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mooishbeam · 8 months

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『♡』 Brittle is Devotion

♡ featuring: ex-husband!toji x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been a while since you've seen your ex-husband, and on a drunken night, buried feelings emerge. wc: 12.2k+ (bruhhh)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of violence/blood, angst/comfort, rekindled feelings, rough sex, missionary, prone bone, full-nelson, overstimulation, cervix fucking, creampie, m/f receiving, throat fucking, sadism/masochism, dom/sub dynamics, squirting, fingering, praise/degredation kink, dumbification, edging, breeding kink, feral toji mmm, pet names (angel, sweetie, baby)

notes: good morning!! hope everyone is having a lovely day, i am so so so so sorry i haven't posted in so long i didnt abandon the account!! i've just been getting it together before the semester starts, and i didnt expect for it to be this long :(( im very tired but ill try to get some stuff out in the next couple of weeks, most likely long fics too. ty so much, and srry for any spelling mistakes. art by ilameys_ on ig! <;3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Picking up the pieces after Toji is rough. The divorce was bad enough, and you currently have an aching pain stilling in your chest that makes it hard to take the shallowest breaths. It hammers in the tight confines of your ribcage, and as you sob into your pillow the only relief you desire is sleep, so that you may have temporary solace from the grief wrecking your brain. Your new apartment feels entirely too shallow. There’s no crumby television to use because you were too broke to afford the higher-end appliances, or that creaking mattress you both squeezed into until you could thrift a reasonable headboard. You missed the 60s style tiles painted a horrific green in your kitchen, and the shower that ran out of hot water every other day. It was terrible, downright unlivable for most, but you had each other.

It hurts more because you love him. So much. Unbearably, to the point where you screamed at the top of your lungs until your throat scratched through angry hot tears, begging him to care for a moment, to give you a reason to stay. Countless times, threatening to walk out if he didn’t endeavor to change. But he never believed you. He thought you’d never leave, because all you had was him.

And it was true, for years it was. Toji was your dream man; funny and thoughtful. It wasn’t conventional kindness, but it was his. Money didn’t matter—even as you enjoyed a frozen meal on the floor of your empty apartment in the first couple months of moving in with him, you had a smile on your face. Even when your friends and family begged you not to marry him, because they couldn’t stand the sight of him and his arrogant, sometimes aggressive candor, you went on with it anyway. You knew who he really was at heart.

He was your first everything, you felt if he left, you’d melt to nothing and become a shell of who you once were, because Toji had become an extension of you. You waited for him to get home, had dinner, and slept through the outside commotion of cars and bar fights; his securing arm locked around you, hand cradling your head and legs intertwined. There was no one like him.

He knew that and got greedy.

To you, the change was fast, but it’d been spreading like a nasty mold for years. You’d sunk so deep you hadn’t noticed the drought until you reached the bottom. He taught you love, then pulled away; separated himself with additional shifts and pathetic excuses. In turn you punished yourself, showered him with heavier instances of love and endearment, and convinced yourself you needed to try harder. If the sex wasn’t daily, you gave him more. If he didn’t like the food, you learned how to be a better chef. If the house wasn’t clean, you scrubbed top to bottom. Wringing a tired towel, dry of sacrifice. Chasing after him until the soles of your feet blistered. Still, not a smidge of praise or approval came to fruition. When he did—which was rare—those peppered spaces ignited a lasting burn in your heart, keeping withering fire alive.

Soon, those fleeting kisses and distant pauses weren’t enough, and he didn’t care enough to change. You’d plead and cry at his feet, and he’d scoff and walk past you.

“We’ll talk about it later”, he’d say more often than not. You didn’t have the confidence to leave, and he consumed himself with whatever underground work he participated in, while you decayed in a declining marriage.

A grimace on his face, laid back on the couch and looking at you expectingly, as if you would drop to your knees and service him in a heartbeat—but you did exactly that. And you were tired, utterly tired of pulling the emotional and mental leaden baggage on your own. It was heavy, and you were crushing yourself underneath it. You still loved him with every inch of your being, and you’d do it all for him, but it couldn’t be just you anymore. He came home one fateful night to you sitting at the dining table, spotlighted under the stark glass pendant lamp in your dark apartment, dejection that foreshadowed the unfortunate end.

“Do you love me?” He gazed at your solemn face and scratched his head.

“Mhm.”

“Will you change?”

“No.”

That’s what you needed to hear. The next week, while he was at work, you gathered your clothes and measly possessions to leave. You sobbed the entire way through, shaking with uncertainty and fear of the unknown—unsure about a future without him. As you slid the dissolution of your marriage on the counter, the sudden reality made you unable to control your knees as you dropped to the floor, and tears spilled down your cheeks and freckled the papers. Luckily, Shoko was there to comfort you and help pack your things. The corners of that confinement spared a gentle, loving memory, and vitriol was left in its wake. Turning back to its hollowness for the last time, you imagined Toji, plopping onto the couch as he’d usually do to watch some late-night television show or going to bed. Like you weren’t there.

Maybe you never mattered in the first place.

It’s been a year since, and things are looking up for you. An opportunity surfaced in a field you were interested in applying for, and you miraculously got the job. Moving over a city helped you adjust to your new life—that, and a bottle of dark burning liquor. No matter how much you mindlessly typed at your computer or partied with coworkers, you couldn’t stomach the pit gorging through you, a hole that surfaced everything you’d been burying.

You’re not prepared to face the forlorn mock of your bleached walls today. As you pry your eyes open, the flickering shimmers through your sheer curtain cast across unattended sheets, soothed by stuffed animals strung along the comforter. You reach for something that isn’t there in your groggy state—a gentle reminder that your morning would be just as empty as yesterday.

Today isn’t any other; it’s what would’ve been your five-year anniversary. One year, of new beginnings and new friends. A year of solitude.

You don’t bother slinking out of bed. The accumulation of tasks awaiting you is more daunting than the actual execution. In an attempt to regain control of your life, you established a healthy routine. It entails waking up at early hours to exercise and work on projects and meal prep, and ending your night early with extra exercise and skincare. It was amazing at first and quelled your sadness. What they didn’t inform you of, was the spectacle; the appearance and perception of perfection, and not the struggles or gradual burnout of maintaining that lifestyle. When the distraction died down, and work and social activities became a congealed, monstrous chore, you quickly resented those limp salads and vomit-inducing runs.

You expel a loaded sigh and pull the covers over.

The vibration of the phone buzzing on your stomach peels your eyes awake. You allow it to pass, but it rings again. From a frustrated exhale, your languid hands muster the strength to flip to its notification; Shoko’s calling.

“Hello?” you mutter, fatigue caught in your throat.

“Fuck, you sound like hell!” she replies. The repetitive clack of office keyboards and analog phones being slammed by stressed out coworkers distorts the background. Thank God I used my paid time off.

“I love you too, Shoko.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that…you ok?” It’s much sweeter. Shoko has always been a supportive friend, perhaps bordering on too supportive. You cherish her motherly concern, and rather vulgar honesty.

“Mm, I’ll manage.”

“I can come over after work.” You flip onto your back, soaking in the mild sunlight.

“S’alright, I’m sure you’re busy, and I might sleep in. Wallow in sorrow for a few hours.” Shoko drawls a dramatic groan and creaks back in her chair.

“Nothing good comes out of feeling sorry for yourself. Go to the club or somethin’.”

“‘N how’s that gonna help?”

“Better than whining at home. Wear something sexy, look pretty and get laid. That’s how I get over shit.”

“Mm, right. I don’t know if that’s gonna work” you giggle, toying with one of the ears on your stuffed bunny.

“Oh yeah, forgot you’re the born-again Virgin Mary now. You know… if you want to get over ‘him’, you have to take the first step.” You can envision her air quotations. She treats his name as forbidden speech, and regularly refers to it in conversation as “he who shall not be named.”

“Ugh, mother Shoko’s speaking.”

“Listen, it may or may not work. Don’t knock it ‘till you try it is all I’m saying.”

“Yea? Well, if he has a tiny dick, I’m blaming you.”

“Nothing wrong with shellfish.”

The last curl falls in place, and you follow it up with copious amounts of hairspray. Fanning your bathroom after a drawn out coughing fit, you get a good look at your figure in the mirror. The backless lacy black dress you’re wearing hugs you in all the right places and guides the detail sitting tight under your butt. It’s undoubtedly revealing, coupled with strappy heels and a dark cat eye.

You walk past your vanity and pause at the messy jewelry box, riddled with remnants of Toji’s adoration. Sparkling varieties of heavy necklaces and rings and precious diamonds; ninety percent of your jewels were because of him. You’d asked if he stole the items he gifted you, and he’d come up with an elaborate sarcastic story about a jewelry heist he carried out, and how appreciative you should be. Buried underneath rested your engagement ring, a sparkling cut that crowded your entire finger. You couldn’t bring yourself to pawn it, opting to occasionally revel in its beauty before shoving it in a far corner with your feelings.

Shoko wasn’t lying about how sexy you’d feel dolled up, and it shows in your confidence as you modeled around your bedroom, striking poses to no one. Your plushies weren’t very appreciative of the full-blown fashion show, but you hadn’t felt like this for a long while. Maybe it was about time you entered the dating scene.

The entrance to Infinity appears as a run-down tacky club from an outdated era, and it’s easy to miss the multicolored flashes dotting the black tinted glass on each side. A few steps past the black and white checkered vestibule, and you get to experience the scale of a roaring, clashing club. It’s not half as lively on the outside; sweat dripping under twinkling lights of multicolor, bodies colliding and moving to the melodic sway of erratic music vibrating through the floor, freely drowning and expelling their insecurities, deepest struggles. It’s both welcoming and hopeless.

A woman balances her shot glass as she gyrates against a stranger while another stumbles off the dance floor in a drunken stupor. The heat and screams are overstimulating, circulating around you. You consider withdrawing, especially since you held some reservations about partying solo. However, this is what you need, to get comfortable with doing things by yourself.

So you down shots, two, three, burning of different varieties that heighten your body temperature and nerve. You throw back a mix of dark and white liquor, a dangerous combo that dizzies your vision and runs up an unfathomable tab you can't afford. The strangers accompanying you at the counter encourage you. No rational thoughts, let alone decision making, register in your alcohol-sodden mind. Like strings being fielded by a puppeteer, your legs move on their own to the dance floor.

It’s hot. The blurring iridescence bends to produce shapes that make your fuzzy brain giggle for some odd reason. You’re moving in slow motion, and the world’s continuing at max speed. You don’t care either way. You’re light on your feet, and the music goads you to dance. Spinning, hands tangled between your locks traveling down the curve of your thighs, hearing the lyrics inside and out as if no one is watching.

You dance with women and men alike, anyone willing to help you overlook your heartache. It’s floaty, an airiness that spills sober thoughts from cotton mouth and makes every touch electrifying. It’s in your legs and arms, your restless feet and fingers. You laugh hysterically, incomprehensibly, and switch to sadness in a heartbeat. These aimless bodies, just as lost as you, drinking to your despair. Was it worth the abyss tomorrow held, or the agonizing headache as a result?

After those dances, mainly flailing efforts at rhythm, your head is barreling. You’re suffering from a heavy case of vertigo at the slightest turn, and your stomach’s riddled with knots. It hits you like a car crash, and you strive to stabilize yourself as bile fills your throat, cringing when you reluctantly swallow. A disorienting slurry of words and faces ask you things you cannot hear or see, and it suddenly becomes too real.

In few sparse moments, your life plays before you in stop motion. From heaving over the toilet while a lady with long nails held your hair back, to knocking the drink out of someone’s hand on your way out. Now you’re walking on one heel and holding the other. You might’ve popped a nail if not for security holding the door open. They attempt to flag you, but you reply with a curt slurred “‘M fine.”

You push your knees together, sitting on the corner of a curb. This isn’t how you expected the night to end. It’s pitch black beside street lamps, and awfully quiet in contrast to inside. Shivers ripple through you despite the persistent warmth pooling in your ears. You lean on a street lamp in the calm cold as people leave, probably running to participate in intimate affairs with their acquaintances. The gentle hand on a waist or shoulder forms a subconscious smile; young, passionate love blooming on a random night.

And you burst into tears.

Ugly tears streaming down your face in blobs that don’t stop no matter how much you wipe them, followed by deep sniffles. They smear across your phone while you search for a taxi app, and your cloudy eyes deceive you.

You jolt when a hand brushes against your arm and turn to meet the foggy face of a man with stubble. You wipe your wet cheeks and lean further from him.

“Hey baby, you alright?” The pet-name makes you shudder. You definitely don’t know him, and at this point there’s no one outside.

“Wh’re you?” you garble.

“Kusakabe. Where ya off to?”

“Waitin’ for uh frien’” Your eyelids waver, failing to stay alert under the frightening stare burning holes through your skull.

“A friend, huh…you gotta man?” he asks, stepping closer to you. You back away to the side of the light.

“Go away.” You’re definitive, but he laughs as if it were the ridiculous request of a child.

“I like that dress. You look hot.” His hand drags along the strap of your dress, but you nudge his hand.

“Mm’get off me. N’don’ need your help.” He scoffs with offense, and as you go to leave, he grabs your wrist firm.

“Relax. Tryna go home with someone tonight?” You’re trembling, tugging with as much force as you can muster in your punch-drunk state, but he doesn’t budge.

“L’ve me alone”

“Don’t be like that, baby. I’ll call a cab-”

Whack! Your wrist goes limp, and the crunch and crack of flesh hitting concrete echoes. You sluggishly pan to him, knocked out cold beyond the spotlight. The influence takes you, however, and you nearly find yourself joining him on the sidewalk. Before you can fall, a broad, rough hand supports your lower back. Their deep gritty tone is inches away from you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

You rise from an unusually sweet slumber. The light shines through your eyelids, unavoidable even when you maneuver the velvety warm blanket for shade. Your eyeballs shift across thin skin being prodded by intrusive sun, and as they crack open, you catch a glimpse of the glass coffee table in front of you, arranged with perfection resembling a furniture showroom. You smile to yourself half-asleep, wondering when you bought such an expensive item, and how an abundance of sunlight made its way through your average window. You’re drifting off anew.

Then, you shoot up.

You start to really take in the surroundings, and when you do, a pit drops in your stomach. An ultra-wide flat screen television faces you, decorated with plants on either side. Craning your neck, the long windows of this penthouse line the adjacent wall up to the ceiling, which hangs a glass geometric chandelier. This isn’t your bedroom, nor your apartment.

Instantly you switch to sitting, and recoil just as fast. Pain envelops the wrinkles of your brain, and you wince from abrupt tension. You palm the bridge of your nose.

