#i just don't have enough words to describe how i love this

[vividl3ss]

where do i even begin?! i feel like edgar allan poe would've been jealous of this writing, i think he would've wished he could've written something like this before he kicked the bucket. the suspense was so good throughout the entire fic, i swear i avoided sleep, going to the bathroom, pushed my outings back just so i could keep sitting in my bed reading this. i can't even put into words how perfect the little red riding hood references were; suguru's transformation progressing with his hair growing, his voice deepening, his body increasing in size, and when oc points this out...the play you did with that dialogue bit... it was such an epic moment i had to stop reading and cover my mouth so i wouldn't scream LOL. also the fact that they were aware that they were characters in an old tale, the mentions of them being stuck in a cycle which is the reason why sugu loses his mind, was so well done...some tv shows and movies have tried to do what you successfully did here and failed miserably, i don't know how to explain it in better terms but it didn't feel silly and it didn't take away from the atmosphere that surrounded the fic.

also, in my opinion, i love the fact that this doesn't have smut in it, i know you don't write smut anyways, but still, i feel like, since it's fanfiction and fanfiction is inherently horny sometimes, maybe some people could think that, since this is a dark themed fic, it would have been appropiate or expected that there would be a sex scene, but i'm grateful that there isn't because there wasn't any purpose to it, you built their characters so well that there wasn't any need for it in their dynamic, suguru didn't need sex to keep oc trapped in that house.

anyways, this is so long i'm so sorry, i took an entire day to gather my thoughts because i really wanted to praise you for this. i don't even have the words, i feel like amazing, astounding, bewildering, extraordinary are not enough to describe how highly i think of this fic. i wish i could print this into a tiny book and carry it with me everywhere LOL

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

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

word count; 14.7k

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

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

[ ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A DEAR LITTLE GIRL … ]

the sun is stuck in vitro. 

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

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

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

you know this story.

(you should know this story.)

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

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

it’s nothing new.

(but he isn’t supposed to be here.)

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

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

like he knew you’d be here.

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

only a man, parting his lips.

”and where are you headed, little one?”

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

it’s only him, after all. 

(the ever reliable hunter.)

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

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

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

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

”mm… it’s alright. i don’t mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and he parts his pretty lips.

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

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

so you speak before you think.

”sure.”

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

”… tea?”

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

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

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

your mother told you not to let anything distract you.

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

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

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

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

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

(… you shouldn’t, but…)

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

(… he shouldn’t be here at all.)

”i’d like to rectify that.”

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

(maybe two wrongs do make a right.)

you stop to think, for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

two sparrows take off from a branch ahead of you. 

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

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

”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

and you follow his lead.

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

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

his home is as warm as his smile.

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

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

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

”make yourself at home,” he smiles. 

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

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

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

you follow him. 

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

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

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

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

a cacophony of remedies pulsing in your ribs.

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

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

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

his eyes gleam under the dim lights. 

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

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

a sigh leaves your lips. laced with contentment.

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

a warm smile.

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

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

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

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

enamored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you aren’t sure what to say.

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

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

”i insist.”

…

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

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

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

it’s not safe out there. 

(he’s right, of course, but…)

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

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

he perks up, at that. 

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

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

just until tomorrow, you think.

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

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

he loves you.

(it’ll be fine.)

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

”… anything is fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

it starts out small. it always does. 

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

“it’s too early.”

“it’s too cold, you’ll get sick.”

“don’t you want to stay for dinner?”

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

but never like this. never, ever like this. 

never as suffocating.

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

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

(soon, he’s outright denying you.)

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

a sigh, and a shake of his head.

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

nails paint crescents on your inner palms.

“… she’s waited long enough.”

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

so much stronger than you. 

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

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

…

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

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

”believe me.”

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

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

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

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

the hunter is trustworthy.

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

(but hunters don’t smell like wolves.)

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

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

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

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

no noise. no creak.

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

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

your heart strings together a tale of worry.

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

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

eight steps. nine steps.

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

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

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

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

freedom. freedom. freedom.

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

and the door slams shut behind you.

(a betrayal of the wind.)

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

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

so you run.

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

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

your lungs feel on fire, the air gasoline.

and you hear the door slam shut behind you. 

(— the hunter begins his chase.)

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

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

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

he’s stares back at you. 

golden eyes, sharpened in the night.

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

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

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

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

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

resigned. surrender.

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

”what were you thinking, hm?”

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

”… you never change.”

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

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

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

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

but you don’t.

(you don’t know anything anymore.)

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

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

your skin itches from the burning cold. 

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

he apologizes for that, too.

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

maybe you did.

he can hurt you. he’s capable of it.

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

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

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

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

”… do you mean it?”

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

when he kills the wolf, you can leave.

if only it were that easy.

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

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

it’s a corpse.

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

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

always a wolf, never a man.

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

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

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

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

the more time passes, the worse he gets. 

the more comfortable. 

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

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

he’s sweet, about it. gentle.

”let me say hi, little one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

but you’re sure you’d fail again. 

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

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

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

or a wolf for a stack of bones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

a comfortable cage is exactly right. 

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

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

you miss feeling alive. 

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

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

the only advantage you have is this:

suguru believes himself to love you. 

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

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

the pot boils over with the stench of rotten apricots.

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

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

and suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

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

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

the air smells of chestnuts and incense.

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

”please let me leave.”

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

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

(it makes him look unsettling.)

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

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

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

how powerless you are against him.

but you push through.

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

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

(his lips curl into a scowl.)

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

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

tread it through and through and through. 

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

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

and then a grating sigh. 

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

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

and his eyes burn you to cinders. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”i can.”

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

he can keep you here. 

(forever, and ever, and ever.)

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

(you never asked to be devoured.)

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

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

”do you understand?”

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

never again. 

no matter how much you beg. 

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

so there’s no point.

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

”… i understand.”

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

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

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

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

it doesn’t make you feel a thing. 

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

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

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

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

suguru pauses. 

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

you’re well aware of what he means.

(and that’s the end of that.)

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

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

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

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

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

you nod, and he smiles.

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

”… mhm.”

he seems content, with that response. 

the snow outside the window mocks you with its shimmer.

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

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

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

if only you didn’t know the truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(you miss the cold sting of the wind.)

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

a noise, echoing from the hallway.

rap, tap, tap. 

(knuckles against wood.)

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

when you come to, your heart is pulsing.

a moment of silence.

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

(how silly, when it already has.)

another knock.

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

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

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

pitter, patter, pitter, patter. 

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

just behind the door.

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

freedom. freedom. freedom?

(hope.)

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

no one forgot about you. 

you move your leg, and — 

”keep still.”

… a breath brushes against your neck.

(ba-dump. ba-dump.)

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

he’s always there to catch you.

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

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

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

(you think he was trying to control himself.)

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

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

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

then, the sound of boots against gravel. 

moving farther, and farther away. 

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

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

you swallow down a sniffle.

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

(you can’t take this, anymore.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

it comes out pitiful. 

a broken, battered whisper:

”… i wanna go home…”

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

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

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

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

a weak, gurgling sob.

home. this is home.

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

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

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

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

if only you could bring yourself to believe it. if only you were capable of swallowing down hope without spitting it back out again, if only that wasn’t your very nature. if only you had known better than to trust a wolf, or a hunter, or anyone at all. 

if only you weren’t you — 

maybe this wouldn’t have happened. 

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

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

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

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

but not to you.

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

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

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

someone.

(a man with a shotgun over his shoulder.)

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

rather not interrupt him in the middle of his meal. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

golden eyes violating the dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you stare at the ceiling until dusk turns to day.

a tentative sip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

content to watch your captor playing house.

(soon, this’ll all be over.)

(soon.)

”… your arms are hairy, suguru.”

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

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

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

”and your hands are big…”

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

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

so he plays along.

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

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

a silent intake of breath.

”… and your teeth are sharp.”

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

and suguru looks conflicted.

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

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

a voice like no other rings in your ears.

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

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

(it’s nearly over. it’s nearly over.)

you feel as if you might throw up.

”… goodnight, sweet thing.”

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

the nightlight flickers off.

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

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

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

you’re well beyond accepting that.

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

but now you really are trapped.

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

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

the sun is stuck in vitro.

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

the axe glimmers by the fireplace. 

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

(everything’s already broken, anyway.)

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

”the tea is ready, honey.”

— and you stand up.

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

it’s time to choose an ending. 

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

you know which one you want.

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

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

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

(now. now. do it now.)

hunger. hunger. hunger.

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

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

his guts will spill out just the same.

[ … AND ▇▇ ▇NE DID ▇▇▇ING T▇ HARM H▇▇, ▇▇▇ AGAIN. ]

you creep up behind him, stealthy as a fox —

and swing.

[purinfelix]

pretty please? - n. riki ₊˚⊹♡

summary: dragging your introverted boyfriend to a house party doesn't go entirely as planned - but still ends exactly how it's meant to ──────────── ni-ki x reader || semi-college au, ni-ki is a pouty emo baby, kinda that "i only like you" dynamic, super soft fluff || w/c: 1.4k

a/n: i'm soft for niki yall i just love writing him like this ARGHGHDF ... also this is semi inspired by the party scene with jess and rory from gilmore girls if anyone cares ALSO AAA HOW GOOD IS THE COMEBACK YALL SDKJFNSDKFJN

Call it basic, but house parties have always been a little bit of a guilty pleasure for you.

The loud music, the less-than-enjoyable drinks, the mindless chatter - some might find it irritating or a waste of time, but to you, it's harmless fun. Letting yourself let go, to just enjoy the company of other people and the feeling of dressing up, it felt like just the thing you needed, especially after a hellish exam week.

But Niki didn't seem to share the same sentiment, judging from the look he had given you when you brought up the idea to him a couple of weeks ago - something in between disgust and concern. Though he's never been able to say no to you, and so before the two of you know it, you're walking hand in hand into a bustling room full of moving bodies and flashing lights.

It's only about two hours into the party, though, that you notice the glaring absence of an arm snaked around your waist, or a hand sprawled across the small of your back. You'd always been the more extroverted of you two, so at first, you didn't think much of it when he left you to your conversations. But not being able to spot your boyfriend's tall figure anywhere - lurking in any corners or hovering around the drinks table like he typically did when you dragged him to things like this, it concerned you slightly. So you were quick to brush off the small talk you were making to set off the find him,

And you did soon enough, not anywhere near the loud music or chatter, but rather, somehow, in one of the bedrooms, alone. It almost made you laugh when you tentatively opened the door, half expecting to find a couple drunkenly making out behind it, only to spot your boyfriend sitting in an armchair in the dim light, staring at his hands with an expression you could only describe as pure boredom.

"There you are," you whisper gently, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn't say anything, but his eyes flicker to you and for just a moment he looks a little surprised, almost as if he wasn't expecting you to come looking for him.

"I've been looking all over for you," you coo, shutting the door behind you so that the room darkens once again, and the noise of the party is muffled just enough.

"Just got tired of everything going on down there," he sighs, and it's a heavy sigh. You watch as his eyes meet yours, as if he's trying to gauge your reaction to his disappearing act.

You only offer a reassuring smile in response, padding your way over and finding your way to stand between his knees, his hands coming up almost instinctively to grip your hips in a way that tells you he wasn't enjoying your time apart. He buries his face into your stomach, and you can feel him shut his eyes as he leans into your warmth.

"Sad boy," you tease, running your fingers through his hair, "I thought you said you didn't mind coming with me."

"I didn't," he huffs, a little childishly, "but then we got here and it's all so loud and everyone here is annoying."

"Well we could just go down and talk for a little bit, c'mon," you beg softly.

"I don't want to talk to anyone else," he admits, pausing before continuing, "I don't like anyone else." You're about to laugh at how cheesy his words are, but as he lifts his head, you see his truly earnest expression, lips forming the tiniest pout.

You'd be lying if you said you wanted to leave this party now, but the look on his face - a mix between demanding and begging - makes it difficult for you to stand your ground.

"You want to get out of here, then?" you ask softly, just barely above a whisper as you cup his face, thumb stroking the side of his cheek.

He pauses, shutting his eyes as he leans into your touch once more. "You should stay," he mumbles, leaning back into the chair before shrugging, "you're having fun."

You tilt your head with a frown, hand falling to your side. "That isn't what I asked."

He returns your expression, somewhat hesitantly, and you can't remember the last time you've seen him so reluctant. "I just don't want to be the reason you leave early. I saw you smiling while you were dancing and chatting, you looked so ... beautiful."

His voice is careful, like he's trying to maintain his normally cool facade, but there's something heavier to what he's saying that makes it difficult for him to stay calm. "It's not your fault I'm the boring one."

"You're not boring," you say sternly, "and you're my favourite person, nothing's fun for me if you're sitting here sulking alone."

His eyes glance at yours once more before darting to the floor. You watch as he bites the inside of his cheek, clearly fighting the urge to admit something. So you soften, bending down and leaning in closer to force him to meet your eye, to see your expression that's pleading him to tell you the truth.

"Be honest with me, Ki."

The nickname seems to finally crack him, and when he talks, it's the tiniest whisper. "Yeah, I kinda hate it here."

"There we go," you coo sweetly, face breaking into a smile as you peck the corner of his lips.

"You're not mad?"

You shrug. "I don't really mind, there are parties like this every night, so it's not like I'm missing much."

He nods slightly, but doesn't move from his chair, so you can tell he's not quite convinced.

"Plus, it's hard to be mad at you when you're sitting here looking like an abandoned puppy." You add, watching as he looks up and lets out a soft laugh, somewhat incredulous, or maybe even offended, at your comment - but really, you're just happy to see him smile.

"I do not," he insists, pushing himself up from the chair so he's towering over you, but there isn't any real bite behind his words and that - the familiar mix of teasing and tenderness - is how you know you have your boyfriend back.

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me? All you need is a tiny violin and some rain, and people would be lining up to adopt you."

He groans dramatically as he pulls you in by the waist, burying his face into your neck. "Can we leave now, or are you just going to keep bullying me until I leave by myself?"

"Depends," you smile, "will you admit you were waiting for me to find you?"

He doesn't say anything, just pulls back and looks at you with a smirk, one that's playing coy at being caught in the act - and that's all the answer you need. He lets you pull him towards the door, and back out into the muffled chaos of the party, where you start saying your goodbyes to all the faces you barely remember even talking to.

As you're almost finished, though, he leans in close to your ear and mumbles something, quick and quiet, like another sheepish confession.

"Besides, you looked too good tonight, didn't feel like sharing."

You blink, caught off guard as a small scoff escapes your lips. You turn around just to catch the flicker of a smug smile across his lips, though his ears are turning pink.

"Was that supposed to be smooth?" you ask, tilting your head as the two of you reach the front door.

"Maybe," he shrugs, "did it work?"

