress of his lips sent tingles of electricity coursing through your body.

The taste of salt from the ocean lingered on your lips. As your mouths moved together in perfect harmony, the world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the sensation of his touch and the overwhelming rush of emotion.

As you pulled away, breathless and flushed with emotion, you found yourself lost in the depths of Hyunjin's gaze. In his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own love and adoration. And as you lingered in each other's embrace, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the echo of your hearts beating as one.

After swimming around for a bit, the two of you began to feel the chill of the water seep into your skin. With a shared glance, you both silently agreed that it was time to return to the warmth of the shore.

Hyunjin gently guided you back towards the beach, his arms wrapped around you protectively as you made your way through the gentle waves. As you reached the shallows, you felt the sand beneath your feet once more, the familiar sensation grounding you in reality.

With a contented sigh, you turned to face Hyunjin, a smile playing on your lips as you took in the sight of his damp hair and the sparkle in his eyes. He returned your smile, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face.

"That was fun," he said softly, his voice warm with affection. "I'm glad we decided to take a dip."

You nodded, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. "Me too," you agreed, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. "Thank you for convincing me to go in."

Hyunjin's smile widened at your words, his arms pulling you close as he returned your kiss with equal tenderness. "Anytime," he whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the cool ocean air.

The warmth of the sun dried your skin as you made your way back to the sun tent. You both shook off the excess water and dried yourselves off with the towel.

Once you were dry, Hyunjin rummaged through the picnic basket once more, pulling out a container of chocolate-covered strawberries. "How about a snack?" he suggested, holding out the container towards you.

You hesitated, the familiar wave of insecurity creeping back into your mind. But as you met Hyunjin's hopeful gaze, you knew you couldn't refuse him again. With a small nod, you reached out and took a strawberry, trying to ignore the nagging voice of doubt in the back of your mind.

He took a strawberry for himself, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied hum. "These are so good," he remarked, his eyes twinkling with delight as he savored the sweet treat. "Here, try another one."

As you both enjoyed the strawberries, Hyunjin's attention shifted to the rest of the picnic basket. With a grin, he pulled out a pair of sandwiches, unwrapping them and taking a hearty bite.

"Mmm, these sandwiches are amazing," he declared between bites, his enthusiasm contagious. As you both continued to enjoy the strawberries and sandwiches, Hyunjin's contentment radiated from him, evident in the soft hum of happiness that escaped his lips.

With a gentle sigh, you leaned back against the blanket, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin and the comforting weight of Hyunjin's presence beside you.

Just as the serene moment enveloped you and Hyunjin, a notification chimed on your phone, pulling you back to reality. With a curious frown, you glanced at the screen, your heart sinking as you saw the tag in an Instagram post from a news page known for stirring up drama, especially within the realm of celebrities and K-pop idols.

Your brows furrowed with concern as you tapped on the notification, revealing the post. Your breath caught in your throat as you opened the post, your worst fears confirmed as you saw a picture of you and Hyunjin kissing on the beach. The caption was filled with cruel words, comparing you to Hyunjin and insinuating that you didn't belong together.

A pang of insecurity shot through you, your heart aching at the hurtful words. You tried to hide your distress from Hyunjin. As you stared at the screen, the words of the caption burned into your mind like branding irons, each syllable a searing reminder of the insecurities you had tried so hard to bury. You felt a lump form in your throat, and a sting of tears in your eyes.

With a heavy heart, you quickly closed the app, trying to push away the hurtful words that had pierced through you like daggers. But the damage had been done, and the weight of the cruel caption lingered in the air like a dark cloud.

"I... I want to go home," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

Hyunjin's brows furrowed with concern, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, urging you to look at him. "What happened?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

You couldn't bear to meet his gaze, couldn't bear to see the disappointment you knew would be mirrored in his eyes. "It's nothing," you replied, forcing a shaky smile as you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. "I just... I'm not feeling well. I think I need to go home."

But Hyunjin wasn't convinced, his brows furrowing with worry. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft and filled with genuine concern. "You can tell me, you know."

You shook your head, the lump in your throat growing larger with each passing moment. You didn't want to burden him with your insecurities, didn't want him to see the ugly truth lurking beneath the surface. All you wanted was to escape, to retreat into the safety of solitude and lick your wounds in private.

"I just... I just want to go home," you choked out, your voice trembling with emotion as you hastily pulled on a hoodie, desperate to hide the tears threatening to spill over. "Please, can we just go?"

Before Hyunjin could respond, you got up and fled. You ran towards the car, your vision blurred with tears as you stumbled over the sand, each step a painful reminder of the scars etched into your heart.

As you hastily made your way towards the car, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and desperation, you could hear the sound of Hyunjin's footsteps following close behind. Despite your attempts to outrun him, he caught up to you with ease, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your shoulder.