“Fuck” you whisper. Last night replays in your head through staccato bursts, though you couldn’t remember the minutes before you passed out. Embarrassment creeps onto your ears at the freak show you performed hours ago. You’d made a fool of yourself, puked and tripped like a sloppy drunk college girl. You can’t be more ashamed, and to top it off, you’re in the house of a stranger you possibly slept with. You look down from the smooth sectional sofa, and notice your heels arranged neatly beneath you with your phone and bag. At the very least, the man you engaged with seems to be accommodating.

You scurry to put your heels on, and hopefully sneak out in silence before you face further humiliation. Something about this blanket smells familiar; musk and oakmoss and man, grazing across your nose like the aroma in an intimate embrace, the earthy dew of calm before a storm, a trace only you can understand.

“Finally up?”

It’s that gravelly smoky voice you lived in for five years, and some before that. The voice you fell asleep to, mumbling nonsense in your ear through boorish snores. The voice you fell in love with, easily saying “I do” when you wedded at the courthouse. The voice you resent, saying nothing at all when you cried.

You look behind you, and there he is, walking down the staircase. He’s wearing boxers, settled under the tufts of hair running down his belly button. His rugged muscles peek out from the untied black robe dangling to his strong calves. His hair grew out a bit since you’ve last seen him, shaggy bedhead running across his eyes and covering his ears.

He smirks the same, though, sweet and soft for such a dour man, like nothing ever happened, approaching you while you sneer at the cruel joke bestowed upon you.

“Toji.” You haven’t said it in forever. It’s abashing how quickly your regularly tense shoulders relax in his proximity.

“How ya feelin’? Hope the couch was comfortable enough, figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in my bed” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched his sturdy back.

“It was fine.”

There's an awkward quiet afterwards. The air’s thick, glass straining under pressure, threatening to give way at the smallest disturbance.

Toji clears his throat. “So, um...you need somethin’? Water?”

“No” you bark, folding your arms across your chest. You can’t look at him, not without feeling enraged. You’re the afterthought, the chaser, rushing after a man who wouldn’t dare look twice. “How’d you even know I was there?”

“Coincidence” he replies, and you scoff. He couldn’t get away with lying to you; playing games with moves you’ve lost to countless times.

“Like hell it was a coincidence. I’m in a completely different city now, what were you doing there?” You have to physically bite back the words begging to spill from your mouth as his head wanders in thought, possibly concocting another fabrication.

“Had business”

“Oh, I’m supposed to believe the man who hates keeping a job had ‘business’. Okay.” You don’t acknowledge the extravagance of the apartment he must be paying for monthly. That, or a chain of illegal activities—whatever assumption suited your irritation in the moment.

“Well, ya wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said, anyway” he chides. You’re a shaken bottle ready to explode, and his nonchalant demeanor only eggs you on. Toji’s perpetually dismissive, looking down on you like a pitiful puppy.

“Because you’re always full of shit” you snap. He exerts a loaded sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he had any right to be tired of the situation.

“’M not lyin’.”

“Right.” You observe your surroundings more. It’s too opulent, pricey vases you wouldn’t expect from the ex-husband that once thought hanging jackets in the doorway was “decoration.” Definitely not fit for a single guy. You’re separated, and you know it's not your responsibility to keep tabs on his sex life, but that caviling thought won’t stop taunting you. How could he get over it so soon?

“If you were just gonna bring me back to your fuck pad, I should’ve slept on the curb. Who knows how many girls you’ve had here.”

He gets eye-level, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together like a drained salaryman, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You can’t be serious. Like you never do anything wrong, like everything that’s happened until now is somehow my fault and you did nothing, nothing, to contribute to the bullshit. Stop acting like a fucking victim.”

“Little lady, you got shitfaced, and some guy was tryna take your drunk ass home. You’re lucky you went home with me instead.”

“I could’ve handled it; I don’t need you for anything-”

“You could barely keep your eyes op-”

“I would’ve handled it! Just like I handle everything else. Alone. Every time. It gets done, I’m not incompetent, Toji!”

You could hear a pin drop in the stillness. Those forested eyes are gazing into your soul. It’s said and done, and you’ve got it off your chest, yet it hurts like a freshly sliced gash. The arguing doesn’t change, married or not. It sucks when you shout, uncontrollable like a blazing fire, only to be snubbed out by his calm, condescending tone.

“...I know.”

You can’t take it, it’s stifling being near him. Wounds loosely covered by band aids seem to peel at his presence, and you’re stuck at his mercy again. You can’t give him the satisfaction of crying in addition to the drunk, poor decisions you made, hardening your expression as you fumble for your phone.

“Take me home” you demand. Toji stands with an exaggerated stretch on both arms, painfully slow. Before you can hurl your phone at him from the dramatics, he looks down on you with that intoxicating gaze.

“Are ya hungry?”

You furrow your brows, and hastily put on the other shoe. Turning on your heels, you go to leave, and are immediately stopped by Toji's calloused hand holding your wrist. You don’t watch, but his palm is gentle. You could smoothly slip out and exit his apartment, forget this engagement and continue a peaceful, isolated life. You’d move on eventually—perhaps to bigger, happier jobs and romances.

Despite that hopeful outcome, you remain.

“I don’t wanna eat. If you don’t take me home, I'll call a cab.”

“I’ll take ya home, just...look, I know you’re hungry, and I’m down to eat at a diner down the block. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll pay for it.” Toji isn’t known for being docile, but with his curved posture almost leaning into you and dejection in his eyes, you swear he’s searching for pity.

“I said I’m not-,” The untimely arrival of your dinning, rumbling stomach cuts off any excuse. A corner of his mouth upturns, and your face contorts to scorned pride.

“...Fine. Let’s make it quick.”

“Great. Can’t have ya walkin’ around like that, though.” He pans to your chest. You haven’t thought to give your outfit a glance, but when you do, your eyes grow wide. The entirety of your conversation with Toji, your chest was spilling out the dress, and now part of your areolas is exposed. You cover up the top, but he stares with an x-ray's invasiveness. You reprimand him, swatting his chest;

“Pervert!”

There was an added benefit to being around Toji; the way people cleared a path for him and treated him with frightened kindness, afraid that pissing off the physically intimidating man would land them a one-way ticket to the nearest hospital.

They weren’t exactly wrong, and you have a satisfied pep in your step as people scoot aside. He strides in front of you to get the door, and you mutter a small “thank you.”

Sweet fluffy pancakes and charred grills mingle with faint notes of bleach. At least he knew better than to take you to a fancy establishment, especially since you were wearing a baggy t-shirt from him, and basketball shorts you had to tie around the waistband. His massive slides had you flopping across the dining aisle as you got to your booth. He’s not particularly dressed either, wearing matching shorts and a compression top.

It’s hard not to perceive the way women ogle him, drooling at the way his biceps flex when he raises the menu, and his chiseled jaw tensing while he ponders the food options. It was a notable problem when you were married. They’d glare at you, shower him with compliments in front of you, and you’d shrink yourself. Occasionally the waiter would pretend you don’t exist as she swayed her hips at every little thing Toji said. If they want him, they can have him. It’s not your business, right? It’s no different with this waiter, twirling the curl of her hair as Toji reiterates his order, shifting from one leg to the other to highlight her curves.

Not my business. You're nauseous.

Not my business. Your fists clench underneath the table.

Your head’s swimming in thoughts, uncertainty crashing down like a wave upon your increasingly loud intrusions. You drown within yourself, until you’re pulled out by a thumb travelling up your hand, and other fingers clasping around it.

“Watcha wanna order, angel?” You regain composure, and when you blink, Toji is waiting for you. The waiter side-eyes you and the joining of your hands.

“You lost? Take her order” he spat.

The food's steaming hot and fresh, and you salivate at the plate in front of you. Toji snatches your bacon before you can, and you begrudgingly watch as he breaks the strips into two pieces, the way you like it. He winks, and you groan. You coat your strawberry pancakes with maple syrup, trespassing territory around the scrambled eggs and bacon, and he laughs across from you.

“What’s funny?”

“Never stopped drowning your breakfast in syrup” he ribs. You pout and swirl your bacon, “It makes it taste better.”

Soon, food in your belly aided your dialogue, and the old banter returned; an easygoing flow, similar to a lifelong friend you hadn’t spoken to in decades. You giggle between bites and gossip about mutual rumors.

"What you been doin’ since..." Toji trails off, falling short of “divorce”—a word he never wants to say.

"Shoko recommended me to her boss, so I'm working uptown now. Pay's okay, nothing to write home about."

"S'good. Livin comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be"

"Real humble. Guessin’ it's better than before" he jokes, though you sense a displace in his bearing at the nervous grin he flashes. You reach onto to his side and grab one of the grapes off his plate. You pop one in your mouth, "So, what drug ring got you that house?"

"The cartel. Good vacation time, too" he jests.

"Nice. at least it's not that shitty garbage gig you had for a while."

"It did pay well."

"Yeah? Couldn't get rid of the rotten milk and vomit smell for weeks after. Remember I made you shower at Geto’s apartment?"

“Heh, yeah, he was fuckin’ pissed” he laughs, stealing a piece of sugary bacon from the syrup pool. "I'm a CEO, run a company downtown."

"Ooo, look at you. Can't be little if it did this much for you" you say as you gesture at the empty dishes on the table. Restaurants were a luxury in your household.

"I guess. I had a vision, and some people believed in me”, he pokes at the leftover blueberries, “I finally made it happen, that counts for something, right?"

You pick another off his plate, smile stretching, "You're a natural born leader. People will follow you regardless, even if it's not the right choice."

His eyebrows raised in surprise, "That's the first good thing you said about me today."

"Don't get used to it."

You wait for Toji to retrieve his car after walking back to his apartment. You’re awestruck in many ways; he paid for the whole meal with a black card and showed undying manners. He bowed to your requests. You’re smarter than this, though. This is his opportunity to get on your good side, and he’s showing the best version of himself. However, it fills your heart with want—like the initial dating phase, those butterfly stricken, heart-numbing, sappy gestures that made you melt.

He wraps around the car to open your door, and you plant yourself in the sleek beige interior. Your eyes flick to the veins in his forearm straining as he steers, his deadpan focused expression and the composed R&B music low in the background. It starts to drizzle, and raindrops plink the car roof.

You feel complete; And that alone is a dreadful reality.

The scar on his lip twists to a smile, “Did’ya like the food?”

You turn your nose up, “it was satisfactory.” He snickers, and navigates to the street your apartment is on. “Shit, I gotta give you your clothes back.”

“Forget it, bring it when you get the chance.” Chance. He expected to see you again. You hang your head as he approaches the complex. You didn’t want today to end, but this is it. You’ll leave this car and go your separate ways. This is how it should be.

You place an earnest hand on his shoulder and cast a smile. The corners quiver and your first syllable wobbles, but you finally speak, “I’m proud of you, Toji. I mean it. You’re going to do great things, and I’m always rooting for you.”

He swallows stiff, and suddenly he’s sickly pale. Something within you is pleased at that reaction; if he wants redemption, he should beg and drop to his knees and crawl for forgiveness, he should lock himself up for your eyes only and cut off everyone else in his life. You’re walking away a second time, rightfully so, but you struggle to decipher what you want in this moment. He palms your hand, staring at you, “I’m all for praise, but tell me when we meet again”

“Toji, there can’t be a next- “

“Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” His urgency throws you off guard, “Don’t think, just give me your phone.” It’s impossible to kill the complicated slurry that is your mind, and a new bundle of thoughts emerges from his request, but for a heartbeat, you allow yourself to wander. Pitter patter and muted music, heated seats, the cologne radiating from Toji—all that exists.

You moved on instinct, and now your phone is in Toji’s hands. He's adding his contact information. He hands it back to you, fingers brushing against your soft skin.

“I won’t text or call you. ’S there whenever you need me. Move at your own pace and call me when you’re ready.” With that, you exit his car. No hug or gratitude, skipping goodbyes as you rush out the car. It’s bittersweet when he pulls off, and you’re left with the ghost of him.

The familiar click of your convoluted keys in the apartment door could bring you to tears. You’ve officially reverted to your mundane, boring lifestyle. The walls look duller today.

You curiously click on his contact, and giggle at the name he assigned himself:

dumbass ex

tick, tock, tick, tock

The blue light beaming through your office computer is an eyesore, but you have little say in the matter. There's an upcoming deadline for these reports, you can’t waste precious skill complaining about circumstances out of your control. It’s tiresome, and you rove to the cobweb missing a string in the corner of the room, or the single drop of water roaming outside those wide sterile windows. The balls of your feet carry your flats as you absentmindedly push a pen against your lip.

Your concentration has been out of commission since meeting Toji. He kept his word and hadn’t called you whatsoever. A month passed, and still nothing. Be glad, you told yourself, get your goals back on track. Your exercises get vicious, from jogging to a full sprint, hoping that those buckets of sweat will shed off the extra weight of Toji’s abidance. The fruit bowl on your break offends you with mocking displays of strawberries and grapes. You’ve pondered deleting the contact entirely to repel enticement, but you can’t do it. It’s painfully clear that you miss him.

He’s horrible, callous and selfish. Of course, Toji had a way of showing up at your lowest to fill your head with empty promises and gestures of affection, that charming grin shooting daggers at your weakness. In his gaze, you’re defenseless, and in his arms, you’re exposed.

Albeit late, a pestering thought carves into you, unfortunate and disgraceful to the healing you strive to accomplish; message Toji.

A set of wheels rolls above the carpet, and you see Shoko, lifeless arms hanging beyond the armrests. The bags under her eyes signify stress from finalizing late papers.

“Unnghhhh, (Y/N), I can’t do it” she laments, drooping her head to the side. You pat the top of her hair, “I believe in you.”

“What are you working on?” She quirks a brow, and you stare at the screen with her. You’ve typed an entire page of straight gibberish. “I’m getting distracted too...”

“Let’s quit and tell her to shove it.”

“You know I can’t do that” you fuss as you backspace the document. “Mm, me neither. What’s got you zoned out?”

“Nothing in particular.” You’re afraid to tell Shoko of your rendezvous, she might become volcanic and fire magma at the sound of any “-oji”.

“I know it’s not nothing. New boyfriend, hm?”

“S-something like that” you chuckle. She shapes an ‘O’ with her mouth, and wheels closer. Her bangs touch your eyebrows, and she rests her chin on her hand. Her usual dead eyes have a malicious twinkle in them.

“What’s he like? Is he tall or short?” she gasps, “did you meet him at the club? I told you it was a good idea; I really am the best advisor.”

You sigh, “It’s no one new.”