You roll your eyes, but press a quick peck to his lips anyway. "You're lucky I love you, you know."

"Oh, trust me, I know." He chuckles softly, humming contentedly as you both step out into the night, cool air brushing against your skin.

You don't say anything, just reach for his hand and intertwine it with yours as you step away from the house party. The sounds of cheers and loud music fade away behind you, and all that's left is the warmth of your boyfriend's hand in yours - and really, you'd take that over watered-down drinks in a solo cup any day.

taglist for niki fics! <333 - @miniw0nz @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @charsworld96 @jenjnk @nocturnebite @nodoubtily @teireiii @starniras

[evanspam]

i will ask myself "can I even call it an addiction if it's such a weird thing" and then literally feel like I need it every time I get rid of it. and then have to physically tell myself not to get back on because of how bad it is. and then the only way I can keep myself from going back is indulging in fake scenarios in my head and reading fanfiction and reminding myself how horrible it is. the only thing that stops me is shame and my own imagination, which often bind themselves together like a toxic marriage.

[chelliebelle]

I DON'T SEE A RING ON YOUR FINGER | n. kento

꩜ SUMMARY . . having just finalized his divorce, a bitter kento tries to find the end to his sorrows in the bottom of a liquor bottle. but when a pretty young thing comes fluttering by his side, he decides there's no better time to get laid than now. ꩜ WORD COUNT . . 4.9k words of flith <333 ꩜ CONTAINS . . smut, divorcee!kento, reader is described as slutty, age gap (reader is in her early twenties and kento is in his late thirties), sexual frustration, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, rough sex, biting, spitting, they're kind of drunk, choking, bruising, pussy drunk!kento ꩜ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . kento's balls practically shriveled during his sexless marriage so best believe he's gonna enjoy himself!!

Nanami Kento had it all. 

A two-story house in the suburbs, a high-paying job, a beautiful wife—he had the perfect life. And damn did he hate every second of it. He hated waking up in that house to greet his nosy neighbors, hated driving to his soul sucking office job, and especially hated going home to his wife every night. She’d leave him leftovers in the fridge and kiss him goodnight before bed, and Kento would stay up every night wondering how to escape this limbo.

Tonight was the first time he felt free in years. Sitting at some shitty bar he can't remember the name of, he absentmindedly fiddled with his wedding band. Months ago, this little piece of metal meant everything. A loving marriage. A promise of a future. A sign of success. Now? It's just a worn-out ring that he can't throw out.

Kento sighed, setting it down on the table in favor of a glass of whiskey, letting it burn down his throat as he took a sip. He was never a drinker, but maybe it was something he repressed over the years. What else had he missed out on while trying to play Mr. Perfect?

Right, sex.

Kento was so obsessed with a picture perfect life that he even married someone he barely knew. She was pretty and nice enough—boring as fuck now that he thought about it—but that was enough for him to get down on one knee and take her down the aisle. What he didn't take into account was his own needs. All a man needed after a long day of work was some pussy, and he was no different. Mrs. Nanami was beautiful, sure, but one hell of a prude. If he was lucky, he got laid about once a month. Even then, she'd just lay stiff on the bed while he fucked her. If Kento didn't see the rise and fall of her chest, he'd assume he was sleeping with a corpse.

This meant that every night after his wife fell asleep, he'd go to his study to jack off to porn on his computer. It was enough for him to go to bed without a raging hard-on, but only having his hand to rub his cock raw all the time took a toll on him. Kento stopped initiating anything with Mrs. Nanami, opting to go straight online whenever he felt his dick twitch. For years, he lived like this.

Wake up, go to work, get home, say goodnight to wife, jack off.

Until a few months ago when his wife said she wanted a divorce. She must've been expecting him to start a fight, because her face fell when Kento nodded without a second thought. It was a long time coming. Sure, he believed he should've been the one to divorce her, but at least he was gonna be free. The days after she moved out was the happiest he had ever been. Waking up in an empty bed and coming home to an even colder bed filled him with a sense of contentment he thought he'd never feel again.

Cheers to being single, he thought to himself as he ordered another drink. As he waited, he couldn't help but sigh. The ink on his divorce papers hadn't even dried yet and he was already thinking of getting his dick wet. Kento hadn't had good pussy since he was twenty. The thought of cheating never even passed his mind during his marriage, opting the company of his own right hand over breaking the promise he made to his wife. Ex-wife.

He brought the rim of the glass to his lips, eager to drink himself to sleep, until the scraping of a barstool broke his concentration. "Drinking alone, handsome?"

The voice was soft and feminine, making him turn his head in curiosity. It came from a young girl, probably still in college but wearing a tight dress that looked like it came off a stripper. Kento wasn't a boomer by any means, but he still found himself disapproving how there was more skin than fabric on her body.

Kids these days.

Retrieving his gaze, he let out a quiet hmm before turning back to his drink. That didn't deter you, a girlish giggle leaving your lips as you leaned towards him.

"Seriously, there's no way you're here alone. Is this a set up? Where are the hidden cameras?"

College kids were so weird these days. With a scrunch between his brows, he shakes his head as he lets out a low rumble that makes your stomach twist. "Sorry to disappoint, kid. It's just me, no hidden cameras."

When he turns his head to face you, he's surprised at how close you were to him. Kento could smell the vodka shots off your breath. It reminded him of when he was as young as you were, getting drunk off cheap liquor. A soft pink dusted your cheeks, along with a tipsy smile that made his chest warm for some reason. You seemed to catch him staring, reaching out to rest your hand on his bicep.

"You look like...really put together. Like you do your taxes and sleep early or something."

The choked cough he lets out when you touch him makes the whiskey burn up his nose, hand coming up to cover half his face. Just a friendly gesture from a girl made him act like this? Get it together, Kento. Scoffing, he shrugged off your hand as he looked away. You pout as he does so and the sight fills him with regret immediately. Before he can apologize, you knock your head against his shoulder, nuzzling against him like a spoiled kitten. Guilt pools in the pit of Kento's stomach when his cock twitches in his slacks. Not now!

"Do you have a name, handsome mystery man?" you mumble against his shirt, the action making his loins burn. He seriously considers pushing you away but decides you're probably too drunk to function right now. After a few beats pass, he reluctantly grumbles a "Kento" in response. You're quiet save for a soft hum and Kento is left hating himself for getting hard at how clingy you're being.

Poor girl, you're clinging to someone who you think looks dependable in this shady ass bar. Or at least that's what he thinks until you grab his wrist and bring it up to your face. For a moment, he assumes you're trying to get a look at the Rolex around his wrist, the sleek gold glinting in the air. He has to repress a sigh—until he realizes your attention is actually on his hands. Kento's fingers are lengthy from years of typing at his desk everyday, the digits at least twice as thick as yours. Pretty veins run along his knuckles and up his forearms, disappearing under the fabric of his rolled sleeves. You can't help but sigh, eyes flickering up to his with admiration.

"Your hands are like, really...big."

He immediately pulls his hand away with a bewildered look, clicking his tongue as he adjusted the watch around his wrist, ignoring the whine you let out.

"What does that even mean?" he huffs, his fingers twitching at the traces of heat from your delicate hand grabbing his. You giggle at his reaction, slumping against him until your chest presses against his arm.

"I wonder what you can do with them, m'sure you'd know how to use them good."

Oh. Oh. When his gaze connects with your breasts that are almost spilling out the top of your dress and the sultry look in your eyes, only then does he realize that he's being hit on.

"Look, kid. I'm m—" he catches himself before he finishes his sentence. Fuck, was he going to say he was married? The wedding band in his other hand suddenly felt much heavier and he quickly shoves it in his pocket.

"...much older than you, I'm almost twice your age."

Another mellifluous giggle leaves your lips and Kento has to hold himself back from shutting you up so that blood stops rushing to his dick.

"I think you're flirting with me," you tease, rubbing your chest against his arm. If he focuses, he swears he can feel your hardened buds brushing against him through your dress. Not even wearing a bra, you're begging to be fucked. The thought of being the one to take you home tonight passes his mind but he shoves it away. You're drunk and almost half his age, it'd be wrong. All rational thought comes flying out the window when your hot breath fans against his ear.

"But, I also think you're really hot, Kento. So maybe we can..."

Your words fall on deaf ears as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back. Kento was never a religious man, but in this moment he prayed to the gods above for clarity. You were offering yourself up to him like a hog on a silver platter, tied up with an apple in your mouth for him to devour. He couldn't help but imagine your glassy eyes rolling into the back of your head, your sweet lips hanging open when he drives his cock deep into your tight and wet cunt—

Fuck it.

Will he ever get another chance to bring a pretty young thing like you home? The thought is what drives him as he grabs your wrist to drag you out the bar and into his car.

When you approached the hot stranger earlier, you sure didn't expect that it'd end with you moaning with his hand between your legs.

Drunk out of your mind, your gaze had fell onto the brooding man at the bar, eyeing his rippling muscles under his crisp blue shirt. Now that was a back you'd love to scratch up. It didn't take long for you to stumble on your too-high heels towards the blonde man. You were never this forward but something about him had you squeezing your thighs together. Maybe it was the silent classiness that screamed luxury, the heat in his eyes that burned every time his gaze lingered on you—or maybe it was how he practically flung you over his shoulder and ran all the red lights to take you home.

But never in a million years had you expected that man to be this nasty.

His lips tasted like heavy liquor, tongue sloppily tangling with yours as he slammed you against the door, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. You were used to bad french kisses from frat boys, all teeth and smelly breath, but the way Kento was devouring you made you lightheaded. 

"What a dirty mouth, wonder if you pussy's even wetter."

He pushed your legs apart with his foot and let his hand wander up your inner thigh. You gasp when he finds your mound, panties thoroughly soaked. The scoff that leaves his lips makes your cheeks flush. He cooes as he drag a thick digit along the clothed slit of your cunt, swallowing up your weak moans with his mouth.

"I don't even need to prep you," he chuckles, shaking his head as his thumb prods at your bud hidden beneath your folds.

"You have such a smart cunt, s' already drooling for me."

Kento pulls his hand from between your legs and grabs the back of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. Head still spinning from the alcohol, you lose your balance, but the death grip he has keeps you upright as he carries you to his bedroom.

It's scantily decorated and you note that the bed it a bit too big for someone living alone, but you forget all about it when your back hits the plush mattress.

His eyes are wide as if he's trying to commit the sight of you to memory, every exposed sliver of skin and plush flesh permanently burned into his mind. Before you know it, Kento's hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, yanking your dress up like he's unwrapping the first real gift he's ever had. Your slutty dress is long forgotten on his bedroom floor, and fuck, he's hard. Painfully so.

How can't he be when your sweet body is all on display for him?

Kento can't find it in him to give a damn about some dress when all he can see are your perky tits, so soft and malleable. He doesn't spare a moment to admire the view, slapping your breasts till they jiggled deliciously. Before you can whine about how mean he's being, he attacks your tender chest, lips wrapping around the mounds of flesh. It catches you off-guard and you tug at his hair, but he only bites down around your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud.

"Don't." 

His voice is a low growl you never heard before, and damn if it didn't make your clit throb with need. Right on cue, he pries your legs apart and gets on his knees between them, mouth never leaving your breast. The way his hips grind against you is vicious, as if he's been waiting years for this. Which, in a way, he has. Kento has spent too many nights in his cold bed, jerking off to the thought of someone warm beneath him. Now that he has it? Best believe he's not letting you go tonight.

Your heat seeps through the fabric of your underwear and he can tell that you're making a mess all over the front of his slacks, his bulge covered in your slick. Clicking his tongue, he pushes your knees against your chest to come face-to-face with your clothed core. His thumb tugs at the lace of your panties, lifting your hips to slide it over your ass and letting the flimsy fabric dangle on your ankle.

He intended to teach you a lesson, but his brain short-circuits when he sees your weeping cunt. Your chubby lips were glistening with slick from his teasing, that pretty clit hidden under your swollen folds. Kento hasn't had a taste of pussy in years, so he can't resist leaning forward to roll his tongue against your slit.

Immediately he's gone.

He laps at you like a man starved, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you spread open for him. Mrs. Nanami was never this wet for him and it had messed with his confidence for a while, but your sweetness was all it took to bring him back. His cock twitches at the sight of you writhing under him, the front of his slacks now completely stained with precum. Kento nearly forgot to breathe with how absorbed he was in your pussy.

“You're like a piece of candy,” he mouths against your sensitive cunt, pushing the tip of his tongue into your warm entrance. “So sweet, can eat you up all night.”

Your thighs tremble and clamp around his head, the action only pushing him closer against your waiting heat, nose bumping against your clit. Kento moaned as he flattened his warm tongue against you, making out with your cunt with more fervor than when he had kissed you. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Kento completely forgets about his aching hard-on, hips instinctively rutting against the mattress with every swipe of his tongue. Your lips were so puffy that he couldn't resist biting down, latching his lips onto your neglected bud and sucking hard.

You almost cry out at the sensation, reaching your hand down to pull at his hair as you thrash under him, feeling your thighs quiver. "S'too much! Gonna make me come—"

SMACK.

His palm had landed flat on your cunt.

"None of that. You wanted my attention, now take it." 

The mean rumble of his voice along with the harsh slap against your sensitive heat sent you over the edge, coming onto Kento's face as your back arched off the bed. He was more than eager, lips hanging open as he swallowed up every drop of your sweetness.

Like heaven on his tongue.

Your taste was addictive, making him groan with every bob of his Adam's apple. Kento slurps up all the wetness he can get, chin glistening with your essence once he pulls away. The sudden orgasm had you panting, only coming back to your senses when you heard the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor, lifting your head up at the exact moment Kento tugged his ruined boxers down.

His heavy cock slapped against his sweaty washboard abs, leaking onto his abdomen. You had seen enough subpar dicks in your life to know that he was big, the idea of it stretching you open making your pussy drool. Pretty veins ran along the base, leading up to his thick tip that was already dribbling pearls. It was an angry red, sensitive from rubbing against the fabric of his slacks. You could've sworn his cock twitched when his eyes locked with yours.

He reluctantly rolls on a condom, mumbling something under his breath as he strains against the pink rubber. Should just fuck this pussy raw. Luckily, he still had enough common sense to stop him from begging you to let him go in without protection. Kento grabs your thighs, hefty length dragging down your slit as he positioned himself between your legs. With his cock resting on your mound, you can tell he's gonna be so deep in your tummy that you'll feel him tomorrow.

“I'll make sure of it, pretty girl,” he chuckles, slapping his member against your puffy clit.

Did you actually say that out loud—?

Your cheeks puffed up at his words, an embarassed flush on your face at your little slip-up. He's so heavy between your legs that you wonder how he'll even fit. Kento's hand reaches to pull you flush against him by the ankle, propping your leg up his shoulder, groaning as his cock dragged between your lips.