"Wait," he called out, his voice soft yet filled with urgency. "Please, talk to me. What's going on?"

You halted in your tracks, your shoulders tense with pent-up emotion as Hyunjin's hand rested gently on your shoulder. His voice, soft yet urgent, pierced through the turmoil in your mind, begging for an explanation you weren't ready to give.

"I...," you began, but the words caught in your throat, suffocated by the weight of your insecurities. How could you burden him with the ugly truth lurking beneath the surface? How could you admit to the doubts that threatened to tear you apart?

Before you could gather the courage to respond, Hyunjin let out a resigned sigh, his hand falling away from your shoulder. "Fine," he said softly, his voice tinged with disappointment. "Let me grab the rest of our stuff, and I'll take you home."

You watched silently as he turned away, his footsteps growing fainter with each passing moment.

As you stood alone in the fading light of the sunset, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and sand, you knew that you had let him down. And as the tears fell from your eyes, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever find the courage to confront the demons that haunted you, to share the burden of your pain with the one person who had always been there for you.

The car ride home was a silent one, the only sound filling the air was the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you. With your face buried in your hands, you couldn't bear to look at Hyunjin, couldn't bear to see the disappointment or pity in his eyes.

Hyunjin respected your need for silence, his own thoughts consumed by worry and concern for you. He stole glances at you from time to time, his heart aching at the sight of your pain, but he knew that pushing you to talk would only make things worse.

As the car pulled into the driveway and came to a stop, you made a hasty retreat, your steps heavy with the weight of your sorrow. You barely registered Hyunjin's voice calling out to you, his concern palpable in the air, but you couldn't bring yourself to respond.

"Please, just… wait a second," Hyunjin called after you, his voice tinged with desperation.

The house felt empty and cold. You retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind you, the silence of the space echoing your inner turmoil.

As the water cascaded over you in the shower, mixing with the tears streaming down your face, you allowed yourself a moment of vulnerability. The sound of the running water masked the sound of your sobs, providing a small semblance of privacy in the midst of your anguish. Minutes felt like hours as you stood there, letting the warm water hit you. The cruel words replayed in your mind, each one a sting that cut deeper than the last.

Finally, as the water in the shower began to run cold, you emerged from the bathroom, your eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. You froze in surprise at the sight of Hyunjin sitting on the edge of the bed, your phone in his hand, his expression filled with remorse.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he met your gaze. "I shouldn't have gone through your phone, but I couldn't just stand by and watch you cry."

Your heart sank, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside you. "Hyunjin, you had no right," you said softly, though your voice lacked conviction.

"I know," he replied, his eyes pleading for understanding. "But when I saw how upset you were, I had to know what was hurting you. And now I understand why you wanted to leave."

Your anger flared, a protective shield against the vulnerability you felt. "And what if I wasn't ready to tell you?" you demanded, your eyes flashing with hurt. "What if I needed time to process it on my own?"

Hyunjin's expression softened, his eyes brimming with regret. "I would have waited," he said softly. "But seeing you in so much pain… it tore me apart. I acted out of concern, not mistrust." he continued. "I'm truly sorry. I promise it won't happen again. I just… I love you so much, and it hurts to see you hurting."

Hyunjin set the phone aside and stood up, closing the distance between you in a few quick steps. He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the remnants of your tears. "Listen to me," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart ache. "Those people don't know you. They don't know us. All they see is a snapshot, a moment in time. But I see the real you, and I love every bit of you."

"But what if they're right?" you whispered. "What if I'm not good enough for you?"

Hyunjin's eyes softened, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Why would you ever think that?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine confusion and concern.

"Because..." you hesitated, struggling to find the words to express the yourself. "Because you're Hyunjin. You're talented, handsome, loved by so many people. And I'm just... me. I don't understand why you're with me. You could have anyone, someone who's... who's beautiful, who looks beautiful next to you too."

Hyunjin's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in his eyes as he reached out to gently cup your face in his hands. "Listen to me," he urged, his voice filled with urgency. "I don't want just anyone. I want you. You are the most beautiful person I've ever known, and not just because of how you look, but because of who you are—kind, compassionate, and full of light."

He stepped closer to you. "I chose you because I love you," he said softly, his gaze never wavering from yours. "Not because of what others think, not because of some superficial reasons. I love you for who you are—the way you make me laugh, the way you care about others, the way you make me feel understood and loved."

As he spoke, his gaze never wavered from yours, his eyes shining with sincerity and love. "And as for looking beautiful next to me," he continued, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "you make everything around you more beautiful, including me."

"But I feel so unworthy," you admitted, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your cheeks. "I'm afraid I'll never be enough for you. I'm just dragging you down. You deserve someone who can match your brilliance, someone who won't be a constant source of worry and stress."