“Ooo, an old flame. Spicy. What’s his name?” You turn slowly, a nervous bite on your lips. She studies your face, and slowly hers drops.

“Do not fucking say it.”

“Shokoooo” you whine, searching for sympathy from her. Instead of that, your body is shaken violently as she whisper-yells, “Are you kidding? Get a grip! What’s gotten into you, you were fine!”

“But I wasn’t. It sucks, I feel lonely all the time.”

“You felt lonelier with him than without him!”

“I know, but...” You ball your lips in with furrowed brows, and she holds her breath.

“I wanna go see him” you squeak. Instantly, she squishes your cheeks with both hands to hold you in place.

“Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”

At home, you pace back and forth in front of the phone resting on your bed. Toji’s contact is open, and nausea is brewing in your stomach. You’re giddy and ill, working up the courage to press “call”. You really should be practicing Shoko’s advice, but you’ve long surpassed common sense. You leave and come back, spying on it from a distance. Eventually, you forgo the theatrics and grab the phone to hit the messenger app.

Three dots vanish and resurface. You can’t get it right:

'Hey stranger I got custody of ur clothes rn'

'Hey haha I missed u can I come over?'

'Yo what’s up? Still have ur clothes do u want them?'

'I’m coming to give u ur stinky clothes'

This shouldn’t be complicated, and you don’t usually perform the process of elimination for simple responses, but it’s Toji. You’re scrambling and overanalyzing, reiterating your choice of slang only to delete it all over again. You settle for a simple message. “Hey Toji, I wanted to return your clothes. Let me know when you’re available. Thanks”

Once you hit send, you run a marathon around your bedroom, tippy tapping to expel your anticipation. The churning grows as seconds pass, and so does your doubt. You tiptoe to the phone as if a displaced floorboard would activate the alarm. You’re about to tap the screen, and then your ringtone plays.

Oh god.

You take a deep breath and swipe right on the faceless profile picture labeled “dumbass ex”.

“…Hello?”

“Hey, angel.” You avoid a dull pound in your chest at the memorable pet name. “So, um-“

“I wanna see you. I’m available now, and I’ll be home by the time you get here” he states, direct and confident. His conviction validates yours, you bend to his direction.

“Okay then. I’ll start getting ready.”

“I’ll send a cab to your address. See you soon.” When he hangs up, you dive into the pile of plushies. Squeezing them for emotional support, kicking your feet in the air as you scream into your ruffled pillows like a girl’s first crush. You have a long night ahead of you.

You access Toji’s building. He must’ve notified them you were coming, as the doors were open upon arrival, and a bellhop was sent to guide you to his floor. You’re standing outside of it, clothes and a bottle of champagne in hand. Your stretchy maxi dress clings to your figure, complimenting the juicy shade of lip gloss you’re wearing—the shade he loved most on you during your marriage. You ring the bell, and it doesn’t take long before he opens the door. The scene you’re exposed to swells heat between your legs.

Toji has nothing but a towel shimmied low on his hips, v-line adorned with veins and biceps corded with muscle. He’s trimmed his hair since your last encounter, and it’s dripping wet along with the rest of his soaked body. You’ve interrupted his shower apparently, but he didn’t hesitate to rush to the door, water cascading from the raven veil, sluicing down his sculpted chest. He had to have done this on purpose, but you weren’t complaining at this point; he looked damn good doing it. You can’t disengage from the beads branching amid his pecs and through his happy trail. God, you wish you were water personified right no-

“You’re staring, dollface” he teases with a smirk. Your eyes snap to his, and you remember to breathe. You clumsily hold up the liquid peace offering, “Brought a little something.”

“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get dressed.” You nod, and he marches upstairs. You don’t need comfortability; you need to be in and out of here before you do something you’ll regret.

But...is that cedarwood and vanilla? The interior gives off romantic energy at night, attractive dim lighting throughout and dull flickering pops of his fireplace in the living room. You find the source of that heavenly scent sitting on his kitchen island, and awkwardly place the bottle down. You don’t know what to do with yourself, more so you don’t know what to say. It’s hard to recite a script when things aren’t going according to plan. Did you want to apologize, or force him to apologize? Maybe you should’ve cursed him out, rehashed his asshole behavior from the past until he drowned in guilt. You want to kiss and slap him, cry in his arms until your voice gives out and disappear all at once.

There’s a beautiful clear vase in the center, crammed with your favorite flowers, and your fingers dance across the petals. “You like ‘em?” he asks stepping into the kitchen. His hair’s still saturated, but he’s sporting grey sweatpants and a black ribbed tank top. “They’re very pretty.”

“They’re for you.”

You switch between his playful expression and the burst of colors, “You don’t have to do that.” The bouquet evokes recollections of heated arguments—anytime he’d angered you to tears, and you slammed that bedroom door in his face, you always woke up to similar flowers on the floor. They were cheap, but it meant more than money; because despite the fights and disagreements, it let you know that he’d love you regardless.

“I wanted to. As thanks for bringing my clothes.” He’s pacing towards you, and you’re bound to the floor like melting wax. His gaze is captivating, and you’re entranced by the verdurous ardor that won’t deter from you.

“Thank you”, you say as he looms above you and inspects the scripture on the pale bottle. His large thumb blocks the intricate lettering he’s trying to read, “I should be thanking you. Didn’t think you’d ever message me.”

You can feel the body heat radiating off him, the airy words as he mouths the contents. His eyebrows furrow to follow his focus, while you lose yours.

“I-I should probably get going-” Without delay, Toji blocks your side with an iron grip on the island, trapping you in the confines of his broad wingspan.

“Leaving so soon? You got plans tonight?” Saying and doing are completely different stories, and from the way your feet haven’t moved, you aren’t in a rush to go anywhere.

“Not really, but I worked today and I’m kinda tired-”

“Then what better way to unwind than with a bottle? I can’t drink this by myself, might as well keep me company” he suggests, persuasion to a greater extent when your lower back hits the bar. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, right?

“I guess I can stay for a few minutes.” Toji flashes a victorious toothy grin and retrieves cups from the sink cupboard. He gives you a rounded glass, and his muscles flex below candlelight as he maneuvers the cork at an angle.

“Let’s crack this open” he says, popping the cap off and pouring a substantial amount of golden fizz into both cups.

Toji raises his glass, “A toast.”

You tilt your head but raise yours as well. “To what?”

“Us.”

Us is a funny thing—with enough effort, it becomes you and I just as quickly as it formed. You don’t know if you’re willing to accept the responsibility of eternity. The devastation of commitment could damage you forever. There’s no us, but there’s you and him. So, you clink your glass, “To us,” and his eyes never leave yours as he takes a swig. It lasts a lifetime among longing breaths and unsaid words.

He brings the champagne to the living room, “I’ll turn on a movie. You know that cheesy romcom shit you used to watch? They made a sequel.” You fall flat on containing your excitement. He grabs the remote and lays back with his thighs spread apart.

Toji pats the couch, “Come sit. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” You hardly believe that, but you remove your heels and relax upon overstuffed cushions. You opt to sit farther on the couch, and there’s an annoyed twitch on his lip at your display of boundaries. Nevertheless, he starts the movie.

Toji’s not particularly sneaky. He announces multiple bathroom breaks, returning to a spot on the couch that’s inconspicuous, but inching closer to you. The intent becomes clear when the ghost of his shoulder knocks against you, spreading his thighs wider to brush against the softness huddled into your snug figure. You’re half paying attention to the cliché performance, and half observing Toji. It’s hard not to smile when he behaves like a disobedient dog obligated to sit.

It’s cute that he arced himself to be eye-level with you. His tank rode up to expose his lower abdomen, and he adjusts himself in his sweats, jaw occasionally clenching. It could be the drink talking, perhaps you’ve had too many.

The movie ends, and you exhale a sigh of relief. “I forgot how corny this shit is.”

Toji shrugs, “I didn’t think it was too bad.”

“No way, you actually liked it?” you gasp. He huffs out his nose, smiling, “People change.”

“I’m shocked” you quip. Dusk creeps into a descending sunset, and you steal a glance at your phone screen. Bright as day, a notification from Shoko emerges. “NO TOJI >:("

You’re stumped thinking of a reply, one that doesn’t compromise your less-than-ideal situation, when Toji puts his hand over the screen. “Hope I’m not gettin’ ya in trouble.”

“Like you care.” He chuckles and slides it to the far side of the couch. “You’re right. Let’s watch another.”

This next movie's decent; a flat racing plot with excessive sequels. He unleashes an exaggerated yawn, extending his triceps to land behind your head. You quirk a brow at him, and he plays innocent. “You look cold” he says. You don’t care as much as you pretend. His pads trace the shell of your burning ear down to the lobe, to fine hair at the end of your neck. His rough hand massages the back of your head, and you lull to his chest. Be it the champagne or his actions, it’s too hot for comfort. Clamping your thighs shut spurs the intensity. His other hand languidly tests the limits of your skin, gossamer touches from your knee to your thigh. It's asking, and when you don’t object, he invites the entire palm to your knee, rubbing delicately. He brings it to your upper thigh, and retreats to the outside, getting dangerously close to your rear. The worst part is it’s not that bad. It’s intimate. Warm.

Loving.

It takes you a minute to comprehend you’re tearing up, but Toji recognizes that hushed sniffle. Airy and choked, quiet as to not be a burden. He circles a hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He tilts your chin to his gaze, soft and deceptively gentle when he asks.

“What’s wrong pretty, hm?” You say nothing through the constrains in your throat, streaking the tears that fall faster than you can wipe them. This man alone can reduce you to mush with a wave of his hand. He bares your rawest state and sculpts you back together with such purity, such devotion, that you’d plead for him to sink his clay sodden fingers into your nothing, and make you everything.

“Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

You say just above a whisper, “You’re selfish, you know that?”

“Mhm, I know” he nods, grazing his thumb across your lip.

“This isn’t healthy for us; we can’t heal like this.” He angles your head with his half lidded gaze, polishing your damp undereyes.

“I don’t need healing. I need you.”

You find passage in his hair, and surrender to temptation.

You test with a smooch. Then another. Then a series of tender, sugary kisses are pushed upon his pliant lips, and he responds in kind. You curl your fingers through his tresses as you explore the contours of his lips for what feels like the first time. Toji isn’t known for patience, but the sensation of his mildly dry lips getting smoother from your supple kisses gives him the will to savor this moment. You push and pull from each other, indulging in the messy smacks and caresses. You stop amid shared breaths to skim and nudge his yearning lips, diving into more hungry kisses. Toji abruptly lifts you over him, and you deepen its bruising passion.

You lick his bottom lip, and he groans, parting his mouth to allow your entry. You traverse the pink mass, interlacing in a wet feverish exchange. Your mind is numb, and the heartbeat in your core strikes stronger when your tongues intertwine. Toji hikes your dress up and slinks his massive hands over the plush fat of your rear. He earns a muffled moan from you as he kneads and gropes, and you feel his smirk against your lips. He grips your ass and starts to grind your hips on the bulge in his pants, a silent beg for any amount of friction. You wind with his movements, consuming him, and you hear a whimper get lost in the back of his throat.

You drag your teeth along his neck. You lick and suck in a few spots and decide to draw harshly on a responsive patch of skin while circling the fat of your pussy over his sensitive cock, taut in his boxers. His breath hitches, and he slaps your ass. “Fuck, baby please.” It’s rare to witness him begging like this, and you’re drinking it in. You lick up his Adam’s apple and pepper his jaw with kisses. “You like it?”

“Need more.” You bite his bottom lip for what seems like an exchange, but break away once he leans in. “Mm, be patient Toji.”

Your hands traverse the rugged muscle under his tank top. He aids in taking it off, and you rake over his breathless torso. You kiss along his pecs and lick the groove of his abs, delighting in the parts you missed during your separation. Toji has a tinge of red soaking his chest and ears, shifting uncomfortably from his throbbing cock when you bat your eyes as you slope to the floor. You slip a finger under his waistband, playfully running over its span, and snapping it from a peak. He hisses. You palm his erection, and he grinds into it.

“Wait” he husks. He reaches for a pillow and shuffles it under your knees. “Oh, thank you” you say, but it doesn’t look like he hears you in the chaos of tugging his sweatpants down to expose his boxers. The anticipation’s killing you, so you free his dick from its confinement.

You can’t forget the mouthwatering size. His girth meets his length with equal satisfaction. The base is tan, fading to a rosy tip and a faint curve. You committed his veins to memory, small ones embossing the sides and a prominent one meandering to his tip.

You maintain eye contact with him, hand steady on the base as you deliver taunting little licks to his frenulum. You precisely ring around his urethra and trace the veins, pulsating from the flick of your wrist. Toji hisses shaky curses and bucks, beefy thighs stiffening when you roll a flat strip to his leaking head and pump the base of his cock. He didn’t want to push you, but his whole body twitched in desire. “Your mouth” he groans. You react a coy ‘huh?’, tapping the head on your tongue and slathering it in saliva with cutesy doe eyes. He’s homed in on the strings of saliva connecting him to your tongue.

An undertone of desperation in his gravelly voice, “Whole thing. In your mouth,” he expends another shaky breath, “please.”

He bites his lip and stifles a moan, watching you engulf the cockhead in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks while the underside of your tongue holds firm, and cautiously accommodate his size. It’s too big for comfort and it stretches the capacity of your plump spit-covered lips, but you work through the daunting pressure poking your reflex. You gradually relax, periodically gagging from an unprepared increase, and he twitches at your tightening throat. Your nose finally touches the hilt, flooded in his musk, and you start to suck. You bob leisurely, adjusting to the sense, and he subtly squirms in your touch.

Toji crinkles his brows when you release a pleasant pop on his tip, purely to observe his eyes rolling back when you wreck him in a noisy suction. Noise was no longer a factor—sounds of spit and dry retching overpowered the volume of the movie regardless. He holds your hair away from you to get a better view of your face, smothered with tears and mascara, drool ceaseless down your chin. “F-fuck, you’re so good, so, so good to me” he groans.

Your tongue swirls around him as you’re bobbing, and you accompany it with a tender massage to his balls. You cup and fondle them, using the lubrication from your spit to glide your fingers across. He sighs and grabs a handful of your hair. “Need to come. Keep that pretty throat open for me, yeah?”

He rapidly shoves you down to the hilt, and you wince before he continues at a relentless pace. You anchor his thigh for stability, and he throws his head back, fucking your throat raw. There's a sheen of sweat where his bangs stick to his forehead, and he emits an endless measure of moans the closer he gets. Rambling about nonsense, yes’s and curses as he stiffens. He treats your mouth like a flesh light, evident by the throat bulge disappearing and reappearing. You happily accept the searing jaw, swaying your ass from thrumming in your saturated panties damp to your inner thighs.