"You're so wet," he muses, pumping himself lazily before he lined himself up your entrance. "Bet you're gonna take me like a good girl, hmm?"

You gasp when he pushes his flushed cockhead between your swollen folds, struggling past tight rings of muscle. So tight. Fuck, he should've known—you were just a little brat who thought she could handle him. He hisses as your walls clamp down around his tip, nails digging into your hips as he tries to catch his breath. 

"Loosen up, sweetheart. You're gonna snap off my dick."

Kento stayed like that, tip twitching inside your warm pussy, before he pushes forward once more. He's bigger than any cock you've taken before. Unprepared for the stretch, your brows knit together when he bullies his way into your cunt. He barely makes it a few inches in before your eyes start to water. Your insides were being stuffed to the brim. You take a deep breath, weakly shaking your head as your thighs tremble.

"K-Kento, please—" Please? 

You didn't even know what you were begging for, did you? How cute. With a sigh, he pulls out from the comfort of your pussy. You let out a sigh of relief, before a warm liquid hit your bare lips. With the viscosity dribbling between your folds, you realized that was Kento's spit. Your gaze flickered up towards him but he focused on other things—like the way your clit twitched when his saliva hit the neglected bud. Eyes dark and brows knitted, he reached down to thumb at your sensitive nub, a choked moan leaving your lips.

"Ease up, that's right," he praised, using the wetness to roll his hips forward. 

Your walls fluttered around him, your moans egging him on as he continued to feed you more of his monster cock. Kento never needed this amount of prep with Mrs. Nanami, considering she always seemed so...bored. He was even beginning to think he was bad at sex! But the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head told him all he needed to know. A low groan rumbled in his chest when he finally bottomed out, his tip kissing your cervix. After so long with only his hand as company, he worried he'd come the second he was inside you. The way you were squeezing his dick didn't help either. Kento swallowed hard, trying to take deep breaths as he let you adjust to his size.

"How are you so tight?" 

When his panting reached your ears, you let out a slurred mumble, eyes unfocused as you tried to look up. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours to regain his composure. Body covering yours, he only buried himself deeper all the way to the hilt. It was like your mind went blank.

"Ngh—you're just too big!" you managed to shout, eyes glassy from how he kept nudging against your womb.

That was all it took for Kento to lose his mind.

Locking an arm around your leg, he fucked into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his hips snapped forward. His pace was merciless, knocking the breath out of your lungs with every mean thrust. 

"Yeah? How deep am I?" he growled, his grip on your waist bruising.

 All the way in my tummy, you try to say, but you were too fucked out to answer. Just a few thrusts had you dumb on his cock, glossy lips hanging open weakly. The sight makes Kento chuckle, holding onto your thighs as his skin smacked against yours.

It had been years since he had been in a pussy this wet and eager for him. He was in love with your cunt. The slickness as he slid past your folds, the way your walls tried to milk him—but the cock drunk look in your eyes was the cherry on top. Kento turns his head to the side, pressing kisses onto your calf as he fucked you. 

Come back, pretty girl.

When he notices your lack of response, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, emphasized with a harsh thrust that made you scream. "Kento, slow down," you cry out, heat churning in your belly from the cruel pistoning of his hips.

He only chuckles, shaking his head before he sped up his pace. The shocked look in your eyes made him reach down to rub tight circles on your clit for relief. Loud squelches and the slapping of skin-on-skin filled the air, the room reeking of sweat and sex. Kento's eyes locked on the way your ass bounced back against his pelvis with every thrust, cock twitching as he thought of taking you from behind. He continued to jackhammer into you, strings of profanities leaving his lips. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. As you mumbled incoherently on the verge of tears, a hand wrapped around your throat.

"Shh. Your sweet pussy's talkin' to me," he tuts, squeezing your throat to shut you up. 

His hand completely engulfed your neck, rough palm pressed tightly against your pulse. Gasping for breath, you could feel your head spin from the lack of air. You rake your nails along his back, digging crescents into his skin to try and make him let go. Kento hissed at the sensation, cockhead slamming hard against your g-spot. It was too much—the delicious stretch of his cock, the way his tip kissed your gummy insides with every thrust, his hand around your throat—the knot in your stomach snapped. Even when you tried to push the heat down, your climax ripped through you like white lightning. 

Your back arched off the bed, cursing out Kento's name as your orgasm shook through your body. The man nearly collapsed on top of you, a sharp groan leaving his lips as your walls clamped down and milked his cock so suddenly. His grip on your throat loosens and you thrash under him. 

You might die from how good he's dicking you down. 

Rolling onto your stomach, you stumble as you get on your hands and knees to try and crawl off the bed. A pair of rough hands grab onto your waist, followed by heavy panting that makes your blood run cold.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Kento spits, dragging you back against him. 

He'd be damned if he let the first good pussy he's had in years get away. Even when you try to thrash and break free, your body is too weak from coming so hard! His palm lands a harsh smack against your ass, your arms collapsing under your body as you cried out. Kento pushed your head down into the pillows, propping you up by the back of your knees. Face down, ass up. The sight of you so vulnerable with your glistening pussy on display made him lick his lips, quickly positioning himself behind you. 

"Naughty girl, trying to run away from me," he tuts, swiping his tip up and down your creamy folds.

As punishment, he reached down to pinch your clit, earning a choked sob from you. He rolled the bud between his fingers, resting his free hand on the plush of your ass. Cock throbbing for release, he buried himself to the hilt in one thrust, setting up a mean pace immediately.

Yep, might die from this dick. 

Every slam of his hips against yours had you sobbing into the pillows, the fabric damp with your salty tears. Your body was still reeling from your multiple orgasms, cunt fluttering around him. Even if it was too much, Kento was fucking you so good your insides had molded to every ridge and vein of his cock. Your tits jiggled with every thrust and he wasted no time in grabbing your hefty breasts, playing with your soft nipples. He buried his head in the tender area where your neck and shoulders connected, groaning against you. 

Kento was getting close, you could tell from how frantically he rutted into you. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsing against your gummy walls. You couldn't resist the urge to push your ass back into him, making his dick hit even deeper inside you. You were half sure he was bulging through your tummy at this point. The action made him suck in shallow breaths through his teeth, keeping a death grip on your ass as he bulllied your cunt.

"Fuuuck, I'm gonna come," he groans into your shoulder.

His face scrunched up in pleasure, panting heavily into your skin as he buried his cock deeper and deeper. Seeing such a composed man this broken made your cheeks flush. Your walls were heavenly, every clench pushing him closer to the edge. 

Screw his hand. Coming from your pussy squeezing him was better that jacking off to any porno he could watch online. 

With a strangled moan, Kento shot thick spurts of cum into the condom, as if he hadn't finished in years. He collapsed on top of you, the orgasm rendering him unable to even hold himself up anymore. It was like losing his virginity all over again. You whine as the rubber began to fill up with his load, heavy in your pussy. After a few moments to catch your breath, you tried to push yourself off him, worried he'd spill into you.

"We should probably take that off—" 

Kento shut you up immediately, grabbing your waist to drag your hips back on top of him. Now straddling his lap, his still hard cock prodded new places you had never even touched before, a pathetic moan leaving your lips. His blonde hair was messy and dripping with sweat, eyes glazed over as his cheeks flushed. You felt him twitch inside you when he met your gaze, the same fucked-out look in both your eyes. He definitely wasn't done with you yet.

"It's only midnight, sweetheart."

You'd be lucky to come out of here alive.

You spent the rest of the night going several rounds, trying every position possible before collapsing from exhaustion. What's for sure—sex would never be the same ever again. How could you go back to one night stands with shitty frat bros when an older man just gave you the dicking down of your life? 

The next morning, you roll on your side to see Kento sitting at the edge of the bed. His bare back was wrecked, littered with vicious nail marks and lipstick stains. You chew on your bottom lip, pulling the duvet over your chest. 

"Are we gonna see each other again?" you croak, voice hoarse from last night.

The muscles in his back tensed at your words. Kento didn't want to see the hickeys and bruises on your skin, undeniable marks of the years of frustration he took out on you. He actually slept with a girl almost half his age right after getting divorced.

Talk about issues. 

Though his stomach churned with guilt, the memories of last night flashed through his mind. How eager you were for him, your sopping cunt, your sweet whines. He was even starting to imagine what it'd be like to sink into you raw.

He couldn't deny how addicted he was to your body. Doing this once was one thing, but agreeing to meet you again? Kento let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he spoke up.

"Let me check my schedule, pretty girl."

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[stxxrlights]

𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

drunk!sukuna who's friends call you to come pick him up because he is completely wasted. telling you that he won't stop whining your name and refuses to go with any of them. they apologize for interrupting your night but you don't mind.

drunk!sukuna who does not recognize you at first and swats your hand away everytime you try to touch him. "don't-don't touch me or i'll tell my girl-girlfriend. she's way scarier than me. and so much prettier than you".

drunk!sukuna who apologizes when he confirms that it's you over and over again with glossy eyes while his friends just shake their heads at his drunken antics. "why didn't you say it was you baby? now i feel so bad~"

drunk!sukuna who has to lean against you to walk straight and to the car as he starts blabbing about his day and other nonsense and now you truly believe that he is infact extremely wasted.

drunk!sukuna who pins you against the wall when you close the front door of your shared home trying to steal a kiss from you but you refuse though he keeps on trying. landing his kisses on your cheeks, forehead, nose but not where he wants to. "stop moving and let me love you!" "you have to brush your teeth first" "fine!"

drunk!sukuna who refuses to drink a glass of water that you hand him. he's furrowing his eyebrows, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at it disgustingly. "you have to drink some water, kuna" "no!" "pretty please!... for me" "...okay..."

drunk!sukuna who you help shower to prepare him for bed as he can't really do anything by himself now. but the entire time he's staring at you and relishing in the feeling on your hands roaming around his body, his cheeks growing pink as he falls more in love with you.

drunk!sukuna who starts talking about how lucky he is to have found someone like you. how it makes his heart skip a bit anytime you're worried about him and when you do cute gestures for him. he tells you that words alone can not describe how much he loves you.

drunk!sukuna who sets you on the counter as you dry his hair while his hands are firmly placed on your hips still watching you. he wants to be as close to you as he possibly can, always holding you.

drunk!sukuna who demands kisses all over his face before he goes to bed and makes you declare your love for him. "it's enough now kuna. you need to rest" "no... i need twenty more kisses and a dozen i love you's"

drunk!sukuna who finally falls asleep after his well deserved kisses and affirmations. you watch as his chest rises up and down and his lashes resting on his cheeks. he just looks so beautiful and you can't stop thinking about how soft drunk!sukuna is.

drunk!sukuna who wraps his arms around you when you get into bed with him and surprisingly he places a kiss on your forehead and in a husky voice says, "thank you for taking care of me princess. i love you so much, sweet dreams"

comments and reblogs are appreciated

[puppiestlooserlesbian]

💔💔💔

Obvious yall didn't read shit of what I cited but the cope is funny cause "me no like site so me no read" is not an argument, if even losurdo, as in the losurdo, is some first world revisionist than it's ok I'll gladly accept that title since it doesn't mean anything to yall. His writings on western marxism describes yall pretty good tho.

Also as always proving that maoism and mao zedong thought couldn't be more distinct things. Saying that's like taken out of context or a dogmatic interpretation of the text is an amazing cope. "You see when he says all he doesn't actually mean all, he just means some and under there centrain arbitrary conditions that I made up on the spot cause it helps my argument and actually you're the dogmatic one". Funnily enough I knew maoists love the argument of it being taken out of context so I made sure to select like one or two phrases before and after the actual quote and still saying that's taken out of context too is very funny, I included the whole title to obviously include the context if you want to read it, should I like paste a whole speech for it not to be taken out of context?

Also also like 99% of this was just yall saying random shit without any sources, average maoist tbh, but that's not how you talk to people outside your echo chamber

Also also also citing the fucking Indian maoists is one of the things ever lmfao, already read that hundred page word vomit btw and citing that at me is something I fr take as an insult ahahaha. Anyway here's why these ultras specifically are cringe: they ignore the material conditions of India as a semi feudal and semi colonial country from which they think they can jump to socialism(somehow misunderstanding mao's theory enough to justify ignoring leninist theory on revolutionary stages), they're proud sectarians that isolate themselves just so they can larp red guards, this larp too is marked by a fetishized view of guerilla warfare that ignores that they don't have anything resembling mass support but how could they when their adventurism destroys schools and railways and general infrastructure that condemns the already poor people they claim to fight for to even worse conditions, they ignore parliamentary struggles like the caste or gender equality because they think it's revisionist(funny how yall say I'm like a first worlder ignoring marginalized people when this is exactly what they proudly do. Also not a first worlder lol), they reject trade unions because those too are revisionist, and so much more but I'm getting bored. If the world renowned ultras known for the fact that the only things you can learn from them is what not to do is an excellent source than for my mental health I'll choose not to engage anymore lol, maybe after my finals at uni are over tho, maybe.

Dengism is to ultras what stalinism is to liberals

[mintaikkcorpse]

Okay, so, we're all freaking out bcuz this is the first time a beast has used the word "love" to describe what they feel for their ancient, right?

The other beasts all have some kind of obsession with their ancient, bcuz they have the other half of their soul jam, which would make them soulmates in some fucked-up way. But, obsession is still a form of love. So, I really want to go over how the Beasts "love" their ancients, even if it is kinda (EXTREMELY) fucked up.

Also, before I go on with this, don't spam my replies and reblogs with, "But it's toxic-" I KNOW! THAT'S THE POINT! IM EXPLAINING THE WAY THE BEASTS HAVE SUCH A TOXIC, TWISTED LOVE FOR THEIR ANCIENTS.

(This is going to be such a rambly mess, and I'm sorry)

Burning Spice

Burning Spice is obsessed with Golden Cheese because he's bored (he's actually depressed bcuz history is just a cycle of evil people hurting each other and innocent people only for the civilizations to all crumble in the end because of those evil people, but saying he's bored is easier than saying all of that), and he believes that Golden Cheese will make him feel alive again (by hunting her and having both of them fight each other to the death but you know-).

His kind of obsession torwards Golden Cheese is the (literal) destructive kind. He wants to kill her, but he also wants her to try and kill him.

The first time he meets her in person, he congratulates her for beating up Nutmeg Tiger Cookie and says, "Yes, excellent! I like my prey to have a little bit of fight in them!" He literally gets DISSAPOINTED when she was easy to defeat, but he doesn't kill her, nor fuse their soul jams, because he wants to keep her alive so she's angry enough to try and actually kill him, because he believes that it will be "electrifiying" to fight her (his words, not mine). He speaks of hunting her like it's all some fun game, because he believes that she is exciting, and he hasn't felt excited in a long, long time. He even gives her nicknames when he talks to her such as "Little bird", and he even calls her "his" and "his prey." And, I'm sorry to say this, but you could read their battle dialogue as some version of flirting-

Burning Spice: "Oooh! I see you still can channel the power of your Soul Jam! Good... I'm glad I didn't make it mine yet!"