The flood of emotions overwhelmed you, and you felt the need to escape, to distance yourself from Hyunjin and all the intense feelings that threatened to consume you. You took a step back, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe away the relentless tears. "I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice barely audible.

Just as you turned to flee, Hyunjin quickly stepped forward and grabbed your arm, his grip firm yet gentle. "No, please don't go," he said, his voice filled with desperation. "Don't run away from me."

You struggled for a moment, but Hyunjin's hold remained steady, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart ache.

The tears flowed more freely now, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. "But why?" you cried out, your voice filled with anguish.

"You are not a burden," he said firmly. "You are my partner, my love. You make me happy in ways I never thought possible. Your worth isn't determined by what others say or think. It's determined by who you are, and to me, you are everything."

You found yourself searching his eyes for any hint of doubt. Instead, you saw only sincerity and a deep love that left you breathless. With a shaky breath, you took a tentative step closer, your hands reaching up to rest against his chest. “I just don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“You could never disappoint me,” Hyunjin murmured, his hands gently cupping your face as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you for who you are, and nothing will ever change that.”

In that moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing together in the quiet of your home. Hyunjin’s eyes never left yours as he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

"And you know what?" Hyunjin added. "I even made something to show you just how beautiful you are."

Curiosity piqued, you arched an eyebrow inquisitively. "What do you mean?" you asked.

With a grin, Hyunjin reached for something hidden behind the bed, producing a canvas covered in a cloth. With a flourish, he unveiled his creation, revealing a breathtaking painting.

Before you lay a masterpiece, bathed in hues of vibrant colors.

The scene depicted was ethereal—a tranquil beach bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, with waves gently lapping against the shore. The details were mesmerizing—the play of light on the water, the delicate brushstrokes that captured the movement of the waves, the subtle shifts in color that mirrored the changing sky. But it was the figure at the center of the painting that drew your attention, their presence commanding the viewer's gaze. The figure sat, with their back turned to the viewer as they gazed out towards the horizon.

As you took in the scene before you, a sense of wonder washed over you, a feeling of being transported to another world—a world where beauty and tranquility reigned supreme, and all worries melted away in the embrace of nature's splendor.

And then, as the realization dawned upon you, a lump formed in your throat, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. With trembling hands, you reached out to touch the canvas, tracing the outline of the figure with reverent fingers.

"It's you," Hyunjin whispered softly, his voice filled with awe and admiration. "I call this painting 'the most beautiful scene I've ever seen'. Does that rhyme? I think it fits"

You glanced up at him, your eyes shining with tears, but before you could respond, Hyunjin's nervous rambling continued.

"I mean, I know it's not perfect, and I'm still learning, but I wanted to capture how I see you," he babbled, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I spent so much time on it, trying to get everything just right. I hope you like it."

You couldn't find the words to express the depth of your emotions, the overwhelming gratitude and love that filled your heart. Instead, you reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace, your tears finally spilling over as you buried your face in his neck.

"I love it," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "And I love you."

Hyunjin's arms wrapped around you in return, holding you close as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. "I love you too," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

He sat down and pulled you onto his lap as he continued to kiss you deeply. The softness of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the warmth of his breath—it was intoxicating, and you found yourself losing yourself in the moment, the pain of your insecurities melting away as you gave yourself over to the pleasure of his touch.

Hyunjin nodded earnestly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Every time I look at you, I see beauty in its purest form."

His hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with a gentleness that made your heart race. As he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, you could feel his growing arousal pressing against you, the friction of his hardened length sending sparks of desire coursing through your veins.

"Hyunjin," you gasped, his name a plea on your lips as he began to trail kisses along your jawline, his hands deftly tugging off your clothes.

With a soft chuckle, he shifted his attention to the sensitive spot behind your ear, his teeth grazing the delicate skin there.

As the cool air hit your exposed skin, a shiver of anticipation ran through you, the sensation amplified by the feel of Hyunjin's hot breath against your neck. With each passing second, the fire of desire burned brighter within you, the need for him becoming more urgent.

As if sensing your growing desperation, Hyunjin pulled away, his gaze meeting yours with a mischievous glint. "I want to worship every inch of you," he murmured, his eyes filled with hunger and desire.

With a gentle turn and push, you found yourself falling onto the bed, your heart pounding in anticipation.

Hyunjin's fingers slowly traced the contours of your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he teased and caressed every curve and dip.

His touch was gentle yet firm, the heat of his skin setting yours ablaze. You gasped as his hands moved lower, his fingertips teasing the sensitive flesh at the apex of your thighs.

"I love you," he said as he placed a kiss on your inner thigh. "And I promise to always remind you of just how beautiful you are."

Your breath hitched as he dipped a finger between your folds, his thumb expertly circling the bundle of nerves that sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body.

"I love you more" you replied, your breath caught in your throat.

"Now lay back and let my tongue and fingers show you just how much you mean to me."

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