You can tell he’s about to climax because he goes completely quiet minus the panting, open mouthed with his head back. You resume massaging his balls, and he shoves you to the base, “C-coming” he moans. You grab onto him, and a squeak dies in your throat when he paints it white. He shakes, groans for each spurt coating your mouth, pumping the last of his semen as you swallow.

Toji shudders when he pulls out, and his panting returns to a soft huff. You expected him to be spent, or at least sit in the aftershocks for a while until he calmed down. But he tightens the grip on your hair and forces you to look up. “Show me” he husks. You stick your tongue out, proof you swallowed every bit. “Now c’mere”, he guides you into a filthy French kiss, devouring you with much more dominance than before. It’s as though your nearness restored him. You can hardly stand your feeble knees and sopping core, but Toji takes care of it for you. With unnatural vigor, he lifts you over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs. “Ah, Toji, maybe you should take a sec-”

He swats your butt harsh, and you yelp from the sting. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do. You’ve been so mouthy, a damn tease, too. You’re gonna regret it.”

You’re ferried into the rather plain bedroom lined with dim hues, and a wide ceiling length mirror opposite the bed. He tosses you on the dark gray bedding and climbs over you. Your heart’s racing with thrill. Toji yanks the dress over your head, uncovering the sheer white lacey bra, similar to your underwear.

He stares like you’re a piece of meat, feasting on your flawlessness not yet smothered in hickeys and bruises, your nipples at attention under the fabric. “It’s all for me, huh?” he whispers, lust rolling off his tongue. You nod, because it’s always been for him, whether he was here or not. He buries himself in your cleavage and hums in satisfaction. His touch sends goosebumps to your skin and keeps your back arched when he drags a pad along your spine. Then your bra unclasps, and he removes it carefully, as if he didn’t want to spoil the surprise by unwrapping his gift too early. He gawks at them for an embarrassingly long pause, enough to make your cheeks hot, and you chide, “Stop staring.”

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous.” Toji submerges the bud, whirling around it while he roughly squeezes both breasts. He molds the dough of your breasts with strong palms, nips and tugs your nipple before soothing it with fierce tongue kisses. Consistent teeth grazing hikes your sensitivity before he trades it for sucking. When he switches to the other, he pinches the maltreated peak, eliciting a whimper. You merely bind your thighs and embrace the disarray being caused on your spit-soaked nipples. The cold air your abused tits receive as he withdrawals from suckling is nullified by the hickeys he leaves. You quiver from constellations of splotchy purplish red, delicious pain tingling throughout your torso. “Not so much, I have to go back to work soon” you moan, not very convincing.

“Even better; everyone’ll know who fucks you” Toji winks, and your heart skips. He dumps a nice vibrant bruise on your sternum, and advances to the dainty hem. He parts your thighs with ease, throwing them on his shoulder. Then he develops a haughty smirk.

You’re monitoring his face, until he presses a pad against your aching clit, and the subsequent juices overflowing from a huge wet patch. He plays with the spiderweb of slick between his digits, “Mm. Y’still my girl.” You blush as he sucks on them and licks his lips afterwards. Hooking under the panties, he pulls them taut, projecting the swell of your pudgy vulva in tightening lace. It sinks past your outer lips and cages your clit—you want to writhe from friction, but it makes it worse. He ghosts against you and kisses the print, and you want to scream. “Tell me what you want, or I won’t do it.”

“P-please...” you whine. You lock eyes, and you can hardly manage a word in the foreground of his intensity. How can he expect you to form coherent sentences when he sees through you like this? He gives a disappointed tut and puppeteers the strings, shifting them back and forth upon your neglected vulva. You cry out, and he cinches it together, isolating the part that pulses incessantly. He has an evil grin on his face, the bastard. “Details, baby.”

“Toji...please t-touch me alre-eady so I can come, m’sorry I won’t tease you again!” you promise, willing to do whatever it takes to reduce your sentence.

“And what else?”

“Your mouth on m-my pussy...please lick it.” You’re humiliated at the request that tumbles from your bottommost desires, but he’s satisfied. He’s never been one to shy away from dirty talk.

“Good girl.” Toji slithers your panties off, and you sigh from a loss of pressure just as his bangs tickle your pubic area. He interlocks your hands, a breath from eating you.

“You don’t look at me, I’ll stop. Think you can do that f’me?”

“Mhm!”

He hums in agreement and submerses into you. Toji’s a messy eater, especially when he’s desperate. He ovals the outer lips and precisely stirs your clit, and your stomach turns in knots from simple motions. He frames it and carefully winds around his capable tongue, really focusing on the spots that make your back curve; really focusing on your entry, as he teasingly digs in.

Toji cajoles a groan from his nose caressing your bud, then laps a level tongue over your wetness, truly tasting you. It isn’t long before his teasing farce began to crumble, and he obliged his ravenous appetite. He eats you starving, insatiable as he absorbs your twitching cunt and perfumed essence spilling down his chin. You clasp your hands, desire building in a trembling quake, but he doesn’t falter. He slurps your inner lips, and finally delivers proper care to your neglected clit. He hums a low vibration when he sucks, his pursed lips moving from a steady tongue to full on slobbering like some savage animal.

You appreciate the support his steady hands give your shaky ones. “Toji, hahhh coming” you whine, a familiar sensation flipping in your core. He lets his words fan onto you, “You know better” he husks. Your hips are bucking frantically, and so you whine, “Please, can I come sir, please please please please!”

“Hmm, I don’t know, you were ready to disobey me just now.” He says that, however the look in his eye is unrelated; it craves you, the want to make you squeal repeatedly until you’re on the verge of collapse. “’M can’t take it anymore, please let me come!” You urge your hips to his mouth, and meld into his warmth.

“Come on my face, pretty girl” he groans, just as hankering as you. He laps at your clit, and you sooner fall apart underneath him. Your whimpered plea forms an innocent sob as you spasm from overstimulation. Toji just doesn’t stop. His head careens against you, tasting everything your body has to offer. You’re suddenly regretting how badly you wanted to come.

“Toji- I-it’s too much” you protest, but it receives no response. Your release dribbles down his chin and he persists, ultimately unbinding when you lose a hold on his hands from the tremors. He diverges your lips and admires the way your mess clenches around air.

“Heh, you’re shaking. Cute.” He rubs the back of your legs, reassuring you in spite of his previous cruelty. You make a sad attempt at wiggling away, but he grabs you firm.

No running. Be good and hold your legs back.” He folds your legs to your shoulders, and you mewl, reluctantly wrapping your hands around them. ‘No’ isn’t a valid response at present.

Toji’s thumbs spread your wrinkling opening, and you feel a draft on its expanse before he spits directly into your hole. You jerk, startled, and he shushes you. He slathers his thick digits in your glistening strip, and smoothly sinks one inside. “Pussy so slippery for me. Miss this...miss you” he sighs, starting to pump. He prepares you for the main course, scrapes your walls and curls his finger to hit a spot you can’t reach. The nasty squelching sounds you echo from a mere finger casts heat on your cheeks, and he seems to enjoy your responsiveness as he adds another finger to the commotion. He twines a ‘come hither’ motion that makes your back arch from every delightful swipe against your velvety walls. Then his pink muscle undulates along your swollen bud, and you dissolve to a puddle. Your hips stutter, and surge after surge of torturous pleasure strikes you with no end in sight.

“Toji, f-fuck wait- hng s’feels too good” you whimper, and he gruffs a chuckle. He expands his fingers with precision, then chooses to slide a thumb in your butthole. The combination of both hands intruding your being, coiling into your soul jams your head with intoxicating dizziness and fictitious futures. Static pools in your stomach and circulates like the goading flickers of a raging inferno. He contacts your g-spot, and you moan, “Ah- can I, I’m close”

“I know, I know. Let go for me,” he says, or at least that’s what it sounds like when he’s face-deep. Your eyes are screwed shut, white noise before you crash and shatter around his fingers. Fortunately, you’re deaf to your own lewd wailing, clutching for dear life through contractions. It gushes past his wrist. Tears reside in your lashes, croaked sob from the slap he gives your puffy pussy. “That’s it, baby, there we go.”

Toji shows mercy and slips out. You’re still registering sultry bliss, untangling your limbs to lay slack. Empathy isn’t forever, though, because he forces your butt rearwards as he hops off the bed. Precum seeps from his tip, sheeting his shaft and heavy brimming sack. He propels your thighs to your chest, and your expression switches to fear for a second at the angry red tip sitting at your entrance. It's as if it grew since the blowjob, and you’re sure you’ll die if he stuffs that monster inside you.

He slides up and down the entrance, seizing the sore bud, “Mmm, pretty thing making a mess all over my cock.”

“Just go slow, okay?” you meek.

“Of course, ‘m not tryna kill you.” Toji doesn’t disrupt the yearning gaze between you, giving your entry several threatening caresses. He groans from the sensation of your puffy lips snuggling his length. Then he plunges the bulbous tip, encased in your passion. He’s unhurried for the most part, besides the instants he stops himself from ramming into you, cock begging to feel the fervor. He’s plugging you to capacity, and you’re only halfway in. Soreness whirrs in your walls being outstretched beyond belief, yet you’re milking what remains, dragging the rest of him in. His breath hitches, a spiderweb of veins pulses in your tight embrace and he rocks his hips further. “Look at the way you’re gripping me. Fuck” he shudders. His tip presses on your cervix, and you feel the weight of his balls on your rear.

Toji drives into you nice and slow. In this position you feel each vast stroke massaging your tumid core, squelching amidst your languid bodies. There’s almost a gloss film on his eyes as he indulges in the sweet addiction swamping his thoughts with unfiltered lust. “When you left it hurt real bad, y’know? I even cried.” You’re a bit stunned at his spur of honesty, but it’s short-lived as his thrusts get wilder and brutal. Your mouth hangs open, drool shameless out your mouth as he kisses your cervix without trying. You throb frenetically, chest heaving from the way his sack smacks against your ass and the creamy translucent ring forming at the base of his cock. His swinging strokes graze your g-spot and you sob, but he doesn’t check for your mitigation, encompassing your numb clit in the heat of his mean smacks.

“Heh, dunno if you remember, but you left a pair of panties when you moved”, Toji regresses to the tip and bottoms out repeatedly, “I’ve jerked off in them so many times, imagining you backing up this juicy pussy on my dick.” You’re hysterical, flushed from head to toe and struggling to take breaths. Toji has you locked slamming into your cervix. It coaxes a mix of pleasure and pain burning through you, and your toes curl. “You love me?” he asks. It’s unfair to ask you now, scatter-brained and drooling like a stupefied slut. But you nod, and he plasters a cocky grin. “Good. ‘S long as I have that, I’m okay.”

The unexpected flood of your orgasm quakes you, unable to warn Toji, or even ask for permission. How disappointed he’d be in you, as your juices sluice and soak, fluttering where you come undone. It’s a trail of fire, and it hurts to come. His hips sputter and he mutters a string of curses, flicking your nub faster to heighten the intensity of the earlier mess. You paw at his chest, back arched and fresh tears clustering in the haze. “Please, please!” you babble to an unresponsive Toji, stuck in a feral trance.

Toji pulls out, palpitating at the precipice of his own climax. You take this opportunity to flip on your stomach and creep to a farther part of the bed. He’s in no rush. You can’t go far like that, a net of arousal at the apex of your thighs. He climbs onto the bed and grapples your hips, thighs capturing yours. He curves your back and slips into your gummy walls anew. You grip him like a vice notwithstanding the complaints. You hate to say it, but Toji’s length bullying its way to your cervix is a poison you’d drink habitually. He snares your hair and holds the underside of your chin. “Hah- c’mon baby, you can take a little more”, he groans at a savage pace, “be a good girl.” Your ass ripples against the brawny man, hoarse voice in your ear, scrotum pummeling the overworked bundle of nerves. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets. All you should do is let him use you, that’s all you need to do, right?

Toji pans your head to the mirror, “Look how good you’re taking me, angel. You’re doing well.” His honeyed praises make you throb, attended by the bestial snap of his hips. “See that?”, he references your release slugging both legs, air heavy with sweat, “you’re such a f-fucking slut, what man could satisfy you besides me?” You sniffle and muster a pathetic babble, and he laughs. “You’re my perfect slut, though, fuck- ‘nd I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again.” There’s a tinge of regret swimming in the sea that is Toji’s confidence, and you feel it. It’s a subtle confession; please don’t go.

Then he stops. Toji lets go, and you’re impulsively manhandled in front of him while he’s behind you. He lays back, and in doing so, ferries your knees to the sides of your face and hooks his hands to the rear of your head. You’re unveiled in the reflection of the mirror, a panel that bounces back the thin sheen of sweat on your bodies, your disheveled hair and makeup, wrinkled sheets, and the sticky lacings attaching you to Toji. You want to shy from the humiliating sight. “Don’t hide your face” he coos. You glimpse a portion of his face in the mirror, a glint in his eye, “I like this view more.”

He bends his knees and pounds your chubby cunt with reckless abandon. He’s fucking your cervix, heedless grunts and panting groans as you swallow him up. Toji sputters, throbbing along your abused body and reverberating vicious staggering plap’s that could be heard on the lowest floor. You can’t breathe, let alone think, and the asphyxiation goes straight to your pussy. “O-oh fuck, heh, feel s’good. Gonna fill you up, yeah? Shit- have a mini me crawling around. Y-you'd like that, wouldn’t you, doll? Wanna carry my baby?” The headboard thuds against the wall, and in your fog, you call out for him, chanting his name like a mantra. The emotion is overwhelming, you claw at his bicep as shockwaves burst and fizzle out on your skin. “You’re dripping down my balls, sweetie, you close again?” Tougher, nastier strikes allure your orgasm, and you bleat a scream as a stream of liquid surges from you that drenches the sheets and Toji’s shaft. It’s a blinding white light, and you go limp through the violent spasms.

“Ohhh shit, that’s it baby, take everything I give you” he rasps. Toji shoulders your dead weight with ease, going silent, then plummeting you to the hilt. His balls tighten, and he manages some slushy pumps before he comes. He spurts thick, hot globs that paint and crowd your walls with greed. You milk him dry as he bucks. It overflows to trickling down his length, and his muscles quiver as he comes down from his high. His staggering pants reduce to hitching, and he relaxes your exhausted limbs.

Toji drives out and turns you around. You’re edging unconsciousness, sporadic jolts and innocent sobs carrying in your scratched throat. “I know. Breathe, baby.” He brings you flush with his chest, and you absorb his gentle puffs, the methodical beat of his heart. “You okay?” You’re unresponsive, gathering yourself in an incomplete collage of thoughts. You want to talk but it dissipates on your tongue. He rubs your back and kisses your forehead.