Golden Cheese: "Hmpf... Yes. Yes, that might just be your greatest achievement! Know that I do not give praise lightly. You really should be thankful!"

Burning Spice: "Ha ha ha ha! Ahhh, lovely! Keep going, I'm thoroughly enjoying our little dance!"

He gets excited when he realizes that she isn't weak and can still fight him. He literally compliments her by calling her, "lovely", and then refers to their fight as a dance. That's flirting. That's literally flirting.

Anyways. Back to destruction as love.

I know, I know, I've said he's completely obsessed with destroying her multiple times in this post, but, for the person reading this who doesn't play the game or keep up with the lore (why are you reading this then???? Like, I'm happy, but huh???), I cannot stress enough that when I say "obsessed", I REALLY DO MEAN IT

SHE DEFEATED HIM. I THOUGHT SHE KILLED HIM WHEN SHE DID! SHE DROPPED A WHOLE AS BUILDING ON HIS HEAD.

And this motherfucker LAUGHED, when she did.

This mf is down bad, and NOT in a healthy way.

Tldr: Burning Spice loves in a incredibly destructive way, since he believes that fighting and killing Golden Cheese will make him feel alive again.

Mystic Flour

Mystic Flour has an obsession with Dark Cacao bcuz she wants to show him apathy, though, I honestly don't see them in a twisted romantic kind of way. More honestly a fucked up, misguided person trying to teach another person. She even mentions that she's old, and she talks to him as if she's a teacher. But, don't think that just because her care for him isn't romantic that it isn't interesting.

The thing about Mystic Flour Cookie is the fact that she believes that everyone embracing apathy and turning into flour is the only way the world can be at peace. She wants the other half of Dark Cacao's souljam so she can gain the power to do so, and, the easiest way to do that is for him to embrace apathy himself and give her the souljam.

But, despite her being apathetic (though she is definelty not beating the "Igaf" allegations. I see you being sweet to Cloud Haetae, girl), there is some sort of care when she talks to Dark Cacao. After all, even though she says she feels nothing, what she wants to do to the cookie world, she does because she cares. She just goes the wrong way about it. She believes that Dark Cacao's resolution and determination are only weighing him down, and she wants to help rid him of it.

Throughout the entire story, Mystic Flour guides him like a teacher would to a student. She takes him down the path of apathy; telling him the story of how she came to her conclusion, turning his soldiers into flour, waiting atop the mountain as a sort of test to see if he still had his resolution, and telling him about how everything suffers for no reason and apathy is the only way you can stop it. And, when those don't work, she keeps showing him and teaching him and trying to get him to return to flour. She goes so far as to show an illusion (I think it's an illusion? Could be an alternate timeline or smthn) of his son, Dark Choco, ruling the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and how, if he crumbled here, no one would miss him. She says that his kingdom is a moment in time, and that with time, he will be forgotten, and all of his efforts in his kingdom will be forgotten as well. And, for a brief moment, Dark Cacao accepted apathy. But, that's when she took his soul jam.

The thing is, if this was all a ploy to take his souljam, Mystic Flour would've stopped there. But she didn't. When the Dragon's escape, and he no longer has his souljam, nor his sword, Mystic Flour asks him how it feels to finally see the world of white. She then explains to him her plan of how she wants to guide everyone into Enlightenment.

This is the scene where she gently cups his face, and says this to him:

"Would I not be doing you a favor by relieving you of the burden you have carried your whole life? Now, there is nothing holding you back. Live the rest of your life free from any burdens, sorrows, and responsibilities."

She believes she is doing him a favor. She wouldn't go through so much to explain what she is doing to him and to comfort him in (what she thinks are) his last moments if she didn't care about him.

Tldr: Mystic Flour Cookie cares for Dark Cacao in the way a teacher would care for a student. She takes the time to teach him about apathy, even after she got ahold of the souljam, and even tells him that she believes she is doing him a favor. She wants him to turn the flour, just like she wants the rest of the world to turn to Flour, because she doesn't want him to be burdened in his life anymore. If he is flour, he no longer feels pain.

...Fucking. Shadow. Milk. Cookie

Oh God, where do I even begin with this-

Okay, so Shadow Milk's obsession with Pure Vanilla DEFINETLY goes beyond the simple "I want my soul jam back", no matter how hard he tries to make it seem that way. If that was the case, he wouldn't trap PV in his spire and play games with him and give him his own room which he made sure looks EXACTLY like his room in his kingdom and being all happy and giggly when PV says the he is his forever-

Yeah, it's a lot.

Shadow Milk Cookie is lonely. Once the Fount of Knowledge, forced to hold the horrifying truths of the world and realizing that the cookies would much prefer a nice lie over a bitter truth. He fell to deceit because of that realization. And throughout all of it, he was alone. He never had a normal life, because he was baked as an adult and immediately thrusted into a world to be the Fount of Knowledge. He never got that choice. He was always a god, with everyone else being below him, whether he liked it or not. It's difficult to make regular connections when everyone Worships you.

And this obviously had an effect on him. Shadow Milk is incredibly lonely (one of the devs even said that himself), so when he saw Pure Vanilla Cookie with his soul jam, someone who was like him all those years ago, who is worshipped as "the perfect hero" and only wants to seek the truth, his mind was filled with the emotions of rage, jealousy, but also hope. Pure Vanilla Cookie is just like him, after all. He can finally find someone who understands him.

Except his version of "You're the only one who understands me", is making Pure Vanilla Cookie suffer, telling PV that he'll just end up like Shadow Milk (a beast who sees no meaning in truth and who just wants to watch the world fall into chaos), and taking away everything he once loved. #justgirlthings🥰🥰🥰

But that doesn't stop the fact that Shmilk still yearned for someone to understand him, and Pure Vanilla is the closest thing he'll get to that, bcuz they have lived very similar lives, and now, they share their soul jam as well. And trust me when I say that his obsession with Pure Vanilla goes beyond the soul jam. Shadow Milk really wanted them to fuse their souls, and knowing that makes a lot of his dialogue make much more sense.

"You and I are bound..."

"Why, you've said it yourself! We are like the two sides of the same Coin!"

"Oh but it's inevitable. In the end, you will become... me! And it's gonna feel good!"

And, while Burning Spice and Mystic Flour wanted to destroy their ancients, Shadow Milk doesn't. He wants to keep Pure Vanilla alive, and have him stay with him in the spire. ("Why don't you stay for another day? Or FOREVER")

Since a lot of showing that him and PV are the same, he also took great pleasure in psychologically torturing PV and deceiving him. He tortures PV because he wants to know how far he can push him before he snaps, so, while he relishes in the game, he also is excited for when PV finally admits that Shmilk was right. It's why he was so damn excited when PV became Truthless Recluse, and started using his own deceiving tactics.

To survive the Yogurt River of Rebirth, one has to embrace deceit, he congratulates Pure Vanilla Cookie for surviving it and coming out on the other side, even though, if he died, he could take his soul jam back

When Pure Vanilla tricks him in the game of Chess and cheats, using his own methods against him, he is ESTATIC! He is laughing, and his sprite is blushing, and he talks about how he "wants to keep playing with his new favorite toy." Even Black Sapphire is surprised because, according to him, "He doesn't give multiple second chances." So, obviously, PV is a special Cookie to him

Shadow Milk also has an obsession with Pure Vanilla being "his." For Burning Spice, he meant like, "his to destroy", but Shadow Milk's version of it has a lot more romantic-coded undertones.

"Indeed, all this time, you've been my most treasured marionette!" (I think it's doll in KR, which I think is better. You control your marionettes, but you hold dolls close to you)

"Ah, there you are! My long-lost other half!"

"YES! YES! YOU ARE MINE!"

Anyways, to the point that made everyone lose their shit: fusing their damn souljams.

"Pure Vanilla: "Is this what you wanted? or is it even better? Instead of one Soul Jam of Knowledge, you will have two Soul Jams of Deceit. And me, forever by your side"

Shadow Milk: "You would do that, after what I just did to your friends?"

Pure Vanilla: Hah! It's no longer important. Now it's clear as day. There simply is no point in denying it... You and I... We are meant to be together.

Shadow Milk: Ah ha... Ah ha ha...! HA HA HA HA HA!

Shadow Milk: "Yes, YES! Now, you are mine!"

They fuse their souljams together. Shadow Milk didn't just want the soul jam; he wanted Pure Vanilla along with him. But then, in the ultimate deceitful betrayal, PV tricked him, and takes back the soul jam, separating their souls, and becoming even more powerful. Shmilk is completely heartbroken and tries to dearroy PV (and the souljam in the kr dub), but of course, PV defeats him. But, instead of going away after that, PV says that he felt how lonely Shadow Milk was, and that he's the only one who can understand him, something that Shadow Milk hws been looking for for a long, long time, and asks if he wants to be his friend. The worst part is that, with the way Shmilk's voice softened, he actually thought about it.

He then proceeds to crash out and try to destroy him again, but we still saw what we saw. Shadow Milk really just wanted someone who could understand him.snd be by his side so he wouldn't have to feel lonely anymore...

Also, I feel the need to point out that this is the only time in the story where Shmilk gets upset at PV for deceiving him, and that's bcuz it was emotional. The other times were a fun game to show that he is becoming him, but this time, he lied to him about being by his side forever, only to leave.

And then, other things I couldn't put in here that alludes to a romantic kind of love

Candy Apple Cookie is jealous of Pure Vanilla Cookie, and she canonically has a crush on Shadow Milk

Shadow Milk gave PV a plushie of him in his room

The story for Shmilk's special cakehound is that he is a wolf who fell in love with the cream sheep, and just wants to be closer to it. All I'm saying is that Shadow Milk already has multiple "wolf in sheep's clothing" things in his story, and Pure Vanilla is associated with cream sheep

The KR voice actors for them doing a duet together as their characters????

Anyways, I truly do not have the energy to talk about Shadowvanilla for millionth time. I'm moving on now.

Tldr: Shadow Milk loves Pure Vanilla like how someone would love their favorite doll, so he constantly dotes on him and plays games with him, but, as you own a doll, you control whatever it does and stop it before it gets out of line. A doll is also what helps someone feel less lonely (why do you think traumatized kids are always given dolls in therapy?), so there's that as well.

ETERNAL GOD-DAMN SUGAR COOKIE

Oh, baby, you thought that Shadow Milk was bad? WAIT TILL YOU SEE ETERNAL SUGAR COOKIE!

But, out of all of the Ancients, Sugar's love for Hollyberry is probably the most obviously romantic one out of all of them. She constantly dotes on Hollyberry, is really sweet to her (even if a bit twisted), looks at her through her crystal ball and smiles, calls her "her other half" (just like shmilk), and "my love", is constantly in her personal space, talks a out how she just wants Hollyberry to be happy, makes a song which she says "is just for you (Hollyberry) alone," etc, etc. Yes, she wants her soul jam back, but why not just take the soul jam and be done with her? Yet, Sugar asks for Hollyberry to "stay by her side", which isn't something you ask someone you supposedly hate and see as your enemy to do.

__________________________

Okay, so like, I wrote all that BEFORE the other half of ET'S update came out. And now it's confirmed she has feelings for Hollyberry so....

I think Eternal Sugar Cookie has BPD, and that VERY much affects how she loves. If you're curious, here's the full BPD symptoms list. I'm going to make a post that goes over how these symptoms apply to her, so look forward to that ig.

But anyways! Eternal Sugar's story shows that she is INCREDIBLY lonely and has an INTENSE fear of abandonment. She didn't want the other half of her soul jam; she even let Hollyberry leave without it. She gently just wanted Hollyberry by her side forever.

I think she has this toxic, romanticized view of Hollyberry. I've said it before, but the Beasts and the Ancients are LITERAL soulmates because their souls are both tied to the souljams. Sugar must've also seen it like that, because she constantly refers to Hollyberry as "her other half", and again, didn't even wanna take the damn souljam away from her. She says that she felt like her soul was "missing something", and, now that Hollyberry is here, "everything feels complete!" She doesn't need her souljam to feel complete, because Hollyberry Cookie, her other half and the one who wields the other half of their soul jam, is right there beside her.

All she knows is that Hollyberry Cookie makes her feel complete. Combine this with her genuine want to make a paradise for cookies, and this leaves the belief that Hollyberry can only find happiness if she's with Eternal Sugar, and that creates the belief of, "She doesn't know what she wants. If she stays here with me, both of us will be happy! But if she leaves, both of us will be miserable."

And, because she's a god whose gone insane, anytime Hollyberry tries to escape, she always does something that she thinks is helpful, but she knows will make her stay.

Giving her and her teammates a scent that will attract monsters so they come back to her garden for safety

Harming Wildberry Cookie via the monsters so she has an even bigger reason to stay

Showing how happy that Hollyberry Soldiers are in the garden

Attending to her every want and need

Bringing the Hollyberry Kingdom to the garden so she won't leave, and then giving them something that will make them happy to show that they would be miserable if they go back

Trapping her teammates in jars, because she knows that she will not leave without them.

One thing I love about Eternal Sugar is that she isn't manipulating out of malice. She isn't thinking, "Hehehee, I'm going to manipulate this cookie for funsies." She's doing it because she genuinely believes this is what will make both of them happy, and because she does love Hollyberry in some fucked-way. Her mind is probably going, "Hollyberry Cookie is misguided in what she believes in. I will do all those to show her she is wrong, and that she can only find true happiness if she stays here with me."

Because that's how a lot of abusers work. A lot of abusers do love their victims. But, the love they feel is so, so incredibly toxic and not the way someone deserves to be loved. Eternal Sugar's love for Hollyberry feels like how an obsessive abuser would feel about their partner, and I love it.

So, when I go over this scene, please know that I don't think that ET is doing this because it's fun. She's doing this because she believes it will make Hollyberry stay with her. Even Shadow Milk did that to an extent. While yes, he did enjoy torturing PV, it was all so he could get him to embrace deceit and stay by his side. For most abuse cases, there's always another reason.

(Not defending abusers, I'm explaining things. You don't have to sympathize with your abuser AT ALL. And I'm not just saying that to say that. This is the bitch who still holds grudges from the assholes in middle school who made her feel like her body was an object meant to be ridiculed, judged, and to be eyecandy for horny men who dont understand consent. YOU DONT HAVE TO FORGIVE YOUR ABUSERS).