Then it’s muted; solely the dwindling rate at which your heart races, and the tender smooches Toji dots on your face as you cuddle. When you open your eyes, the sheets are changed, and you’re cleaned. Clearly some time has passed. You sit, and Toji comes out the bathroom, running water in the background. “How ya feelin’?”

You wince at the blunt thrum in your vulva, “Okay. How long was I out?”

“Like half an hour. Up for a bath?” You don’t have the energy to move your body. Toji scoops you bridal style and leads you to the bathroom. You found it amusing how considerate he was after wrecking your brain.

Toji spoons a generous quantity of Epson salt into the corner jet tub. He helps you in and joins once you’re stable. It’s a lavish proportion, but you decide to be next to him. Your head situates on your forearms over the tub rim while Toji sloshes water onto your back. The steam and serene jets below ship you to a luxury vacation on a tropical island, its quality comparable to spas with extensive dollar signs. You study each other.

“I’ll let you get whatever you need from your place.” You knit your brows, “For what?”

“You live with me.” You simper at his audacity.

“So, you’re the decision maker now?”

“For this, yes. Can’t risk you runnin’ off again.”

“It’s your fault I left.” He pauses, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know. I’m sorry.”

A piece of you becomes whole at his acknowledgement. There are no petty jabs to be had where lingering truths wade in the mist. “Never thought I’d hear an apology from you.”

“It’s overdue. I was a dick, and I should’ve never treated you like that. Was tryna sort out my shit, but I didn’t have to take it out on ya.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry...but not sorry enough to let me go?”

“No. You need nobody but me.”

You chortle, and he cracks a smirk. “Arrogant asshole.”

“I love you, too.”

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro #toji smut #toji x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji fushigro x reader #jjk

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citrusinicake · 2 years

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getting sick and tired of adding tags to random meaningless posts of mine and am tempted to Stop Doing That but unfortunately i have this incessant need to make my blog as Customizable™ for other ppl as possible

#mine.txt #it stems from the fact that i Also would like some tags on posts for easy finding things #not that i really need it cause the search function suits me just fine #but yknow still #maybe i should just make a third separate blog just for random bs #i never really say much so i dont think it really matters but yknow the thought is there #technically i Could use my second blog ig but i want my blogs to each have their own Feeling #actually yknow what yeah ill have a third blog #ill make it later tho im busy rn

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bunniesanddeer · 6 months

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Heat: Part One

Part Two

This was my first attempt at smut, so you will all get to see it now. I hope you'll like it. I originally posted it on AO3. If it is terrible, I apologize. This is also set in the same universe as "Bound to Hell" and "Going Straight to Hell", but it is NOT canon to the official multichapter fic which will be posted when it is half done. So it is the same characters, with a much more developed relationship.

Pairing: Alastor x Reader (AFAB) Lamb/Sheep Reader

Warnings: References to abuse, going into heat, no a/b/o, female anatomy, Rosie being a good friend, references to Soul Bonds, something you can ask about haha. Minors DNI. This part is not explicit, but the next is! Alastor speaks French.

Word Count: 3,690

Alastor knew something was wrong very early on. He hadn’t been able to identify what it was specifically, but it had been unsettling. His shadow had quaked and quivered at something he couldn’t see, and his skin had felt tight. When he had left his room, the sound of crickets in the swamp fading behind him, the feeling had grown worse. It had made the Overlord not quite jumpy, but definitely uncomfortable. Then he saw the cause, stumbling from their room.

His little lamb that was slowly carving out a spot for themself in his cold, dead heart, was the cause. Their wool was disheveled, nearly matted. Their eyelids were drooping low, as if they hadn’t slept. He watched them stumble for a bit before he caught their scent. Due to their bond, and proximity, he was quite attuned to their scent. Normally, they were faintly sweet with a hint of florals, but now? All he could focus on was the deep, heady smell of them. Alastor wasn’t sure what had happened, but it was clearly drastic.

“My dear,” he called. The sound of his voice had made the little demon perk up. They whipped around, and nearly sprinted to his side. They were often enthusiastic to see him in the morning, but this was new.

“Alastor!” Their voice was filled with joy, their eyes full of unwarranted excitement. The exhaustion that had painted their face only a moment before, was gone. Their hands wrapped around his lower arm, and they nuzzled into his side. They cooed, “I missed you.”

Alastor’s brows furrowed. How very peculiar! His little lamb never initiated contact without asking first. He didn’t mind their touch, it was rather pleasing. He enjoyed the softness of their skin, and the gentleness of their hands. They still liked to ask, though, some strange need to make him feel comfortable. (He thought it was unnecessary, he was an Overlord, and he owned their soul; if he wanted them off, they’d be off of him). Not to forget, they had ‘missed’ him? The two had been separated a handful of hours at most. What was going on?

“My dearest, are you feeling alright,” he asked, lifting their chin with his other hand. “You seem a little out of sorts.”

Their eyes wavered, and the exhaustion leeched back into them. The grasp they had on his arm tightened. “I’m sorry, Al. I feel really weird.” Their eyelids fluttered, and they released a strangled breath. “I feel like I’m burning up. Which is weird, it’s winter still.”

Alastor could feel his smile wavering. He hadn’t heard of sinners getting fevers for anything other than strange illnesses. No one else in the hotel was sick, so how could they have contracted anything? He looked them up and down, noting the flush to their cheeks, and the sweat building up on the back of their neck. They were sick.

“Hey, can… can demons get colds?” They asked, almost as if it was a joke. Before Alastor could muster a response, they collapsed. He deftly caught them, his surprise showing on his face.

“Oh, dear,” he muttered to himself. Who would know about these kinds of things? Perhaps Charlie? But she was supposed to be rather busy that day. Perhaps Rosie would know! She had been in Hell for quite a long time. She was bound to know something.

Alastor arranged his little soul-bond in his arms, and stalked back to their room. Their room was full of that smell that had thrown him off just before. It made his skin tingle, and his head feel full. He couldn’t account for it, but it wasn’t something he disliked. The discomfort came from the confusion that was growing in his breast. What a strange sensation!

Alastor wrapped them up in their blankets, hoping that perhaps getting warmer would help their fever. Before he stepped away from their bedside, he stroked their cheek with the back of his fingers. How soft their skin was! He stared down at their little face, taking in every detail. The white freckles that looked like stars against their gray skin, the way their lashes fluttered in their sleep. Their plush lips, just barely open, and the sharp teeth he knew lay behind them. His chest tightened, something aching deeply, as he looked at them. His smile tightened. Alastor decided it was time to go.

On the way out of the hotel, he called for Husker. The cat-demon was clearly disgruntled at being called on earlier than he’d prefer, but Alastor didn’t care.

“My little lamb seems to be sick. They’re in bed right now. If they don’t stir before noon, wake them up and make them eat something.” Alastor let the underlying threat color his words. He wouldn’t have their situation get worse just because Husker wanted to be lazy. They would eat, before he got back, and then he would help them get better. But first, he needed to know what was wrong.

“Alastor! My good friend! What brings you in on such a fine day!” Rosie’s fervor was nearly infectious, but Alastor had a mission. The feather on her hat bobbed as she tilted her head in question.

“Ah, I seem to have a problem,” Alastor replied. “Do you mind if we perhaps have a conversation in a less, public space?”

The deer-demon glanced about, as if to remind her of their location. Rosie nodded, still smiling happily. She gestured with a flick of her wrist, and led the way to the back of her store.

When the two had finally settled into their seats, Alastor sighed. Rosie went about pouring some tea for them as he worked on his words. He conjured his microphone, idly tapping it. Something heavy weighed in his chest, and the feeling wouldn’t go away.

“Oh Alastor! You know you’re my favorite pal! Just tell me what’s on your mind. You look all twisted up!” Rosie sat back in her chair, sipping from a teacup that she held delicately. Her smile was welcoming and patient, and it soothed Alastor minutely.

He was thankful for her breaking the silence, as it forced him to finally speak. “Do you know what might cause a sinner to get sick? Even if they have not been exposed to anything?”

Rosie hummed to herself, a knowing look in her dark eyes. “Oh, this is about your little paramour, isn’t it?”

Alastor’s smile twitched, faintly. Of course! Rosie would be able to tell immediately. She was intelligent, and she was better at reading people than even himself. Not to mention, the two of them had been friends a long time. She could read him like an open book.

“Yes,” he admitted. “They seem to be sick, and I don’t know what it could be. I’ve never seen nor experienced such a thing, here.” His claws tap at the armrest of the plush chair, as he props his chin up with the other hand. “They looked positively dreadful this morning! Claiming that they felt hot, despite the cold.”

Rosie set down her teacup, letting a hand cover her smile as she laughed. “Oh dear! That is quite something.” She laughed again when Alastor let his annoyance show. “They’re a sheep, are they not?”

Alastor nodded, not quite knowing what that aspect of his little soul-bond had to do with it.

“And they are female, yes?” Alastor nodded again, his confusion growing. “Oh dear. You said some time ago that they had reciprocated the soul-bond, yes? And they’ve been down here for several months now.”

Rosie trailed off, as if expecting him to suddenly understand what she was implying. Alastor couldn’t think of how any of that had made them sick. Rosie picked up on how deeply confused he was, and sighed.

“My, my. You really don’t know about how demon manifestations work, beyond what pertains to yourself, do you?” Rosie waved a hand. “As you know, the form we take in death often have something to do with our life. The way we died, the way we lived, all of it contributes in one way or another. Lambs, sheep, whatever you want to call them, tended to have harder lives where they had no control. Often dealing in their bodily autonomy, or lack thereof.”

Alastor’s smile shrunk. Well of course, he had known what their life had been, but seeing that their new form was a reminder of that, each day? It made him uncomfortable. He hoped that his little lamb didn’t know why they were a lamb.

“Yes, I see that you have connected some of the dots. They’re lambs to the slaughter, all of them in one way or another. Their forms, because it’s Hell, often come with some terrible side effects that don’t show for a while. Their stress needs to level out, and they need to feel comfortable with the demons they are frequently near.” Rosie raises her brows, waiting for him to get it, but he doesn’t. “When they’ve settled, and they’re around demons they like, or they bond, the side effects kick in. Your little lamb, is experiencing that now.”

“So, they will get sick, because they’re comfortable?” Alastor feels mildly bamboozled, as he tries to clarify.

“Alastor, no,” Rosie sighs. She rubs her forehead, carefully avoiding cutting herself with her claws. “They’re in heat.”

Alastor shifts in his seat, that uncomfortable feeling tingling in his brain again. “Heat? Like, like an animal?”

“Yes, like a ewe, Alastor. They will seem sick, for about a day, then they will be clingy with you for the next, and then it will happen.” Rosie leans back in her chair, again. Unlike Alastor, she seemed entirely comfortable with the topic of discussion. “They will have the strongest drive for sex that they will have ever experienced. Going without is said to hurt terribly, like their whole body is on fire. They’ll seek out comfort in you, or by themself. Whatever quells the urge.”

Alastor felt like he had been shot. Never in all his years, alive or dead, had he heard of such a thing occurring. How tedious! How disgusting. His nose scrunched up at the thought of having to deal with such a thing himself, but the thought of his lamb… Heat rushed down his chest and into the pit of his belly. His skin was itching. The thought of his soul-bonded needing him in such a way… Alastor could not tell himself that he disliked such an idea.

He was deeply aware of how much he had grown to care for them. When he had finally relinquished some control in their relationship, offering to tie their little string tight on his end, he knew it was cemented. Alastor had a bizarre, and new, kind of love for the sweet thing he had made a deal with. They were his, and for the first, and only time, he could say, he was also theirs. He still owned their soul, but it was different. Their relationship had shifted over time. There were no more orders, and there was no more fear. His little lamb had grown comfortable, happy even, and this ‘heat’ was the proof.

Something akin to pride ignited in his chest. Yes, they were happy with him. What a delightful thing to know for sure!

“What should I do? I am not ready for anything of that nature, and I don’t want to risk them. They have had far too many choices taken from them,” Alastor says. His hands clasp together as he gives Rosie a moment to think. He didn’t want them forced into such an awful thing again. The realization that their experiences in life had caused this…anger was a word that barely described his feelings on the matter. He wanted to tear whatever being was in charge of such transformations into pieces.

“They will need something, at some level. Tomorrow, bring it up to them, ask. Let them know everything you know, and give them a choice. They can try and ride it out alone, or you can be beside them. How you handle it beyond that is between the two of you.” Rosie stands, a gentle smile on her face. “You should get going, my friend. You should get back to them. You’ll want to feed them well over these two days. They’ll need the energy, no matter what happens.”

Alastor stands, thanking her, almost absentmindedly. His trip back to the hotel is spent in silent pondering. He needed to plan. He wasn’t sure if sex was something he desired for himself, but he knew, deep down, he would do it for them; he’d give them that pleasure, that joy. Alastor could also feel something possessive growing. The idea of anyone else getting to commit themselves to such a task made him grit his teeth. No, if anyone was going to touch the sheep-demon, it would be him.

Angry flames licked at the bottom of his belly, something in his thoughts igniting them. They were his, and his alone. He would be the one to drive them to pleasure. (He ignored the memory of Richard and his deeds. None of that changed anything about what they deserved. It just meant that he needed to more carefully heed their wants and needs. He would give them the bliss that no other had).

Alastor smiled widely when he returned to the hotel. Now he needed to sit by their side for the night, and then speak with them tomorrow. Perhaps a quick discussion with the others as well? The two of them would not be available for the next few days, and he needed to make sure they would remain undisturbed. Perhaps a different location would be ideal.

When you woke, all you could focus on was the smell of food. Alastor was a very good cook, and you knew from the lovely smell of spices, that it had to have been his food. When you finally cracked your eyes open, you were delighted to find yourself right. The demon was sitting on the edge of your bed, a steaming bowl cupped in one of his hands.

“Good morning, dearest,” he said. There was something akin to apprehension on his face, but you were far too hungry to immediately comment on it. “I figured you would be quite hungry, when you awoke, so I took the liberty of making you something hardy.”

You smiled widely in thanks. How sweet he could be to you! It was new, in your relationship, but you loved it. You held out your hands, thanking him as you did, but he didn’t hand you the bowl. Alastor merely gestured for you to sit up, and scoot back. You did so, hesitantly, your back settling against your headboard. You held out your hands again, but he settled himself close to you on the bed. With his legs swung over the side, he started spooning the stew.