______________________________

At the end of their story, Eternal Sugar says that she will let her leave with the cookies she holds dear, as long as she sees what will happen if she does, and if she takes a bite from the Golden apple. Sugar then shows Hollyberry a world where Dark Enchantress Cookie takes over her kingdom, with all of her friends and family dying trying to protect her. This, obviously, horrifies Hollyberry and she feels conflicted about leaving, and Sugar tries to convince her to stay, by reminding her of her past emotions and how awful she felt, and saying she won't have to feel those in her Garden.

What she did is a manipulation tactic. She made it seem like she gave Hollyberry a fair choice, but in reality, what she did was manipulating Hollyberry's emotions because she knows that most cookies would refuse to after seeing that, and then she tells her that, to make that go away, she can stay here. What she showed her probably wasn't even real (GingerBrave would NEVER let that happen), so she purposely gave Hollyberry a false idea, which she thought would make her stay.

So, when Hollyberry STILL chooses to leave, and Sugar's begging and pleading don't work (she also pulls the "no one understands you like I do" card while doing though, and I do think that she genuinely believes that), she crashes out. HARD

(I showed this to my sister who doesn't play crk, and she went on a rant about how "any yuri that toxic should just end in a join suicide" and "what the fuck? Is this supposed to make me want to play the game?" But, you know)

When she realizes that Hollyberry doesn't want to be with her, she starts flooding the entire Garden with jam, and only stops after they defeat her. Even then, she keeps repeating, "Don't leave. Don't leave", because she is so, INCREDIBLY hurt at the thought of being abandoned.

And that's another thing. Eternal Sugad has a MAJOR fear of abandonment (BPD symptom as well) and will do anything to keep those she loves from abandoning her.

Sugar says that she cares about everyone in her garden, and I really don't think that she's lying. But, it's because she cares about them that she keeps them trapped in her garden because she believes that if she doesn't, they will leave her and go into a world of pain and suffering.

And now, someone who she loved so much to call her her love and other half, has left her. After she tried so, so hard to make her stay.

But, lucky for her (or unlucky depending on how you see it), Hollyberry has still given her hope when she decided to save her.

Instead of being mad, Sugar is overjoyed that he other half decided to save her. She asks Hollyberry if she changed her mind for her, and, even though Hollyberry doesn't answer her, she tells Sugar to think about her advice (waking up and understanding that this isn't healthy), and, to my surprise, Sugar said that she would! She even lets Hollyberry go, without any of that weird monster scent stuff!

I think it's because, in that convo, Hollyberry said that she would come back. Eternal Sugar now knows that Holly isn't leaving her forever, and she will come back at some point. So, she wants to focus on making the perfect place for her when she returns.

Tldr; Sugar's love is obsessive and tied to her belief that what she is doing is right, her major fear of abandonment, romanticization of Hollyberry, and the fact that she's incredibly lonely.

_____________________________

Has it ever occurred to you that, with each update, it appears as if the beasts wanna fuck their ancients more and more? Atp, I'm half expecting White Lily and Silent Salt to just nasty fuck on screen...

[damselneedssaving]

Love your writing! It's a bit heavy so no worries if you don't want to but I was wondering how the batboys™️ would react to the reader refusing to accept money from them even in a financial emergency because they're afraid of taking advantage of the fact their partner is rich asf (I'm a sucker for ✨polite✨ angst)

BATBOYS BUT THEY'RE DATING A POOR!F!READER WHO REFUSES TO TELL THEM AND ACCEPT THEIR HELP.

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, angst, not poly, hurt/comfort, jason before he reformed, mentions of violence (not towards reader), small panic attack (not described in detail), anxiety, lots of comforting and love, it hurts them to see you struggle :(((

★ A/N: first ask, omg!! thank you for coming to save me 💞💞💞 i love angst, you are doing me a favour by requesting it, not to worry!! hope this is good enough <333 oh, and quick notice, but this is not at all meant to romanticise the situation depicted, please remember that not having much money is a real struggle that people go through and this work does not aim to diminish it

★ W/C: 3.5k (why is this so long—)

The paper on your door stares back at you blankly—no sympathy in its gaze, and certainly no mercy in its letters, all uppercase and practically shouting at you: EVICTION NOTICE.

You're sure the thud of your bag hitting the ground can be heard from multiple stories both above and below, but in that moment, staring at those two words with static ringing in your ears and the world closing in around you, it's hard to really care.

You think you spend a while standing there, just glaring at the door with no real thought behind your eyes, no real drive to your actions, just this void swallowing you whole.

It's almost hard to believe that just this morning, you were laughing and shoving the shoulder of your boyfriend as he teased you about something you can't even bother to remember. That just this morning, you were beaming and bright and shining all over as you joked without a care in the world.

And now...

Now this.

A light gasp coming from beside you snaps you out of your daze, tired eyes landing on a pair swimming in so much sympathy and pity that it makes you sick to your stomach, and before you even know it, the echo of your door slamming shut rings clear through the hall, paper all but gone from its wooden surface.

The next few days are a blur, spent either packing, or curled up in your bed with dry, crusty streaks coating your cheeks and a phone laying forgotten by your bedside table, arms too weak to pick it up and brain too tired to bother even trying.

This whole thing just came so fast, too fast, that you couldn't even bring yourself to keep the one thing you spent years trying to hide from your lover a secret anymore, not responding to his texts or calls to the point he shows up knocking at your door, and when you open it, his eyes aren't on you, but glued down.

Glued onto the piece of paper in his hands.

You take a second to quickly glance at your door, spotting another tape situated on it.

That motherfucker put up another notice.

Jaw clenched, you turn back to your boyfriend.

-> DICK GRAYSON <-

"Y'know..." he starts, tone soft with a hint of his usual playfulness, but, you notice, significantly watered down this time, "when I said you can come to me for anything, I meant it."

You part your lips to respond, but can't quite bring yourself to let any words actually escape, just like Dick can't seem to bring himself to lift his head up and meet your gaze.

(He doesn't because he feels like he failed you, staring at those two words without registering anything else as he wonders just how long this has been going on for, just how long has his girlfriend been suffering, while he sat there basking in riches and wealth?)

"I can help," he spits out almost too soon, almost too desperate, "I can wire you the money, pay off the—"

"No."

His head shoots up.

"No..?" he echoes, shoulders dropping and form all but kicked puppy. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean: no, Dick."

Your hand goes up, fingers pinching your nose and head shaking from side-to-side as you curse yourself for not even bothering to answer at least one text.

For even showing him where you live in the first place, really.

"Why not?"

"Because," you force out, the word tasting bitter on your tongue, "I refuse to do that to you."

"Do what to me?"

"That," you hiss, gesturing in front of you as though what you're talking about is actually, physically there. "The asking for money, the begging for funds—God, Dick, I can't. I can't take advantage of you like that. That's not why I dated you."

"Dated?" Dick stares at you, brows knitted and eyes pouring out all the hurt siphoned by his voice.

"That's..." you trail off, shaking your head. "That came out wrong."

Your lips pull down, eyes glazing over before he catches your hands and refocuses your hazy pools towards him.

"Hey," he calls, soft and sweet. "You know you wouldn't be taking advantage of me, right?"

You scoff, and immediately, he lifts a hand up to cup your chin, coaxing your averted eyes back to him.

"I mean it," he says, firmer, "I'm your boyfriend. Your partner. I'm here to help. Money or otherwise."

"I can't, Dick. I can't."

With a tug, you crash into him, hands planted firmly on his chest as his arms curl around you, the warmth like a hammer to your shell, a crack in your dam, and before you even know it, the tears that were glistening in your eyes just moments ago start to spill over.

Dick's arms secure you, grip not faltering even while you soak his shirt in your ugly tears and snot, even while you squeeze it tight enough to dig into his chest through the fabric, even while you admit to lying to him for years about a situation that pains him so.

"Stay with me for a while."

"Huh?" You sniff.

"You said you won't accept my money," he continues, and you crane your neck to find him already looking down at you, "so accept my hospitality instead."

"Dick..."

"Just until you can get back onto your feet again," he pleads. "Just let me help until you can get back up on your own."

"I..."

"Please, [Name], I can't let you live on the streets. I can't."

And he means it, staring at you with such heartbreak, the sob you've worked so hard to keep down climbs back up your throat, sending you crashing straight back into his chest.

And as you stand there, his arms around you and his nose buried in your hair, you think to yourself that, just this once, you'll allow yourself to reach out.

-> JASON TODD <-

"Always fucking hated that prick," he growls out, voice all sharp edges and nasty scowls. "He looks at you like you're some piece of meat and not an actual fucking human being."

"Yeah... I hate him too."

Jason's eyes flit up, gaze narrow and lips taut. "Then why the fuck did you never tell me about this?"

You purse your own lips, words lost on your tongue—

"I can kill him."

—until he says something like that, of course.

"What?" you can't help but scoff out, incredulous. "Jason, no."

The paper scrunches in his hands, bunching up like some petty inconvenience rather than the words that have quite literally decided your living situation for the next who-knows-how-long.

"Why the hell not?"

"Wha—? Are you hearing yourself right now?"

When he only lifts a brow in response, you try for a different approach.

"I thought you only killed criminals."

"He looks at you like a criminal," he quips back, sharp and quick. "That's enough."

"No. You are not killing someone just because I didn't pay my fucking rent on time."

You cross your arms over your chest, stance firm, rigid, as stubborn as your will as you eye him down with a look that promises consequence should he choose not to listen.

A beat passes without a word.

Then—

"Fine." His shoulders fall with a grunt, but the topic doesn't fall alongside them. "If you won't let me kill him, then I'll just pay for your new apartment instead."

"No. No way."

His eyes narrow. "I wasn't asking."

You return the look. "Neither was I."

The moment stretches, the two of you glaring at each other with steely gazes and tight jaws, each equally as unyielding as the other.

(Jason thinks to himself that your glare isn't as fierce as usual. Like it's lacking something. A will. A drive. A reason to continue pushing forward. When did his girlfriend start to look so tired?)

His gaze softens. "Doll..."

Just like that, like his look is made up of some sort of soothing magic, your shoulders fall, and he catches you before you can go spiralling in a pool of your own thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't do that to you, Jay." You shake your head into his chest, voice all but muffled. "I can't use you like that. Not you."

"You wouldn't be using me, [Name]."

"Yes, I would," you grit out, squinting your eyes shut to force the sting away. "I would..."

He goes to respond, but you beat him to it.

"You've already had to go from having everything to having nothing before." You heave a breath, chest tightening with the effort of holding that damn salty water back. "And now that you've got it back... I can't take that from you."

"You wouldn't be taking it from me, [Name]."

You go to echo your response before, but it's his turn to beat you to talking.

"No, you wouldn't." You can feel him shake his head above yours. "I choose how I spend that money, doll. It's my decision. And if I choose to spend it on you, then it'll be spent on you. There is no using one another. I love you."

Your breath hitches, head shooting up to find his own already facing you, and his eyes are so soft, so sincere, that you can't help the sob that lurches from your throat, arms looping around his neck and pulling him down until his lips slot perfectly against yours.

And as he stands there, kissing you even through all the salty water that coats your lips, you yield just a little more to the idea of getting some help from someone you love.

-> TIM DRAKE <-

"So that's why you weren't answering any of my texts." He lets out a chuckle, but it comes out dry and insincere.

(He stares at the page. All of a sudden, it all makes sense. The refusal to eat at places that aren't small cafes or local diners, the avoidance of high-spending activities like shopping at the mall or going to theme parks, the amount of dates spent just streaming movies at yours or walking around the same park a dozen times over. How did he not see before? How can he call himself a detective and not notice his own girlfriend's struggling financial situation?)

"Sorry..." You go to hug one arm, voice small and gaze smaller.

"Y'know you could've told me, right?" He glances up, brows knitted and tone soft, reassuring. "You can tell me anything."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

You look up and wince, Tim's defeated expression stirring something within you, something small but no less significant than all your other emotions.

"You already have so much on your plate," you start, averting your gaze because the look in his eyes is just too much to handle. "I didn't wanna worry you."

"I'm always worried about you," he responds simply, "I'm worried about whether or not you get home safe. I'm worried about whether or not you ate, or got enough sleep. I'm worried that some day, somehow, you'll grow bored and leave me. I worry all the time.

"It's how I show I care."

"I know that..." you trail off.

"Then you also know that giving me one more thing to worry about wouldn't make much of a difference."

You stay quiet, and so Tim sighs, carefully going to reach for your hands and cup them with just gentle enough of a hold to give you room to pull away should you choose to.

You don't, of course.

"You know you don't have to go through this alone." Tim's thumbs rub gentle circles over your knuckles, his voice a grounding source that anchors you, keeps you from straying too far into the ocean. "I'm here for you, always."

He's always been good at that. Being there for you. Comforting you. Of all his brothers, Tim is probably the most emotionally aware. The most painfully empathetic. It's so easy to yield when he's the one talking to you.

It's why you kept it a secret in the first place. You knew you'd fold so easily the second he confronts you.

So you plead, "Please, Tim."

His brows knit.

"Don't do this. I can... I can fix this myself."

His lips pull down. "You know you can't."

You want to defend yourself, to tell him he's wrong, you can, but your lips wobble, and a lump blocks your throat, and your eyes just start to shake like a breaking water tank threatening to spill all its contents.

And Tim sees it all.

"Tell you what," he starts lightly, soothingly, "I'll help pay for a new apartment and keep track of how much. Then, when you earn enough, you can pay it all back. You won't be using me. It'll be like a loan."

He knew your reservations before you even told him them. Of course he did. He's Tim. Your Tim. Your sweet, kind, loving Tim.

"I don't deserve you," you say, and you mean it, so he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your head, rubbing up and down your arms in that way that just releases all tension from your shoulders.

And as you both stand there together, the only sound being your silent sobs against his skin, you think you can just about get behind this compromise.

-> DUKE THOMAS <-

He whispers your name, soft, betrayed, with a look about the eye that almost cracks your heart in two.

"Why didn't you say anything..?" he asks, and his gaze is all blue, all rain showers and stormy clouds. "Why didn't you tell me you were still struggling with money?"

When you don't respond, he chooses to continue.

"I thought we told each other everything. Ride or die, remember? We—we've been through it all, haven't we..?"

You wait for a beat to pass before finally saying something.

"You... you just looked so happy lately. For a while now, actually. Ever since the Waynes took you in...

"I—I didn't wanna ruin that."

Duke goes quiet.

(In his mind, he's wondering where he went wrong, where on earth you got the idea that his happiness trumps your own, that you weren't both in this together. Did he... did he somehow do something to make you feel that way..?)

A quiet settles over the two of you, a sombre atmosphere that even the most classical of musicians couldn't put into notes, that even the most tragic of tales couldn't spin into words.