“No, hey, wait a minute! I can feed myself!” You glared at him, confusion and a tinge of anger mixing together.

Alastor sighed, affection leaking into his words. “I know, my love, but I need to tell you something quite…hmm, difficult might be the best word here. I want you to just listen, and focus on eating. Plus, I just love taking care of you.” One of his hands edges towards your face, claws softly stroking your cheek. He pulls it back, and spoons some more stew. “You can ask questions when I am done, but for now, eat.”

You grumble to yourself before opening your mouth to accept the spoon. Although you were loath to admit it, the stew tasted great, and him feeding you only felt slightly patronizing.

“Do you recall how you felt yesterday? You said you felt like you were burning up. Well, when you fainted, I went to find out what could be the cause. I went to my good friend Rosie, you remember her?” He lets you nod before feeding you another spoonful. “I came to the conclusion that she would know enough about Hell, to know what was causing your sudden illness.

“So I described it vaguely, and she realized I was talking about you, dearest. And she said some things that upset me, more than I had been willing to admit at the time.” Alastor sighs, static, that seemed ever present in his voice, fizzling out. The room was quiet for a moment as he let you swallow your food. “The way we manifest in Hell, has to do with the way we lived, and died. The things we experienced. I know you know some of this, but I also found out something more specific about your form.”

Alastor goes quiet, and you frown. Whatever could he have learned to cause the demon that never stops talking to go quiet?

“Sheep demons are often the result of lives lived that had very little control over themselves or their situation. You are a sheep, because you had such little bodily autonomy in your life, my love.” He feeds you another spoonful as your eyes widen. He snorts to himself. “It made me so incredibly angry, to have that confirmed to me. It only got worse when she finally told me why that had anything to do with your illness.

“You aren’t sick. You are experiencing a ‘heat’, as she called it. It’s a side effect of being a sheep, or more specifically a female, sheep demon. It occurs when the individual has been comfortable with the demons in their vicinity and stress-free for a time. Soul-bonds can trigger this too.”

Your brows scrunched up, and you swallowed the food before you had finished chewing. It hurt your throat, but the urge to grimace was too strong. How fucking terrible. It felt like you couldn’t escape anything from your life. Your eyes drifted to the wall. You couldn’t even make eye contact with Alastor. His gaze felt heavy on you, and all you wanted to do was hide.

“I’m sorry, dearest. You need to know what ‘heats’ are, though. Then we can talk about what you would like to do about it.” Alastor sets the bowl down on your bedside table, taking the hint that you couldn’t eat right then. One of his hands tugs at yours, large claws wrapping around your whole hand easily. “Yesterday, the fever and the exhaustion, was the first day. The second, which is today, it’s common for the affected individual to be clingy, especially with a bonded pair.” His thumb stroked the back of your wrist, as he continued. “Tomorrow, the actual ‘heat’ occurs. You will be driven to-”

Alastor cuts himself off with a cough, and it draws your gaze. “Sorry, my dear. I’ll continue. You will want to have sex. The desire will become a need, and it will consume you. I have been told that it can hurt, to go without, but that it is possible to handle alone. This is what I would like to talk to you about.”

Your nose twitches, and your lips quiver. Of course, this would be thrust on you. How could you deal with this? The idea of sex still unsettled you. However, he mentioned that it could be handled alone. Did he mean masturbation? Would something other than penetration work? Your thoughts whorled in your head, when one stuck to the forefront.

The image of Alastor holding you tightly to his chest, hand cupping your navel and exploring lower, made your brain halt. The thought of his fingers rubbing at your clit, and his wonderful voice whispering in your ear. Him touching you gently, talking you through the whole ordeal, and bringing you to orgasm, lit up your mind. You suddenly wanted it more than anything. You didn’t need penetration from him, but you so desperately wanted to be touched.

Your cheeks flushed, and fluttering erupted beneath your navel. Alastor’s eyebrows raised as he took in your appearance. You were so glad that he couldn’t read your thoughts. How embarrassing, especially because he wasn’t the biggest fan of being touched.

The heat subsided as you remembered that detail. That would complicate things. The idea of being left alone, right now, made you want to cry. You hoped he didn’t want you to handle it by yourself. If all he could do was be in the same room, you would take it over being alone.

“I know that neither of us are at the point where…sexual intercourse would be the best action. However, I don’t want you to deal with it alone. As new as this will be for me, I would like to be there for you. To help you with it, if you so desire.” Alastor leans in towards you, one of his hands cupping your face. “I would bring you pleasure, and help this ‘heat’ end for you, my love.”

Your eyelids flutter closed, letting his breath fan across your face as you think. You want him with you, badly.

Alastor chuckles, making you look at him. “I can do that, my dear.”

Oh. You had spoken out loud. (Your brain feels like it's melting. It feels hard to think, but you push through). Your cheeks flush again.

“Please, stay with me. I don’t want sex, but I would like your help, if you would give it to me.” Your eyes shift off of his face, shame curdling in your stomach. “I don’t know how to help myself very well, as it is. I would like to learn, with you, if I could.”

Alastor suddenly grabs both sides of your face, his own getting closer. “Look at me, my little lamb. You are deserving of such pleasures, and I would gladly help you. We can learn together, dearest. We can stop if you are ever uncomfortable, I swear it. I would never take advantage of such a situation.”

You smile at him. “Same for you, Al. If you don’t wanna touch me, or vice versa, just let me know. I can figure something out.”

Alastor’s smile softens, and his pupils expand. “Oh, love, worry not. The desire to touch you in such a way has been growing, and the thought has been stuck in my head all night.” His thumbs rub your cheeks, gentler than you had ever felt him be.

Your chest aches, and the sudden need to cry grows within you. You love this strange demon, despite everything that had happened in the last months. He was growing to be so good to you, and it made your heart hurt.

“Can I kiss you,” you ask, your volume barely above a whisper.

Alastor answers by molding his lips to yours. His skin is cool to the touch, but compared to the fire you were bathed in the day before, it was Heaven. One of his hands clutched the back of your head, brushing by your sensitive ears. A sound breaks free from your throat, and it makes him press into you harder. You clutch at his suit jacket, your lungs starting to burn. Before you can grow lightheaded, (although you definitely were from just kissing him, just not suffocating), he pulled back from you.

“That was splendid, ma chéri.” His voice dips lower, his fake radio accent slipping.

You bask in his presence, as you think over what tomorrow will entail. Although he feeds you a few more times that day, and you talk more about how you feel about it, nothing could prepare you for the full force of the ‘heat’. When he transports you to a room that you haven’t been before, you let your curiosity numb your anxiety. Worrying about it wouldn’t help you, anyway.

My asks are open! Feel free to make a request or reach out to say hi! :)

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #bun's short fics #hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #alastor #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fluff #fanfic #alastor x reader smut #smut

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lowkeyrobin · 6 months

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can u write a tmr newt x gn!reader where they were really close in the glade but slowly started to drift off of their friendship when they were in wckd compartments but got together again during one of the scorch nights(angst to fluffy thingy) tried my best to make it make sense:^)

ooo okay okay I got you ; idk I just had zero ideas for this?? I apologize lmao, I got like the basis of what you wanted, I'm just posting bc I spent way too long making just this 💀

NEWT ; rekindling a friendship in the scorch

summary ; friends to not friends to friends again in the scorch

warnings ; language

word count ; 959

masterlist

You and Newt were inseparable in the Glade. You did nearly everything together, following each other around, finding comfort in one another. It changed once you escaped the maze, however.

Even though you shared a room in your new home inside a lab, it didn't help whatsoever. After that first warm shower, everything between you two just changed.

You were never able to have lunch with your friends, always being pulled away for more and more testing. You'd seen Newt following Thomas around like a lost dog.

Between all the stress and physical deterioration, you didn't have time to talk or share thoughts with him anymore. He seemed to think the same way as you basically ignored each other as the days passed. Everything seemed to be a problem now, even though no words were spoken, only looks, or for that matter, the lack of them.

Upon finding out that WCKD was never gone in the first place, you quickly join the escape with your new friend Aris, crawling around through the vents at dark. The escape was quick and calculated, and nearly ended in death, probably a solid fourteen times. But, your group escaped to the dark, sandy scorch outside.

Bergs fly overhead, lights shining onto the sand in search of you. You all ran through the rough terrain as fast as you could and hid behind a large area of hills, waiting for them to retreat, hoping they wouldn't find you.

Unluckily, you slid down next to Newt, not a glance shared between you two. You instead looked over at Aris and Thomas to your right, making sure they were both in one piece.

The long, painful hike through the scorch continued, Newt behind Thomas and Teresa while you were behind those three, then Minho and Fry. Winston and Aris were behind you, symmetrically separating you and Newt.

The night passes, hours and hours of walking and sweat fatiguing you.

You stumble upon a mall, building up your outfits and learning some more about the Cranks that flooded the scorch. Your fight through the mall was intense and still really God damn awkward as you found yourself helping Newt up off the floor after being tripped, nearly left for dead for the Cranks.

You sprint behind the group, catching up as Thomas leads you to the exit.

Once the adrenaline wore off, it was back to the exhausting trudging through the sand.

You kept your distance with Newt, especially after Winston had fallen ill to the Flare Virus. You'd both known Winston for most of the time you could remember about your lives. The pain after hearing the lonely gunshot in the distance stopped you all in your tracks before continuing some moments later.

The days were far too long for the group of teenagers. Why you were all bundled up in a desert was beyond you, but you'd take listening to the others rather than dying because you didn't cover up. No one knew who was actually immune or not, so it wouldn't be worth it to try and test it out.

You'd taken refuge under some rocks in a little flatland area in the desert once it hit dark. You'd barely spoken in the past few days, malnourished and exhausted. You, Aris, Fry, and Newt are the stragglers left awake, baking cans of beans over the fire while also tending to it, making sure the others got some warmth as they slept.

As the hours passed, Fry and Aris fell asleep, cuddling up in the heavy clothing they found extra warmth in. Who knew a desert would be freezing once the sun had set? Obviously not you, since most of any important memory ever had been wiped, but yknow.

That left you and Newt awake, sitting a few feet away from each other, an awkward silence among you. You tap your fingers on the sand beneath you, then graze them around in little patterns, unable to find yourself tired even if you wanted to. You were exhausted tired, not sleepy tired, sadly.

The blonde surprisingly speaks up.

"Thanks for saving my ass in the mall"

You glance over at him, then look back down at the sand beneath your fingertips. You nod. "Yeah, anytime"

He slowly nods, looking out at the empty miles of sand and dirt surrounding you in all directions. "Is something wrong between us?" He asks, "You haven't been talking to me at all, and you've always got this intimidating look on your face when I look over at you, so I mean, I didn't wanna bother you, ya know?"

You shrug in response. "I mean, it started back at that lab. They were always testing on me and I was just tired, but once we escaped I kinda thought you were trying to ignore me. I dunno, sorry if I read that wrong"

His expression morphs to one of sadness and guilt before wrapping you in a hug, pulling you closer to him.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to ignore you, Y/n"

You lightly smile, wrapping your arms around him. "Sorry for kind of being a bitch about it"

"Look, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. We did kind of escape the maze, then WCKD after being tricked, and we've been running through this bloody desert for days. I don't blame you. If anything, I'll blame Rat-Man for burning you out with testing in that lab. " The dirty blonde smiles, patting your back.

"Oh, thank you, Newt. How could I ever repay you?" You chuckle, pulling away from the hug as he does.

He shrugs, a devious yet smug smirk on his face. "You could repay me in water?"

"My cantine has been empty since this morning!"

"Damnit"

#lowkeyrobin #tmr newt #newt tmr x reader #tmr newt x reader #newt x reader #newt tmr #the maze runner x reader #maze runner x gn reader #maze runner x reader #maze runner oneshot #the maze runner #gender neutral reader #gn reader #gn!reader #they/them reader #thomas brodie sangster x reader

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s0lemnhypn0s · 1 month

Text

(Warning for this post I'm half asleep so I might be incoherent or have disjointed topics. Bare with me, I'm trying to express my thoughts the best I can.)

(and WARNING! i discuss personal paranoias at one point during this, which include the topic of bugs and self harm)

"Billford is ironic we're shipping them ironically" "We don't actually want to see them together" "We don't think theyre a good pair" "its irreconciliably abusive" "its one sided"

ok I'm gonna put forward a take that might be poorly recieved: I think you all are misunderstanding Billford (And each character individually) and just reducing it to "bill abused ford" takes away so much of what makes their dynamic fascinating. And also claiming "Erm its a bit" while engaging in something you "recognize" as abuse only does a disservice to the topic of abuse and how it relates to the mentally ill (I will get into that later). You are treating the relationship as a joke and only acknowledging the abusive aspects when people come at you is just pretty scummy of you. Speaking as someone who experienced a near identical abusive relationship, where my paranoia was preyed upon, causing me to still suffer from the paranoia of being watched by them or that my abuser will eventually send someone after me.

In general, the existence of abuse is a complicated one and abuse is not a catch all, end all term. Not all abuse is built the same. Billford is undeniably abusive, but there is not a period after "abusive", are you picking up what I'm putting down. It's not just "Bill was exerting power over Ford and thats it"

Lets start with: We all recognize Ford is paranoid, but we don't seem to recognize Bill as paranoid in the exact same way, dare I say - Even more paranoid than Ford. I mean, ford got his "Trust no one" quote from Bill directly saying his rule of thumb for trusting people is to just trust no one. He doesn't trust others - He simply doesn't. And this is part of where Bill Cipher's manipulation of SPECIFICALLY Ford comes in.

Now I am going to speak from a personal anecdote of my experience with paranoia and delusions - Me, I will try to "safeguard" against my every little fear and belief that something will, undoubtedly, undeniably, be out to hurt me, and these safeguards are often extreme in nature. They don't make sense to the people around me, but they make sense to me. Sometimes they hurt the people around me. Sometimes, they hurt me. I believe this is the same with Bill Cipher himself. He is taking measures to make sure his worst fears do not come to pass. And because Bill is decidedly not human, only interacts with humans when he deems neccesary, those measures often take the form of something even more extreme than, idk, me shaving my head because I thought bug eggs were in my hair or trying to cut open my skin because I thought something was living in it. They take the form of something abusive (Which is also just... Something that happens with the mentally ill sometimes. I see you guys trying to separate our mental illness from our actions and claim "thats not making you do that". I see you.). Him trying to guard himself from something so terrible(facetious) as Ford's percieved betrayal ultimately becomes a self fufilling prophecy.