In that moment, for the first time since both you and Duke were little, the silence is static, no understanding or connection cutting through, no seemingly telepathic words jumping from one mind to the other, just a void, empty feeling that holds you hostage and threatens your very relationship.

"Duke—"

"Let me help," he cuts you off. Then he lifts his head, and his eyes are narrowed, determined.

"Huh?"

"Let me help you. I can. I have the money now," he says with a will, like he knows his words will come true, like he's so sure he'll be able to do this for you.

"No," you shoot him down, "I can't do that to you."

"Do what?" he scoffs out, arms folding over his chest. "Accept my help?"

"Accept your money," you correct him, and almost as soon as you do, he loses the hard look, settling for something softer instead—gentle. "I can't use you like that."

"[Name]. Don't you think I know that?"

You raise a brow.

"How you feel right now: don't you think I know it?"

You purse your lips, and he keeps going.

"Did you forget already who I was before this..? Did our time together mean that little to you..?"

The accusation is enough to make your eyes widen, words tumbling out your mouth so fast, you can't even second-guess them.

"No, no of course not!"

"[Name]." He shakes his head, pulling you into his arms. "I know what it's like to feel like you're using someone for money. Fuck, I know better than anyone else." His brows scrunch, expression looking pained for a second before steeling once more. "That's why it took me so long to even accept Bruce's offer."

You rest your hands gently against his chest, and then also let your head rest against his own, those brown swirls drowning you.

"So trust me when I say that this isn't you taking advantage of me, or using me for money," he whispers softly. "It's you accepting my help. It's you letting me in."

You blink, lashes growing wet.

"You could never be a burden to me. Ride or die, remember?"

You do. You do remember.

God, you remember it all.

And as he holds you close, as he rests his head against your own in your once again, shared silence, you're sure you'll remember it for the rest of time.

-> DAMIAN WAYNE <-

"Tt. I'll have Pennyworth hire a moving agency and wire you enough money so that this is never a problem again."

Your eyes blow wide, brows shooting straight up to your head, and mouth opening to protest like your life depends on it.

But Damian is already moving away.

In fact, he's already got his phone out, finger swiping away at it with a speed that could rival the Flash himself as he takes step after step down the hall.

So you bound straight after him.

"No! Wait, Damian, wait!"

He stops, your hands planted firm on his chest as you take a moment to catch your breath, the lack of movement you've been doing the past few days making just that short sprint feel like too much.

Fucking hell.

Your chin is tilted up.

"Have you been crying?"

You flinch. "No..."

His fingers trace your cheeks, right over the crusty streaks you know are there, and you wince as you're reminded of just how filthy you must appear in front of him.

"You have," he observes, moving your head from side-to-side gently, "You haven't been eating either."

You purse your lips, choosing not to respond lest you risk another observation that will shake you to your core.

"Beloved"—there he goes again with that petname. The one your heart lurches in your throat for—"you haven't been caring for yourself."

(When?—he wonders—when did you stop partaking in the act of caring for your own health? And why did you not think to come to him, your boyfriend, for help in doing so?)

"I..."

His fingers leave your chin, and you almost drop it to chase the feeling of them before catching yourself and quickly withdrawing.

God, just how touch-starved are you?

"It seems as though I'll need to ask for a larger amount to be wired through than I initially thought."

Once more, you find your eyes turning into saucers.

"No!"

He raises a brow.

"No," you repeat, quieter, but still just as sure, "Damian don't, please."

"Why not?"

"Because"—you think you're shaking, but there's no breeze in the hall, and it's nowhere near winter—"I... I can't take your money like that."

"It's not my money," he responds simply, logically, "it's my father's."

"I know. And I can't use you to get to his money."

"Technically speaking," Damian starts, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side and his lips still the straight line that they were just moments ago, "it's not even my father's money, it's his parents', and both are deceased, so I see no problem in taking it."

When he goes to add more, he stops abruptly, brows furrowing, and for the first time since appearing at your door, lips pulling down.

"Beloved, you're shaking."

"I can't stop..." you whisper, and perhaps it's quiet enough for him not to hear, but you don't even think you're saying it to him. "I can't stop."

"Habibti." He gently squeezes your arms, and your pupils dart up. "Copy me."

His chest rises and falls. His breathing. Copy his breathing.

He means copy his breathing.

So you do.

When his chest rises, so too does yours. And when it falls, yours falls straight after.

It takes a couple of tries before you're in complete sync. But once you are, once you've finally matched the pace of your boyfriend, the ringing in your ears dies down, and the world around you starts to clear up again. You start to feel real again.

"Better?"

You hum.

He pulls you into his arms.

And your eyes flutter shut.

"Rest assured, if you don't wish me to this much, I will not wire you the money," he finally speaks after a long while of standing there with you in his arms, "but I will find a way to get you out of this situation through other means. Even if those means cost me everything."

And as you stand there, the warmth of his presence blanketing your form, hiding you from the world, you let yourself quietly sink into the comfort of his words.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Villain!Ghost x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Your husband wants your company..

A/n: GUYS OMG, I know it's been 1 month and a little more since my last official work. I've been procrastinating on this for so long since I only have less than a week till school again.. Also everyone I love on this app is just disappearing, like @ghost-cyphera just deleted her account 4 days ago and I got the notif but didn't see it in time, I didn't even get to say goodbye. Just wanted to apologize to you guys after being gone for so long as well. Also, another villain!Ghost drabble? 👀

Finding it difficult to walk was one of the least things you've suspected you'd be concerned of upon conceiving, always needing your handmaiden's help in such a mundane task was shameful to say the least but your husband insisted.

If it hadn't been the hand maiden then it would've been him instead, you couldn't keep him from his duties from the kingdom as he carried even yours. Wanting you to turn your attention to the health of the babe growing in you and especially yourself..

"My lady.." you were pulled out of your thoughts by the voice of your handmaiden. You took in a breath from the cool air that blew on your face as you stood by the stone railing..

"Yes, Leticia?" You turned to her..

"The prince consort has requested your company.." Leticia announced, you nod as you removed your hand from the cold stone. You glanced once more to the people of your kingdom, going about their day and life before gently lifting yourself off from leaning on the stone.

Leticia offered you her arm to help you walk more efficiently..

...

"You sent for me..?" You asked your husband, he was sat and signing another set of documents and scrolls. You closed the door, palms gently pushing till you heard it click.

"No, I told them to announce my arrival to you. How dare they exert my wife by giving her false instructions.." he huffed to which you laughed. He wouldn't do anything violent about it, as he so usually does with staff that don't comply but he knew it'd upset you if anything gory were to happen to them.

"I am quite alright, I need to move around too. It's proven to be good for our child." You said, sitting next to the graciously comfortable chair next to his working desk that he had someone make for you.

You felt relief from the pressure previously on your back, hand on the bump of your stomach and with that a sigh came from your lips. Peacefully watching your husband, the sound of the satisfying scratching of the quill on the crisp papers.

You felt his hand grasp yours, he pulled it, lips resting on the back. His affection made your heart beat faster and he felt it, the pad of his index finger on your wrist. The thumping made him chuckle as you smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

"You should rest for a while, my love. You'd work yourself to sickness at this point." You kiss his cheek softly. He put his quill down, "If that's my wife wants.." he said.

He wrapped his arm around you, the other hand placed on your baby bump. His thumb gently rubbing, you jolted a bit feeling a strong kick..

It made you groan, how restless the rascal is. Your husband adjusted his hand to feel the next kick.. he'd swear it was a girl, not that he'd care for that sort of thing. He'd kill for them either way, especially for you. He could stare at you all day, swollen with his child.

How glowing you looked wrapped in the finest silk and the gold and jewels in your hair and body clicking upon contact with another piece, he wished he could tell you how utterly speechless you'd leave each man by just walking passed them but to him no word is enough to describe you.

At least he could spend these small intimate moments with just you and you alone, free of the world for even just a few minutes as he needed a break from the work he very much was eager to do to be able to receive praise from his wife..

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

[lotuzies]

𝜗𝜚 SILLY LIL THINGS TO DO — make shifting more fun

THE HARMONIES — make playlists! one for your s/o, for your friends, for yourself & backstory, or even for a specific scenario you scripted! i love listening to a song for the first time and immediately connecting it to someone/something from my dr.

SMILE 4 THE PICTURE — make pinterest boards! i'm sure lots of you already do this, but you don't realize how there are multiple possibilities! a board of pics you and your s/o or friends would take, food you want to eat, things you wanna buy, or even a specific moment like christmas day or your first date! also pro tip: when making a board about someone, try to include more than just their clothes & face, add pictures that really embody their aura.

WORDS AREN'T ENOUGH — if you're a writer, write! script your scenarios in the most enchanting way possible, describe your loves ones with the most beautiful words you can find. and even if you aren't a writer, i still think this can be a lot of fun, i mean, who doesn't like to yap about their dr?

BLESSED VIEWS — make and/or watch edits! if you're a video editor (i am jealous) you can make edits of your s/o or friends to a fitting song, or even better, if you're skilled and creative enough, you can edit yourself with them. this also goes to photo editors, if you have the right resources, you can definitely edit a picture of you with whoever you desire or change some visual aspects. also, i'm sure most of us already do this but it's still worth mentioning, watch edits & clips! recently i found an account that posts the most scrumptious and FITTING edits for my vampire dr and have not stopped replaying it!

LIKE N FOLLOW — make social media profiles! this mostly applies to those shifting to realities where technology exists, there are many apps that can help you create fake profiles and posts, or you can just manually edit a screenshot of an account. this also goes to make up text convos!! between you and whoever you want or even between other people! this can be for a scripted scenario or just silly little mundane texts you'd receive from someone on a daily basis.

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION — act as your "drself" (i hate using that term but u get it.) if you're only planning to shift later that day, while you're here, act as if you have shifted already! do your hair and make up how you would in the other reality, if for some reason you act differently there, copy it here! maybe act out how you would in a specific situation?

VOGUE'S MUSE — answer interviews! mostly for fame dr shifters, but even if you're not a famous person, let's say this is a hypothetical situation where you get to reply to all these questions about yourself from any of your other realities. search for popular interviews like the ones you'd find on vogue, buzzfeed, elle, or even search for fake interviews on shifting internet spaces!

QUESTION MARK — take personality quizes! this is so much fun, you can take them as yourself from another reality or as someone else from there and then imagine how you guys would react to each other's results!

that is all i could come up with, hope u enjoyed! byebye & go shift right nowwww

[scribeofmorpheus]

Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral"

Concept art by Matt Rhodes

"To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals."

What is inherent with Veilguard that keeps bothering me is the fact that the world's choices truly didn't matter--and it doesn't simply bother me from a player perspective, it's not simply a grievance borne of frustration to what I (as a longtime fan) have lost. It's about the very culture of the arts under capitalism's new media habituation cycle [x][x].

Yes, I spent hours of my life playing and replaying each instalment of Dragon Age. Yes, I painstakingly curated a 'canon' world state by replaying what came before in preparation for Veilguard. Yes, I am even more unsatisfied with the end product--time hasn't helped, it's just widened the divide. But, and I can't stress this enough, these very personal gripes aren't what hit home the most. It's the inherent disregard of legacy. A legacy that the previous writers and game developers were building towards.

In the DAV artbook, "cathedral" is the word used to describe the process of making a game. Matt Rhodes' exact words are: "One artist can make a painting, but it takes a team to build a cathedral." Cathedrals took centuries to build. The architect who drafted the first blueprints would likely never see his work realised, he had to rely on those who came after him, like-minded and passionate, to see it through--for the culture, for the future, for legacy. Painters took on several apprentices for this reason too--giant frescoes were not completed by one man's hand, even if it is one man's name that immortalises them. Similarly, if you weave a narrative around choice, what good does it do to take it away at the final act if not to fall to caricature?

To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals.

Late-stage capitalism and profit-margin-obsessed game producers forcing developers to churn out meager content, to make a known brand into something it's not, to chase a fad or a popular trend... o, how reductive and cliche you've been forced to become Bioware. We have lost the cultural thought patterns relative to Cathedrals. We know only of barn-raised churches--done in a day but unlikely to last the turn of the seasons.

And don't even get me started on the music of Veilguard either. From Origins to World of Warcraft to Everquest to Baldur's Gate to Dungeon Siege, you can hear the intricate interconnected weave of sounds inspired by the Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy genre. You hear it in the repeated use of certain instruments, in the harmonic weeping notes of a bard-like singer or the foreboding echoes of drums as if of war. In tavern songs. But then, rather than hire someone who loves these worlds and this genre, who is a hungry artist looking to make a name, a legacy if you will, for themselves with a spectacular score, you hire any already sated composer, one well-into the encroaching years of career fatigue, whose notes repeat in countless projects, who feels less concise and more uninterested with each new project. One who has long since cemented his legacy. Someone in it for a paycheck and nothing else! And, to top it off, you let him compose something so minimalist? I am offended actually.

Cathedrals! We should have witnessed the final tile being placed on the Dragon Age cathedral. Instead, some architects walked up, tore down the interior and installed IKEA furniture and called it authentic before having to call the previous architects to come and fix the "load-bearing issues", forcing them to rush and add a coat of varnish and a few 'aged' details for authenticity.

[finnbin]

i am fucking sobbing thank you so much yet also what the fuck

Undiagnosed

[sirxlla]

The Child You Had Before You Started Dating Him Calls Him Daddy (Batboys)

----------------------------------------------------

Dick: Dick came into your apartment with flowers in his hand which prompted Jasmin to bolt as soon as she heard the door.

"D- Da- Daddyyy." Jasmin cuddles his leg giggling. Dick laughs as well and sets the flowers down on the table before scooping her up.

"How's my sweet girl? Hmm?" Dick tickles her and she errupts in laughter which makes a smile flood your lips.

"Da- Daddy stop!" She was just squirming and giggling, happier than ever. Her favorite parts of the day were with you and with Dick.

"Okay, I'll stop." He kisses her forehead before setting her down and she runs off to go play with her today.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about that...Some of the teachers at her school started asking about her Dad and she asked them what a dad was...Once it was described to her, she said it was you....or at least thats at least how I was told it happened."

"Oh, Baby. Dont worry about it. It's no big deal and I'm happy Jazzy thinks of me like her father. I love you both and I'm honored she feels that way." He leans down and gives you a kiss on the forehead.

"I brought you flowers by the way, Sweetheart and you look amazing as always."

Jason: Aurora sat in Jason's lap as he played Fortnite watching the tv as Jason controlled the character and racked up kills.

"Kick their butts, Daddy!" She screamed which caused Jason to freeze for a second as he questioned if he heard her right. Jason continued playing the game and won. (ofc he did) You entered the room with two plates of chicken nuggets, Aurora's favorite.

"Mommy! Mommy! Daddy won!" Aurora squealed in her pride over Jason winning.