Not to mention, if you guys didn't notice. Bill without a doubt projects his own insecurities onto Ford. "I make you feel important" Ford makes Bill feel important. "No one loves you" He was ostracized in his dimension. "Who will miss you" He destroyed his entire home, nobody would mourn Bill, because they were all gone, long gone. "I'm sending someone to steal your eyes" Might be a stretch, but I look towards the silly straw poem "A different kind of eye doctor, who wants to make his patient blind" Obviously the use of "blind" here is metaphorical, but I feel its still in some ways applicable.

Bill very evidently experienced medical abuse and ostracization in Euclydia, something exceedingly common for those labeled as mad. (Which also brings me to the topic of people saying "I'm so glad they didn't make Bill a sympathetic villain in the book of bill" bc. Hi. I'm a guy thats experienced ostracization and medical staff forcibly medicating me in order to fix me. I think he is sympathetic actually). Not only that, Bill Cipher had a trillion years to fester in his resentment and his guilt, and you think that like. Didn't effect him at all. I really and truly beg to disagree.

Not only that: I think Bill felt a kinship with Ford. Ford was ostracized, he was betrayed by the world (and "betrayed" by his brother), he was regarded as a freak for what he was born with, just as Bill was regarded as a freak for his mutation in Euclydia. Bill thought Ford was just like him. Bill thought Ford would understand him, and furthermore would jump at the opportunity to burn the world down with him. And. to his credit. Ford does, in some capacity, understand him. As much as Ford could understand, with Bills lies within lies. Bill craves the intimacy and fears the touch. He uses fear to get Ford to love him, not only because he thinks it will safeguard him from what he fears most, but likely because it is all he knows, all he was taught. Love through fear. Our love is painful, but we only want to help. Pain in love is natural. It's right. It will only hurt a little. This is how you know we love you. He was shocked when Ford rejected him. He thought he did everything right. He had everything planned, for them to be together for eternity.

And bare in mind also that - Bill. Most evidently. Views himself as a monster. When Ford asks about what happened to his dimension, who destroyed it - Bill responds "A monster.", he says "Sixer, it would eat you alive" when Ford offers to help hunt it down. He lets his mask of jovial, mysterious mischief drop just slightly, and we understand just a little bit more of how he feels about the euclidean massacre, how he understands himself through his actions. And what he understands, is that this is just his nature. "I liberated my dimension, Stanford", a lie but not in the way you'd think. He lies, acting like what he did was intentional, as its the only way he could ascribe "reason" to what he did. It couldn't have been an accident. That is just how I am. It wasn't an accident, and I liberated them. (I wish I could go back.) And I come back to the idea of a self fufilling prophecy, because its again- That exactly. Bill decided this was all he could be, he did everything that would make him a "monster" after the accident that caused the euclidean massacre - And so, he was. A sick prognosis that he created and fufilled with his own two hands, he became the monster he and his home dimension envisioned him as.

Abuse is a complicated subject. What Bill did was abuse, yes, but I also distinctly believe it to be a case of abuse between two mentally ill people, one of which is so old, his hate his anger and his regrets, all are ancient and yet so fresh.

I feel another part of the problem is people are taking Bill at face value. Which is exactly what he wants to do because then you dont get at what hes doing all this for and why. You don't get past the exoskeleton to the tender flesh beneath. But stop taking what he says at face value. Read into it more. Analyze the triangle.

Also it might be controversial (hyperbole.) , but I do thing it means /something/ that during Ford's part of the book of bill, where Bill and Ford's relationship is recounted from his perspective, Bill is notably absent, whereas in the rest of the book, he is guiding us through it and constantly maintains a loud presence in it. You could interpret this in a lot of different ways I think, but the way I've chosen to interpret it is as a mix of shame, regret, and an unwillingness to revisit their past together. Perhaps even Bill having enough respect for Ford to not interject his telling of their story together, if you want to get real complicated about it. Paradoxal, if you will.

(Also I find the theraprism to be a most fucked "end" for Bill Cipher due to the medical abuse he experienced as a child. Something something, mad people can never escape the institutions which seek to "fix" them.)

anyway if you read through my mad sleep addled ramblings CONGRATS! i'm probably going to make edits and add to this when I wake up in the morning but i needed to get this out or id forget. billford is abusive but its way more complex than just... abuse. Abuse is a complex subject and it exists on a spectrum, for a lack of better words. and dont twist my words - That isn't saying "this is less bad abuse", this is saying "its complicated and just leaving it at abusive does their relationship a disservice"

#gravity falls #book of bill #bill cipher #stanford pines #gravity falls stanford #billford #rambles

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erinfern0 · 9 months

Note

Hiii💖 i love ur hcs about ghost😍 will u do more of them as their relationship goes further like moving in together then proposal and stuff like that please🥹🤍 if not that's ok have a great day/night💕

— gender-neutral nicknames, gender-neutral anatomy, only pronouns used are you, etc.

warnings: mostly fluff and comfort. there's also some smut. brief mention of anxiety, nightmares, and simon's past.

a/n: gosh, that's so nice, lovie!! have a wonderful day/night as well! <3 i think ill make one more post like this with husband!simon separately, so stay tuned if you're interested!

bf!simon who can't believe he's so lucky to have you. he didn't even believe you the first time you agreed to move in with him. you were just probably talking about how empty his flat is whenever he's deployed and he made a comment, something along the lines of "Wanna live there while I'm gone?" so casually you take it as a joke. But the more you two think about it, the more reasonable it sounds.

bf!simon who can't stand the idea of you denying him, so he doesn't ever bring it up again, just slides the keys to his flat with a note, written in his neat handwriting: "Make yourself at home, you practically live there already." You couldn't stop smiling as you grabbed some of the most important things into a bag and left your apartment.

bf!simon who finds you at his your shared place, sleeping on the couch. Before, whenever he thought about anyone being in his private space without his supervision made him crumble inside with anxiety, but now, as he looked at you sleeping so peacefully, he felt like his flat was finally more homely than ever.

bf!simon who adores how warm and cozy it is after he helps you move all of your stuff into his flat. Your little collections, blankets, books, hobbies, and snacks are splattered all over it, reminding him how close you two are every second.

bf!simon who quickly understands your routine and tries to find as much time to share with you. Oh, you have a slight break between your dinner time and reading time? Well, now you spend this time together.

bf!simon who becomes way more talkative and open about his feelings. Yes, it does take him a while, but he's not as emotionally unavailable as people believe him to be.

bf!simon who struggles to sleep sometimes, too caught up with his past and present fears/worries/anxieties. As soon as you move in, he finds sleep to be easier, calming even.

bf!simon who gets so grumpy whenever you try to leave bed early, he can't help but reach out and pull you close to himself, sometimes just lying on top of you to keep you close to him for as long as possible.

bf!simon who willl encourage you to work out with him. He prefers to do it by himself at home rather than going to an actual gym, so he loves it when you join him or just watch him from afar.

bf!simon who finds your presence to be overwhelming at times, but never takes it out on you. He's so used to living by himself that it's hard for him to switch so quickly to having someone around all the time, as soon as his back from deployment.

bf!simon who easily shares chores between the two of you, always putting a little more on his name, because you already do so much when he's away.

bf!simon who makes you a fresh cup of your favorite drink before he leaves the lat to run errands in the morning. Usually makes you breakfast too, adding some tiny notes to make your day a little better before he's back.

bf!simon who eats a lot to keep his form, so he always has something for you. It just feels weird to eat by himself when you're around, so he always has some snacks for you or will just share his meal with you.

bf!simon who likes to help you cook, but never does it purely by himself. that's a fire hazard right there. Yeah, he can chop some veggies or help you with the seasoning, but nothing more.

bf!simon who thinks sex is a great thing, helping people connect but doesn't ever pressure you into it. If you find intimacy to be difficult for you, he'll find other ways to make you feel good.

bf!simon who (with given permission) will keep you in bed for hours, kissing, touching, grabbing, caressing. Sex with him is slow, passionate, and breathtaking in the softest way possible, he's such a gentle lover he makes you feel heavenly.

bf!simon who can't help but fall more in love with you every day you live together, especially when he's back from another mission and can just rest in your arms, with you reminding him how much he means to you.

bf!simon who wants to marry you so bad it practically hurts, because he knows how much weight it can put on your shoulders. He doesn't start the topic before you do, too anxious to admit just how much he's scared of losing you or scaring you away with too much commitment.

bf!simon who caresses your face as you two fall asleep and realizes it's too late, he's already swooned by you. You have him wrapped around your finger and he just craves to have another reason to call you his.

bf!simon who comes back from running errands and sees you cooking. It's probably not the best idea to interrupt you like this, but he just can't hold back, fear cannot stop him all his life.

bf!simon who asks you if you'd like to marry him, but not proposing. He wouldn't surprise you like this, out of nowhere. He actually wants to hear your opinion and how you feel about it.

bf!simon who almost breaks down in tears as he hears how happy and excited you got. All dinner you talked about everything involving your life after marriage and he just smiled the whole time, mesmerized by you.

bf!simon who proposes to you a few months later, after you've talked everything through and both of you are sure you want this.

fiancé!simon who knows you so well, he buys you the most perfect engagement ring you've ever seen and it matches you so well. What surprises you is that he gets another, way simpler one for himself that he wears when he's home and hangs on his neck as he's back on deployment.

fiancé!simon who doesn't dream of a big wedding or anything, all he wants is to see you in the beautiful and cute outfit you chose and to say his vows and to finally say yes. He wants a civil marriage, but if religion is important to you, he doesn't mind your wedding happening at the church.

fiancé!simon who's amused by the way the rings shine on your fingers as you hold hands. Suddenly, he's more clingy than ever, having his hands on you all the time.

fiancé!simon who reminds you how much he loves you every day, but usually it's non-verbal. You don't have to hear it to know it. The way he holds you, takes care of you, helps you, supports you, looks at you - it's way more than enough.

fiancé!simon who can't stop imagining you in more lewd scenarios every day, always bringing his ideas up to see your reaction and is willing to try anything.

fiancé!simon who usually makes love to you, but after he proposes he finds new strength and courage to be rougher if you want. Now, you have days when he'll just fuck you the way you need or want him to, making sure you're comfortable every step of the way.

fiancé!simon who definitely had you on every surface of your shared flat. In the shower, bent over the kitchen aisle, on the couch, against the wall. He'll tease you about it too, especially when you get creative and figure something out yourself.

fiancé!simon who trusts you and is willing to give you some control in the bedroom. He starts to love the way you know exactly how to take care of him, his needs, and his body and he admires it more than anything.

fiancé!simon who might get a little insecure at times, looking at you from across the room, trying to figure out if he's not wasting your time. He wants to hear you say you want all of this, that you want him.

fiancé!simon who plans every little step and wants you to participate in planning. He hates the idea of taking the lead as surprising you with anything. That might not end well and he just wants you to be happy.

fiancé!simon who finally introduces you to his team, proudly looking at the ring on your finger, earning a ton of congratulations and questions from them. It's almost overwhelming how excited they all got, especially Johnny.

fiancé!simon who is secretly very happy to see you befriend his teammates, how much they treat you like a family member already. Because that's what you all are to him - a family he never thought he was going to have after what happened.

fiancé!simon who practices his speech in the mirror, trying to make everything perfect, because that's what you deserve. He rewrote it so many times, now the whole thing is engraved in his mind just waiting for the right moment.

fiancé!simon who doesn't find thinking about the future so terrifying anymore, that you are his future.

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#simon riley cod #simon x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost #cod mw2 #cod mwii #gender neutral reader #smut #fluff #comfort #headcanons #cod headcanons #riri writes

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house-of-lovin · 1 year

Text

love language

Tara Carpenter x F!Reader

masterlist | over (1) | safety net (3)

Summary: Tara Carpenter loves to play games with you. (inspired by love language by SZA)

Warnings: sexual themes implied, mature language. toxic!tara, jealous!tara.

Note: this was originally going to be a two-parter, but I wanted to keep writing about this dynamic. So I made it into three parts! Sorry for the long wait, I've been deathly ill the last few days, so it's been hard to do anything but sleep :/ but the last part will be posted tomorrow! (idk how i feel abt this but i tried my best lol)

Word Count: 3.7k+

Tara: ‘Last night was fun ;) but had to run!’

At least she had the decency to leave you a text as she left you to wake up in your bed, alone.

Sighing, you sit up; cracks and pops reverberate through the empty room as you stretch your stiff muscles. You run a tired hand on your face and glance at the spot beside you where Tara was just hours ago.

You should have known she would leave.

You weren’t sure if she even bothered to stay after you had passed from exhaustion after the fourth round. Tara rarely stayed over, her sister’s overprotectiveness made the occasion scarce. Coupled with the fact that the smaller girl thought it crossed boundaries to stay the night. So, the only time she had ever slept was when you fucked her senselessly she physically couldn’t make it home.

“Morning!” A loud voice interrupts the quietness in your dorm. “I bought the three of us some coffee. By the way, I didn’t appreciate coming home to you and Tara naked. You do you, but at least send a text – or hang a sock on the door… where’d Tara go?”

“Left…” You flush embarrassed, grabbing the shirt on your headboard to slip on, and stepping off your bed. Shivers run through your bare feet as you step on the cold floor.

“Oh…”

“Yeah… Oh.” You replied bitterly, moving to gather some clothes to start your day; even if it started off on the wrong foot already.

“...How does that make you feel?” She says after a few moments of silence.

“You’re not gonna therapize me right now, Minds.” You laugh, trying to avoid her probing tone. “It’s too early and I’m nearly naked.”

“You’re really gonna stand there and tell me it doesn’t bother you how she’s acting?” She crosses her arms, fed up with you and her childhood friend’s immature antics.

“Why would it bother me?” You say as evenly as you can. “We’re just hooking up.”

She scoffs, “Yeah right, Chad told me what happened at the coffee shop last night.”

You roll your eyes, “Of course, he did.”

“Point is… she’s playing games with you and you say that you’re fine with it because you're just hooking up but I can tell it bothers you, Y/N."

You stand rigid, unmoving and slightly uncomfortable. Talking about your feelings has never been your strong suit, maybe that’s why you fell so easily into this routine with Tara. It was all physical and lust-driven; no words have to be uttered when you two are tangled in each other’s sheets. But maybe, somewhere along the way lines began to blur the longer you got to know the Carpenter. The more your lives began to intertwine the harder it became to separate feelings during sex.

It grows increasingly difficult to ignore that thought, when she acts affectionately toward you around your friends. During movie nights, she’d scare off anyone else who dared to sit beside you; sharing a blanket and linking your fingers underneath. And in the classes you had together, she always made sure to save a seat for you beside her, leaning into you as close as she can.

“I promise… I’m fine. Tara can do whatever she wants.” You maintain eye contact with your roommate; trying to remain unbothered.

“I can’t deal with you two.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying… you two have danced around each other long enough, maybe it's time you really talk to each other. Before someone gets hurt.”

You stay silent thinking over her words.

“Look... I really didn’t want to like you when I first moved here – getting stabbed makes people paranoid, you know.” She chuckles dryly. “But I guess the odds are finally in my favour 'cause I got a roommate I actually like… so figure your shit out because I’d like to keep hanging out together as a group please.”

You chuckle, breaking out of your trance. You send her a lopsided smile, appreciating her words. “I like being your roommate too, Minds.”

“Gross, this is too much for me now… go take a shower, you reek of sex.” She purposefully avoids your eyes, turning to grab her now lukewarm coffee.

You roll your eyes, laughing at Mindy's antics but grab some clothes anyway to start your day.

●●●

“So I just handed in my last assignment, which means it’s officially spring break for me… and everyone’s gonna be out tonight. Wanna come over?” Tara slides into your booth out of nowhere.

You flinch, slightly startled; dropping the pen you were using with a clang. You were currently in the common room on campus attempting to get some studying in before your final exam. “What?”

She rolls her eyes but smiles fondly at you. “I said, everyone’s out for the night. Come over… I miss you.”

Your cheeks flush as your heart darts wildly in your chest at her words. “We were just together last night…”

“Yeah, but I had to leave so soon cause Sam was coming home early.” She pouted, moving closer to you to swing her leg over yours.

You clear your throat, glancing down. “I still have to study for my exam tomorrow.”

“Come over after you study then…” She places a hand on your inner thigh, swiping her thumb on the fabric of your pants.

“Tara…” You were trying your hardest to gather some sort of self-control but it was becoming increasingly difficult when she started leaving light kisses on your shoulder. “Tara there are other people around.”

You were lucky you had chosen a booth that was tucked in the corner of the room, facing away from possible wandering eyes. Even still, this was definitely not the time nor the place, no matter how much you wanted to give in.

“Don’t care…” Her kisses on your clothed shoulder move upward toward your neck. You grab at her waist, trying to push her back. “Tara, seriously.”

She simply wraps her free arm around your shoulder, moving closer to you. “I’ll only stop if you promise to come over…”

You feel her bite down on the bruise you tried to cover up with your hoodie; you wince. “Ow… okay, okay. I’ll come over, now stop before someone reports us for public indecency.”

She rolls her eyes, but smirks smugly, unwrapping herself from you. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t immediately feel cold from the lack of contact. “You’re no fun… but I’ll see you tonight.”

The Carpenter doesn’t say anything else. Just slides out of the booth, gathers her things and walks away from you.

You drop your head against the headrest of the booth, heaving out a heavy sigh. You feel like the most pathetic person in the world for giving in so easily, especially since Mindy’s words kept ringing in your ears all morning.

Later that night, you found yourself standing in front of the Carpenter’s apartment, contemplating if it wasn’t too late to turn around and run away. This is a bad idea and you knew it. You should have padlocked yourself in your dorm and not left until the weekend was over. But Mindy had convinced you this was the best chance for you to finally talk to Tara.

So here you were rooted dumbly in front of her door. Unable to bring yourself to knock.

The door opening makes the decision for you. “I heard you stomping down the hall, were you not gonna to knock?”

She has a smirk planted across her lips as she leans against the doorframe.

“Uh… I was just about to...”

You see her brow raise in amusement but doesn’t question your awkwardness; electing to pull you into her apartment with a tug on your wrist. “Come on… I have a movie on and popcorn waiting for us.”

You allow her to lead you through the apartment and then to the couch, pushing you to sit down. Upon sitting, you take a moment to scan the living room; taking note of the one light coming from the kitchen, casting darkness to the rest of the room. She has candles lit up on the coffee table across from you, with bowls of an assortment of snacks.

This suddenly felt more… intimate. You felt a pang of guilt for thinking she had only invited you over as a booty call.

“Um… what is this?” You ask dumbly.

“What’s it look like? Movie night.” She chuckles before plopping down beside you and draping a blanket over your legs. You feel her move closer, pressing your thighs together.

The two of you haven’t had a movie night since before you had fallen into this friends-with-benefits situation. They were actually the reason how you and Tara became closer in the early stages of your friendship.

Two months ago, she had invited you over for a movie night under the guise of simply being bored, but when she had opened the door you saw the slight redness in her irises and the tear-stained marks on her cheeks. You said nothing and just allowed her to pull you inside. In your attempts to cheer her up, you may have made a trip to the liquor store around the corner and drank away your sorrows with the Carpenter. That was the first night you and Tara had ever slept together.

“Oh… I just thought–never mind. Movie night sounds nice.” You smile, appreciating her efforts. Maybe that talk can wait another time. You didn’t want to ruin the night when she was clearly trying.

“Good.” She returns your grin, settling in to lean against you as she entangles your legs. “No talking this is my favourite part.”

“The movie just started.”

“Hush.”

●●●

Thirty minutes must have passed when you felt a hand run up and down your thigh. Your eyes snap away from the TV, looking down atop Tara’s head as she leans on your chest. You couldn’t see her face from this angle but you can tell she was enjoying how you tensed in her touch.

You ignore the movements, turning back to face the screen. But Tara doesn’t seem satisfied as she tilts her head up. The feeling of her soft lips brushing against your neck makes you stiffen even more in her hold. And like earlier, she begins to leave a litter of light pecks on your still-bruised neck.

“Tara…”

She hums, scooting up to reach your jaw. Her fingers tickle your sides as she slips her fingers under your shirt to grab your waist, shuffling to sit on your lap. Tara kisses that spot just under your ear that always makes you cave – marking you. She has you now and she knew it.

A part of you wants to bang your head against the wall because of course this movie night would eventually lead to sex. It always leads to sex with Tara. It was like a vicious cycle you couldn’t get off of. But the way she touches you feels so heavenly that you couldn’t even think clearly enough to stop her.

“Take this off…” She mutters, bunching up your shirt in a fist as she pushes it up. You pull back to obey her request, hastily yanking the fabric off your head and connecting your mouths in a harsh kiss. You slip your hand under her shirt, tracing your fingers dangerously close to the waistband of her shorts. She whines under the cold touch.

“No teasing…” She whispers before grabbing at your cheeks to pull you impossibly closer; the feeling of her tongue brushing against yours feels sinful.

You wrap an arm around her waist, ready to flip her on her back and take her on this couch when suddenly a frantic knock startles you both.

“What the fuck?” Tara mutters, pulling away from you but keeping a firm grip on your shoulders. She was panting heavily, lips already beginning to bruise.

“I thought you said everyone was out for the night?” You heave, also trying to catch your breath.

“They were…” She mutters, sliding off your lap to toss you your shirt. You slip it over your head swiftly, following the smaller girl as she walks to the door.

She takes a look through the peephole and the scowl on her face was an indication that she was less than pleased. Then she moves to unlock the numerous amounts of locks on her door, yanking it open.

The twins, Anika and Ethan stood on the other side of the door.

“What are you guys doing here?” Tara says unamused, crossing her arms over her chest. You move to stand behind her, connecting eyes with your roommate.

“Mindy said it’s movie night, so we came over,” Chad answers from behind his twin, holding up a plastic bag with a large smile on his face. “Don’t worry, we brought snacks!”

You send your roommate a glare, grateful Tara had her back to you. Slightly irritated because Mindy had been the one insisting you go see Tara.

Tara sighs, dropping her crossed arms. She glances at you for a brief moment, before opening the door wider to let the others in.

“I’m gonna make some more popcorn…” The Carpenter mutters, leaving the room.

You immediately corner Mindy. “What the hell, man? You told me to talk to her, what are you doing here?”

She raises an unimpressed brow, pointing at your neck. “Did she leave that hickey on your neck when you guys were talking too?”

You slap a hand on the spot she’s pointing at, attempting to hide it. “Shut up… I was going to talk to her later.”

“No, you weren’t.” She whispers, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “You two were going to have sex and ignore the talking part… like you always do.”

You cross your arms, scowling, “So you gathered the entire village to cockblock me instead?”

“Yes.” She responds unapologetically. You stare at your roommate for a few seconds. Eventually, you groan lowly, knowing she’s right. You were about to give in to Tara and until you two have talked about what this is, that probably wasn’t the best idea.

Ultimately, that chance to talk with Tara never came as the friend group all settled back in the living room to watch a plethora of movies for the rest of the evening. And when Sam came home, everyone knew to call it a night.

Maybe you dodged a bullet by not confronting Tara tonight. Not quite sure what you even wanted to say to her, yet.

Hey Tara, remember when we agreed to just be friends with benefits? Yeah well I caught feelings... actually I may be in love with you. And it hurts when you run off with other people. Ha. Sorry.

She would run away from you. Tara was like a deer, you needed to be cautious upon approach. But even then, it was getting increasingly difficult to just remain friends with her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Tara leans against the doorframe; watching as you slip on your jacket to leave.

“I have my exam in the morning, but maybe after.” You stand unmoving for a few moments, wanting nothing more than to leave a kiss on her cheek but her sister was standing right there, watching the two of you with an observant gaze. So instead, you squeeze her shoulder, send her a tight-lipped smile and catch up with the rest of the group down the hall.

You missed Tara’s disappointed frown.

●●●

“What’s wrong with you?” Anika asks over the loud music.

Since it was officially spring break for everyone; students who decided to stay on campus have been throwing parties non-stop. And currently, that's where Tara found herself; huddled on a couch on a Thursday night beside Anika and Mindy, sipping on a red-solo cup as she watches people drunkenly dance around the room.

“What? There’s wrong with me.” She glances at her friend, confused.

“You’ve been staring holes at the front door for the last ten minutes.” Mindy counters, peering over her girlfriend to look at her childhood friend.

“You can just say you’re waiting for Y/N.” Anika teases, bumping her shoulder. "We all know."

Tara rolls her eyes, “I’m not waiting for anyone.”

The Carpenter hears a scoff, “You didn’t even wanna go to this party until you heard she might be coming.”

You’ve been…distant with her lately.

Giving half-excuses as to why you can’t hang out, cancelling last minute on group activities or taking hours to respond through texts.

She hasn’t seen you since your friends crashed movie night and that was already a few days ago. You never did meet up with her the next day, and since then you’ve made yourself scarce; not hanging out with the friend group, always seemingly busy.

She had confronted Chad on your whereabouts, she figured he would know where you have been spending your time, given your… close friendship with the boy. But Chad had merely said you were helping your uncle with his shop uptown during the break, hence why you haven’t been around.

Tara was hoping she can get a chance to be alone with you tonight and ask why you have been so closed off with her when she caught wind that Chad might be dragging you to the party.

“Shut up.” She mutters, sipping on the cheap alcohol. “She’s been acting weird lately, I just want answers.”

The two girls nodded, unconvinced. For the amount of times, you two say you’re just ‘hooking up’ Tara sure played the part of the concerned girlfriend perfectly.

Eventually, Tara’s wandering eyes snap to the door, catching a glimpse of the top of your head as push past the crowd with Chad and Ethan trailing behind you. You seem tense, looking like you’d rather be anywhere else than here.

Before she can even think about it, she’s standing, about to stomp over to you but a hand on her wrist stops her.

“What?” She glances over at Mindy.

“At least, let Y/N grab a drink before you ambush her.” She reasons, glancing over at you from across the room.

Tara turns to find you, Chad and Ethan greeting a group of people, smiling and laughing. The group eventually trickles over to the kitchen, no doubt grabbing some drinks.

“Fine…” She mutters, sitting back down in her spot as you disappear from her sight.

Tara waits for you to come out of the kitchen for the next ten minutes; patience thinning by the second. This was ridiculous, you were literally another room away. Why is she waiting for you to come back?

As the smaller girl's eyes remain unmoving from the kitchen door, she eventually sees you walking out with an unfamiliar girl beside you. You were smiling, clearly entertained by the conversation. Tara feels an uncomfortable pang in her chest at your undivided attention towards the girl.

The Carpenter can’t help her moving legs as she stands, abandoning her cup on a random table; stalking toward you with an unrelenting gaze. Before you can even step into the living room, Tara is dragging you upstairs by the wrist; leaving the girl you were conversing with confused.

“What the hell— Tara!” You stumble behind her, desperately trying not to trip on the steps as she tugs you along with an unabated grip.

She pushes you through a random door, slamming it shut behind her. Tara crosses her arms just glaring at you.

“What’d you do that for?” You huff, feeling slightly irritated.

She raises a brow at your tone, “Wanna tell me why you’ve been distant with me lately?”

You stand straighter, “I’m not… I’ve just been busy.”

Tara chuckles dryly, “Busy enough to ignore my texts?"

You didn't answer and the scoff Tara lets out tells you it was the wrong choice to make.

"You didn't seem busy enough when you were entertaining that girl downstairs.” Tara couldn't stop the words from leaving her mouth, fed up with the silence.

She sees a flash of irritation in your eyes as you cross your arms, defensive. “Are you serious? Why do you even care? You’re not my girlfriend.”

Tara’s brows raise in surprise. For a brief moment, you regretted your words as she looked slightly hurt before her face drops impassively. “I didn’t know it was a crime to be worried about your friends.”

You scoff, “Yeah friends…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She stares at you, not believing that for a minute.

“What is going on with you?” Tara steps forward, but you take a step back. This time, the Carpenter can’t hide the frown on her lips.

“I think we should stop this…us.” You gesture between you two.

“What?” Tara's forehead creases in confusion, unsure if she heard you correctly.

“I can’t do it anymore.” You mutter, eyes trained to your shoes; unable to look her in the eyes.

“Why?” She takes a step forward, reaching for your arm but you yank back.

“Cause I caught feelings!” You shout making Tara flinch; the repressed feelings you've been hopelessly trying to bury come hurling out; unable to keep them at bay. You knew this situation would only end in heartbreak the longer it continued. So you made the decision to break your heart first before she got the chance to. “I can’t do the games anymore… I-I'm tired, Tara. I think we should stop.”

“I–I…” Tara stutters, taken aback by your confession. "Y/N... we agreed we're just hooking up."

You laugh solemnly, roughly rubbing your eyes. Was it possible to feel your own heartbreak? That's really all she had to say? "Yeah... well too late for that."

"Y/N..."

“You don’t have to say anything else. You made your feelings clear. But I caught feelings, okay? I know it wasn’t part of the plan, but it just happened. So I’m sorry, but I just need some space at the moment.”

Without waiting for a response, you brush past the smaller girl, slamming the door behind you.

Tara stands rooted in her spot, unable to move as you leave her to process what you just said.

●●●

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