"Oh, did he?" You and Jason looked both as just confused, you never told her to call him that, she did it on her own.

"Rory he's not your-" You started cause you thought Jason would be upset about it due to the confused look on his face.

"Babygirl, it's fine. If she wants to call me that then I don't mind." Jason stated with a smile.

"Princess, Go wash your hands before dinner, Okay?" Jason asked Aurora.

"Okay, Daddy!" She scrambled out of Jason's lap to the bathroom.

"I guess you're not the only one calling me Daddy now." He smirked.

"Jason!" You laughed as heat filled your cheeks, that was something neither of you really brought up but both seemed to enjoy like a guilty pleasure.

Bruce: "No! I push button!" May yelled at Bruce...She has the gall of men a hundred times larger than her, probably her taking after Bruce as far as you could tell.

"Oh, is that so Little Boss Lady?" Bruce teasingly mocked her, the same stance where her hands were on her hips, she narrowed her eyes and he narrowed his back before sticking out his tongue and making a silly face.

"You're such a Silly Billy, Daddy!" She giggles as she speaks to him, distracted from button pushing.

"Am I?" He smiled as the words came out of his mouth, of course his other kids would call him Dad time to time but knowing May felt so comfortable to do so meant the world to him.

"You wanna push the button? We can do it together?" Bruce asked with a smile and an inquisitive look as if he didnt already know the answer.

"I push button with Daddy?" She asked as she took her thumb out of her mouth.

"Yeah, we push it together." He said as he took the hand she didn't have in her mouth and pushed the button with him.

Tim: Anna had crawled into the bed after a while of her being up, like a little gremlin she jumped up and down.

"Daddy, wake up! Wake up, Daddy! I go back to school! You come me with me and Mommy! I show everyone Daddy!"

Of course he was tired from a night of long crime-fighting, as soon as he was coherent enough to realize what she was asking of him that she wanted to introduce him to everyone as her Dad he quickly got up.

"Go to Mommy, I'm gonna get dressed, Okay? Then we go back to school together, Okay?" He ruffled the little girls hair.

"You match with me?" She asked as she twirled around in her Toy Story tee dress that Tim got her a couple weeks back, he'd get her the moon if she asked.

"Of course, I'll match with you." Tim's closet was full of graphic tees so she could just about wear anything and he could match. He slipped on a shirt that had the little green aliens on it from Toy Story, a pair of jeans and some very well loved Converse.

Tim was quick with it, he grabbed her backpack which happened to be the little green alien as well, no suprise there. That was Anna's favorite which made it Tim's favorite as well. She could convince him to like arson if she did, he was wrapped around her finger.

"Ohhhh! Daddy looks stylish!" She said with a giggle in the same tone and words he'd tell her all the time. He was her Dad through actions but hearing that word from her mouth meant the entire world to him.

"Come on, My Lil Munchkin." He put her on his hip and grabbed your hand as he guided you both to the car so you could get to the school and Anna could introduce him to everyone as her Dad.

Damian: You had started seeing Damian before you even knew you were pregnant, It was a one night stand a few nights before you met him.

He was sweet in the way he went through the whole pregnancy with you, the birth, taking care of little Enzo and everything.

Enzo was now getting old enough to talk and you dont even know who taught him it, it could be Jason playing a prank or Talia doting on the baby she saw as a grandchild, but regardless Enzo was now calling Damian 'Daddy'.

"Da- Da!" He giggled as he looked at Damian from his crib across Damian's office, his little green eyes peered into Damian's.

"I'm not your Dad, Kid." He stated to the child as he filled out paperwork, this work felt monotonous and at least the kid gave him some sort of entertainment.

"Daaaa- Daaaaa." Enzo almost giggled as he could tell he was pissing Damian off, he was a little trouble maker that's for sure.

"I'm not your Dad, You Little Shit." Damain was getting a bit annoyed, not because Enzo was saying it but because he didnt see himself as worthy or prepared enough for a child. Enzo just giggled and called out to Damian again.

"My Son." Damian whispered as he gazed down at his son sleeping in his lap, he might not be his by blood but he was sure his in temper and attitude.

"Fine." He gave in with very little pressure from the very little child. Enzo laughed as he noticed Damian give in and he reached his little arms out to Damian.

Enzo made his black heart swell, Like the Grinch's heart growing a whole size. He walked over to the little boy and picked him up out of his crib. Enzo calmed in Damian's presence, finally feeling safe and calm enough to sleep while Damian did paperwork.

Masterlist

[sortagaysortahigh]

Jealousy, Jealousy | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Heyyyy, finally got that freaked out Joaquin smut for yall, but who would I be if I didn't fill it with plot?!?! I present to you, delulu jealous Joaquin Torres, enemies to lovers(ish), with some freaky deaky smut and my amazing comedic timing (pls laugh or ill cry). Also this is hella fanon but does contain a few minor thunderbolts/cabnw spoilers. And I did in fact make it so the world didn't forget my bby Peter Parker BECAUSE HE DESERVED BETTER GOD DAMNIT! Also thx to the super hot and secksi chicken @love-chx for beta-ing half of this, mwah <3

Summary: It was as if every single thing you did irritated Joaquin Torres, you didn't even have to say anything to him, your presence alone was enough to tick him off. Don't get him started on your relationship with Peter Parker either.

Warnings: spelling and grammar errors, cursing, 2nd person POV, Joaquin's a total dick, Joaquin also has a big dick, mentions of Sam and Buckys divorce </3, the reader is a total flirt, mentions of Tony Stark </3, Smut: hair pulling, fish hooking, finger sucking, spitting, spitting in someones mouth, oral (fem receiving), munch!joaquin, minor male masterbation, ass eating if you squint, fingering, kissing, unprotected p in v, creampies, minor breeding kink (joaquin torres YOU ABSOLUTE FREAK!), panty/pussy sniffing, missionary, doggy style, praise, dirty talk, overstimulation, girl i think thats it idk man this was triffling

Word count: 12.7k

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Witch!Reader

Bark bark bark omg ok anyways heres the fic:

Joaquin Torres has always considered himself a pretty good person, his ultimate goal in life has always been to help people and to be a hero. He knows how to use his intelligence and skill set for good, he’s done more than enough to prove himself as the new ‘Falcon’ and from the feedback he’s received, he’d done a damn good job at being a hero, and most importantly, being an Avenger.

Typically, he doesn’t get irritated or angry easily, he’s got a positive mindset and does his best to not let things or people bother him. For a long time he thought it was just genuinely difficult for someone to get under his skin or agitate him, even in the line of combat.

That was until he met you. 

Somehow, every single miniscule thing you did pissed him off. 

It didn’t matter if it was as simple as forgetting to fully shut the office door, he’d get mad over it. If you’d interrupt him in the slightest, even if it wasn’t purposeful, it would tick him off. Anytime you wore heels, the constant clicking of them against the laminated floors had him taking deep breaths, fingers pinching his nose bridge in annoyance.

But nothing compared to the pure irritation that he’d feel whenever he overheard your high-pitched almost wheezy laughter whenever you were with Peter Parker. Now, Joaquin didn’t have anything against Peter per-say, but the fact that you two got along so well was what bothered him the most.

Sure Sam had told him that you’d grown up together, it made sense that you and Peter were close, but that didn’t stop him from being pissed off when he’d see you and Peter sitting close together on a sofa, or you leaning into Peter’s space, or wearing his hoodies, or laughing at his jokes.

It was normal to find your co-workers obnoxious, even if you weren’t exactly in the most normal profession. Being considered a superhero was a dream that most kids had, it was rare that anyone would be able to follow through. 

Maybe that also irritated Joaquin when it came to you, it was as if everything had been handed to you, you hadn’t needed to work hard, you were a witch or a sorcerer or whatever Sam described it as! You’d been born with magical powers straight out of a fantasy novel! You didn’t need to work hard or constantly train or hone in on specific skill sets that would’ve made you better fit to be a hero.

At least that’s what he thought. Then again, Joaquin Torres hardly knew you, all he knew was that every single thing about you bothered him.

Not to mention the grimace that would overtake his features anytime you’d walk past him and the smell of your citrus perfume and shampoo would waft in his direction. You smelled like sweet oranges, sunshine, and the summer.

It made him want to hate the summer.

He didn’t even fully understand what it was about you that he didn’t like. From the outside looking in, you were relatively kind, sure you had a lot of jagged and rough edges but according to Sam you’ve ‘had a hard past few years’. Anytime the both of you had to go on a mission together, you knew exactly what needed to be done and how it needed to be done.

You weren’t exactly a know it all, or a smartass. You were just intelligent, that much was evident, especially after he found out that the entire reason Peter Parker had even had the chance to work with Tony Stark (outside of the whole recruiting two fifteen year olds to fight with the avengers against the avengers thing), was because you were persistent enough to hack into Stark enterprises security system and override parts of the very complex artificial intelligence that Stark had spent years engineering.

At the age of fifteen.

Maybe that also ticked him off, that you were so smart without having to try. 

He was currently seated in his shared office at the Air Force base, one leg rapidly bouncing up and down as he clenched his jaw and stared at the two monitors in front of him. He wasn’t even focused on any of the code, surveillance footage, or data on screen, instead he was busy trying not to glance over his shoulder at you and Peter Parker sitting on the large navy blue sectional.

It wasn’t as if you were all over him, the two of you weren’t even seated directly next to one another, you were on the chase-end of the sofa, feet propped up in front of you as you worked on revisions to a few previous mission reports, adding in newly discovered information pertaining to a few arms deals, extraterrestrial activity, and foreign government involvement.

Meanwhile Peter was focused on repairing his web shooters. He was seated in the middle of the sofa, practically on the edge of one of the cushions while he leaned towards the coffee table where his gadgets sat.

Joaquin didn’t get it, he really truly didn’t get how your presence could bother him so much.

It didn’t help that he could smell you from where he sat. Your perfume had a way of lingering around, the aroma made him light headed and he hated it.

The worst part is that he liked Peter, he found him to be funny and admirable, given everything he’d gone through with losing his Aunt May, and then Stephen Strange nearly ripping a hole into the universe just to prove some point. It was nice to see people that still genuinely cared about the wellbeing of others.

Joaquin just couldn’t stand the sight of you and Peter together. So what if you’d known each other since high school, you were five years older than him now due to the Blip, and somehow, you two were still as close as ever.

He’d been so focused on not looking at you, that he hadn’t heard you say his name, nor had he registered your loud sigh as you got off the couch and approached him. Now you stood right beside him, looking at him while tapping your hand on his desk several times.

“Earth to Torres? I need the satellite scans from three days ago. Sam wants me to finalize the report to send over to the public relations department." You were very clearly annoyed by him, blinking slowly while both of your brows were raised, waiting for his response.

He slowly looked up at you, nodding his head while keeping his jaw clenched.

“Did you check the email I sent?” his condescending tone made you scoff, so instead of arguing with him, you simply shoved him out of the way, now leaning over his desk, his mouse in hand while your eyes trailed along his screens. Opening up the secure records, easily bypassing the password encryption to pull the files you needed.

Then you reached into your back pocket, grabbing a flash drive before connecting it to his computer, downloading each file that you needed while he sat in shock a few feet away.

But the longer you stood there, the more his eyes started to wander. Your back was slightly arched as you focused on the data downloads, your legs were a bit spread, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t immediately notice the way the denim levis hugged your ass perfectly. When his eyes trailed higher he realized your usual braided hair was straightened today, flowing along your back, cascading along your shoulders.

And God did you smell good.

Your shirt was fitted, the cotton of the tanktop hugging all of your soft curves, and maybe that made it worse for him. You weren’t exactly skinny, and he knew for a fact, he didn’t want you to be. 

Sam was right, he needed to get laid.

Then you glanced over at him “what’s your password” he blinked a few times, finally processing what you were talking about, eyes glancing back at the monitors, now seeing his displays completely disorganized as you had several different sized windows up, showing different footage, paused feeds, coded entries, and encryptions. You pointed a singular manicured finger at the smaller black window, waiting on him to provide the necessary password.

“Move outta the way and I’ll type it in princess” you rolled your eyes at the nickname.

“You’re such a child Torres, just tell me the damn password, what you afraid I’m gonna look through your shit? As if we don’t have access to the same things?” he scoffed at that, running a hand along the lower half of his face as he let out a cynical laugh.

“Can’t you just listen and get the hell out of my way?” you shushed him, now typing a random assumption into the password box, waiting on it to load through as the cogwheel showed on screen. Finally after a few tense minutes, it worked and you were into his system fully.

“Seriously? That’s your password? Couldn’t think of anything more creative than Dwayne Wade? I know you’re a Heat fan but damn” 

It took everything in him not to stand up, grab you by the hips, and move you out of his way. His leg was bobbing up and down again and now he was leaning to the right, elbow against the armrest of his chair while his hand covered the top half of his face.

“So uh, is now a bad time to ask if either of you are headed to the gala sponsored by Valentina Allegra De Fontaine this week?” you glanced back at Peter, who looked at both of you with his brows furrowed, eyes wide, and concern evident on his features.

He was sitting up a bit straighter now, as if he was anticipating a larger argument between the two. He wasn’t the best mediator, but he knew when to drag you away, considering you never backed down.

“Yeah, Sam sent us the invite last night. Said it’s mandatory, something about intel and his faux-divorce with Bucky.” you spoke as you glanced back at Joaquin's monitors, now finalizing a few downloads and taking the time to fix two of his encryptions, the codes having very clear errors that you couldn’t resist adjusting.

Then you stood up, taking a second to adjust your jeans, pulling them up slightly, the motion catching Joaquin’s eyes-or rather the sight of your ass slightly jiggling in your jeans caught his attention. Then you were walking away from his desk with the flashdrive in hand.

You initially were going to sit back down and get back to work, it wasn’t exactly easy being an Avenger or whatever the hell Sam called you all, and a lot of it actually required paperwork-something that Tony had never prepared you for. Then your phone started ringing and the sound of Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing started blasting from it.

The ring tone made you burst out in laughter, seeing Sam’s contact name alongside a photo of him giving you the middle finger showing on screen.

“You seriously need to change that Bug!” you scoffed at Peter “No I don’t it’s funny! He’s the one who went on and on about how great Marvin Gaye is. It’s only right that I honor that sentiment”

He shook his head at you, the brunette then glancing towards Joaquin who quickly looked away. Peter could practically feel the laser beams shooting from Joaquin’s glare towards the both of you. 

Then you answered the phone, putting it on speaker.

Another annoying habit of yours that made Joaquin’s jaw clench.

“Hi Father America, how can I help you on this pristine day?” Sam’s sigh was loud over the phone, meanwhile you and Peter looked at each other and shared a muffled laugh.

“Did you finish those reports? Gotta know what we’re fully up against, and the press is on my ass over it. Also have you heard from Kate? She said she’s been trying to reach out to Yelena but y’know they’re always on and off again” you shrugged, then realized he couldn’t actually see you.

The long silence followed by Sam’s “once again, shrugging while we’re on a phone call isn’t helpful for me here kid.” you rolled your eyes at that, elbowing Peter slightly who laughed at you.

“Nope, haven't heard from Kate, she was still wallowing in her relationship sorrow last time we spoke, also did you see that Bob guy? You think Buck will put in a good word for me?”

The comment made Joaquin choke on his coffee, you didn’t register that though as Peter responded “Seriously Bug? Can you not act like yourself for five minutes? Maybe don’t go try jumping someone’s bones who literally turned into like a black mass and overtook Manhattan?” you sighed at that, shaking your head.

“He’s just misunderstood I could fix him, with this pus-” Peter was quick to cut you off, a hand over your mouth as your words were muffled, meanwhile Joaquin scoffed, rolling his eyes again.

“Okay, Sorry about that Sam, Bug’s gonna finish the reports soon, she just got the last few satellite files from Joaquin, we’ll call you back later when she’s in her right mind again!” with that he hung up your phone.

One thing Joaquin clearly didn’t understand was how Peter was alright with you making comments like that. He was under the assumption that the two of you were dating, you spent most of your time together, went out together constantly, it only made sense. Maybe he just wasn’t the jealous type, Joaquin could respect that to a certain extent.

You quickly swatted Peter’s hands away. “You’re really raining on my shine here Parker!” he laughed at that, shaking his head at you.

Sam eventually got back to the office to go over the reports with you, meanwhile Joaquin offered side quips that you easily shut down, rolling your eyes a few times at his antics. Then you were walking everyone through the several different dimensional aspects to the most recent space-level threat and the Avengers response.

Joaquin leaned against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, when he wasn’t looking you were quick to peek at the way his biceps bulged. He was glaring in your direction the entire time you spoke, pulling up the holographic feeds, zooming in and out of different bits and portions, elaborating on the issue and the scope of it all.

You were too smart and that also pissed him off.

By the time you were finished with the long winded explanation, and answering a few of Sam’s questions on the matter, you were tired and ready to head home. Then Sam cleared his throat as you packed your things. 

You didn’t live far off base, and you’d shared a townhouse with Peter, it was a nice place, nothing compared to New York, but you were settling in just fine.

“Actually, none of you are headed home, remember how I said a go bag is a necessity, yeah, well we’re all headed over to the airport, then we’re headed into New York to the backhanded ‘New Avengers’ tower for that big Gala. There are ground rules here, the biggest one is you and you-” he paused to point at you, then at Joaquin “need to get the hell along. We’re walking into a building full of super soldiers, ex-war criminals, and that guy who turned into a black mass-”

You interrupted Sam “so do you think I have a shot with him, these are the important questions-so what if he’s a little evil, I could fix him!” Sam groaned.

“Peter please control your friend” Peter sighed and nodded his head.

“Okay, now back to what's important, actually as a matter of fact, a new rule just for you Bug, you are not allowed to seduce Bob!” you sighed, shoulders dropping and bottom lip pouting “-okay but can I seduce someone?” he shook his head, nostrils flaring slightly while he stared at you.

“No! You can’t seduce any of them, Jesus Christ do I need to put you on a leash?” you were about to make a joke out of that, until Peter quickly pulled you into his side, a hand over your mouth, earning an irritated groan from you.

“We’re headed to the airport, get your go bags, pack your computers and whatnot because our flight is set to take off in two hours. I’ve already got someone up there getting you all something more gala-like. Kate’s also meeting us up there as well.”

By the time that you’d all arrived in New York, you were exhausted. You knew that everyone would be spending the weekend in the New Avengers tower, and you had no expectations of how it would actually look, not when you knew how it originally looked, and when the place held a few memories that you didn’t want to relive.

It was a shell of what it used to be, that was certain. 

The building had been remodeled, there was a lack of character here, everything felt too new, too modern. It didn’t have the same touches that Tony had left, things were different now. 

You hated it.

But you couldn’t complain, not yet at least. Not when everyone was busy greeting you and your eyes were jumping from person to person, studying each of the New Avengers, you’d read about the ones you didn’t know personally, most of them had serious criminal backgrounds.

Then again, if you weren’t technically an Avenger, you would’ve had a serious criminal background as well. 

“Ah, you must be the Bug we have heard much about!” you blinked a few times, a large russian man looking down at you with a wide smile on his face, then he pulled you into a bone crushing hug, lifting you right off of the ground as your eyes widened. It was kind of nice though, the kind of hug that reminded you of Thor. So you smiled and hugged him back.

That action surprised several people in the room.

Then he put you down.

“I have heard much about your battle stories, you are a strong fighter, yes?” you shrugged “something like that” which earned a scoff from Joaquin, and you were quick to glare at him.

“I’m Alexei Shostakov, the Red Guardian.” you nodded at him, introducing yourself, following it with “but everyone calls me Bug” then you shook his hand. 

Clearly he was the nicest out of everyone.

Well that and, everyone had been conversing with Sam, or rather watching Sam and Bucky argue and awkwardly introducing themselves, even though everyone pretty much knew everyone, and then Kate and Yelena were off in a corner whisper shouting at each other yet again.

“So why do they call you Bug?” you shrugged at him, now sitting at the bar with the older man “Honestly, Mr. Stark-uh Tony-used to call me Bug. Said it was because I was always bugging him, and my best friend was a spider, so of course I’d be some kind of bug too” he nodded as you spoke.

Meanwhile Joaquin tried to act as if he wasn’t eavesdropping. He honestly had never thought to ask you why people called you Bug, he just knew he didn’t have that privilege. That also kind of irritated him too.

What was so irritating about you? He didn’t get it.

The next day rolls around faster than you expected, and after waking up in a guest bedroom, halfway off of the king sized bed, you realize that you were tossing and turning all night. Then you glanced around the room, all of the furniture was dark, but it wasn’t dark wood, it was black with silver hardware, and honestly, it reminded you of an upscale hotel in the worst way.

Peter was across the room, sprawled out across the large sofa after having lost the game of rock paper scissors you’d played over who would sleep in the bed. Typically you would’ve had your own room, however Sam labeled you as a ‘flight risk’, and stated that you needed someone to be with you, so of course you were quick to say Peter.

Joaquin was constantly an asshole to you, it made zero sense for you to want to be around him.

It didn’t matter how attractive he was, or how nice his biceps looked, or how kissable his lips were. Nor did it matter that you liked his hair, or his smile, or really anything about him. He was an absolute dick to you, and he’d been that way since the both of you had started working together.

Initially, when you’d met him through Sam and Bucky, he wasn’t that bad, sure he talked a lot, but you hardly saw him. Then, when Sam had asked if you and Peter wanted to come to D.C. to work with him, that’s when things started changing. Slowly but surely, Joaquin was more hostile towards you.

You thought that maybe you’d done something wrong at first, but then after talking to Peter about it, and venting about how annoying he was, you realized that you hadn’t done anything and Joaquin was just being an asshole.

So you kept your distance, and of course, anytime he was rude, you had to be ruder. He brought out the worst in you at times, you weren’t outwardly a mean person, but spending too much time around him brought out that side of you.

“Peter! Wake up! Before Sam kicks our asses!” he groaned, nodding his head as he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes a bit.

It’d taken the both of you about twenty minutes to get up and ready for the day, the gala was tonight and Sam had said they’d already gotten you both your outfits. Peter would be in a black suit with a white shirt, meanwhile you were in a red floor length dress. Why was it crimson? You had no idea, maybe to pay homage to your magic, or to your previous mentor that had flown off her rocker and gone into the deep end of insanity? Who knows.

You were currently seated on the bed, legs crossed in front of you as you rapidly typed. Sam had texted you a screenshot of information that he’d gotten from Bucky. Something about Valentina’s assistant giving him information, you weren’t really awake enough to process where it came from, but you were told to work your magic and get past a few firewalls.

Everything was going fine until your hands started to cramp.

Peter also wasn’t in the room anymore, he was out ‘networking’ as he called it. You groaned, putting your laptop on the bed beside you, taking a minute to clench and unclench your fists, doing your best to relax your hands.

Then you spotted Joaquin in the hallway, and god damnit, he would be your saving grace whether he liked it or not.

“Torres! Come here!” you were loud as you shouted his name, he blinked a few times, walking backwards a few steps, now gazing into your room, rolling his eyes at the sight of you in the middle of the large bed like some kind of princess. 

“What?” you rolled your eyes at his evident attitude.

“Listen, I don’t have time for the sassy man apocalypse today, I need help with something Sam asked me about” you motioned for him to come into the room with your hand, brows raised expectantly as you stared at him. He shook his head before walking into the room, then you waved your hand slightly, the door shutting behind him.

“Like come here, not stand by the door.” you aggressively pat the bed beside you, and he let out a frustrated sigh as he made his way over, now sitting beside you, but also practically halfway off the bed. You rolled your eyes at him, grabbing his forearm and dragging him closer, you tried to ignore how firm his arms were-that was a thought for another day.

“Stop acting like a shy virgin about to hookup for the first time. I don’t have time for this, Sam needs this information asap, so here” you handed him the laptop, now pointing at the screen “I need you to finish bypassing this, my fucking hands are killing me and you’re the best hacker I know-don’t let that inflate your ego either” 

He glanced at you, then at the laptop. Then he started typing, eyes scanning your previous work as he found a few quicker work-arounds.

Meanwhile you watched him, your eyes tracing along the veins in his hands, taking in every small detail. His hands were pretty big, you hadn’t really noticed that before, they looked firm and strong. His forearms were nice too, a bit toned, his skin had a golden tan. 

Then your eyes moved along his figure. His hair was still damp, a few loose curls lightly touching his forehead. His jawline was sharp and defined, part of you wanted to reach out and touch it, but you didn’t want to make things weird.

Although, he was always an asshole to you, so what would making things weird really do?.

You reached over slowly, one finger gently tracing the slope of his jawline, the feeling had him freezing up, eyes widening at the feather-light touch against his face.

“You have a nice jawline Torres.” 

He slowly glanced over at you, now finally processing the smell of citrus in the room, the warmth of the sun's rays against your skin as you looked at him. He noticed how soft your lips looked, and how focused you were on him. 

It didn’t help that you were wearing a pair of black shorts that were riding all the way up your thighs, but the grey Midtown sweatshirt you wore ripped him out of his potential fantasy. His jaw clenched at the sight and he leaned away from your touch before shrugging your hand away from him.

“Thanks, now stop being a creep.” 

You scoffed at that. “Seriously? A creep? Why do you always have to be such an asshole to me!” 

He blinked a few times, rolling his eyes as he continued typing.

“Wow, the silent treatment, well aren’t you fucking mature. Damn, learn how to take a compliment you douchebag." Then you were quick to get off the bed, he watched as you moved away-which probably wasn’t the best idea because as you walked off, his eyes were focused solely on the way your ass moved in your shorts.

The sound of the door slamming practically echoed inside of the room.

Then he was looking around, annoyed at the fact that you were probably lying in this bed last night side by side with Peter Parker of all people. It was irrational for him to be annoyed by the thought, but genuinely, what did you even see in Peter?

Okay, so maybe Peter wasn’t ugly, and he was a good kid, plus he was really smart, and he had the whole ‘Spider-man’ thing going for him- okay maybe Joaquin did understand what you saw in Peter. But that didn’t make it any less annoying.

That’s when it hit him.

“Am I jealous of Peter Parker?” he spoke to himself, brows knit together as he looked down at your laptop, now realizing that he’d gotten into the system, then he noticed the notebook you had on the bed with a jumbled mess of scribbles and notes of things Sam wanted you to figure out.

He knew that this job stressed you out, that much had always been obvious because it stressed him out too. So he decided to actually be a nice guy for once, going through your sloppy checklist and pulling the necessary information on the Sentry project, on the Darkholder Cult, and on a few under the table weapons manufacturing deals. 

Once he finished, he was quick to retrace all of his steps, ensuring nothing could be traced back to you, then he exited out of every tab, only to come face to face with your laptop background, a photo of you, Peter, and an older Brunette woman with large glasses on her face. 

You were younger in the photo, and based on the burnt cupcake in your hand with two small candles showcasing ‘15’ on them, he knew it had to have been your birthday.

He wanted to snoop through your things, but then the door opened, and in walked Peter who looked a bit surprised to see Joaquin there.

“Let me guess, you two got into it again?” 

He nodded his head at the question, watching as Peter walked over to the sofa in the room, sitting down and now digging through one of his bags. 

“Between me and you, I think you really need to stop being a dick to her man, it’s only making things worse on your end.”

Joaquin blinked a few times at the advice, sure it was sound advice, but he didn’t need sound advice from your boyfriend. 

“I just don’t get it, you two would make sense, but you guys are just constantly going head to head. Y’know Mr. Stark always used to tell her she needed to find someone that could out-argue her, I guess that actually might be you.” 

Joaquin blinked a few times, now utterly confused, glancing from the laptop to Peter.

He then grabbed a few things and stood up. “But y’know, what would I know right?” He shrugged, leaving the room.

Then Joaquin was alone again.

By the time that he’d actually left your room and managed to find everyone, he spotted you talking to Bob. That made his blood boil. You were smiling while he said something, Joaquin didn’t give a shit what anyone had to say to you, there was no reason that you should’ve been practically beaming at him. 

He couldn’t have been that funny or entertaining.

So he decided he would make his presence known, waltzing right up to you, then throwing an arm around your shoulders. He smirked at your shocked expression, then he glanced at Bob who just looked confused, glancing between you and Joaquin.

“Uh-I guess we can talk later then?” 

You nodded at Bob, mumbling an apology on Joaquin’s behalf as the brunette awkwardly nodded and walked away. Then you let out a deep sigh, shoving Joaquin off of you. Glancing around the room, you realized that while it was a large space, it was clear that this was the last place to yell at him.

So you grabbed his arm and dragged him off, finding a random quiet hall. 

You  shove him, “What the fuck is your problem? You’re constantly such an asshole to me, then you do stupid shit like that!” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes.“So sorry I stopped you from throwing yourself at Bob” 

You shove him again.“I wasn’t even throwing myself at him! Sam said to talk to everyone, y’know be social?! He’s working his ass off to try to find some fucking solution to this whole his Avengers vs Valentina’s Avengers fiasco and you’re just being a self centered dick!” you were yelling now.

He shook his head “As if you give a shit about any of that!” 

You scoffed, jaw dropping. “Well excuse the fuck out of me, I didn’t know Joaquin Torres knew a single god damn thing that I gave a shit about! You don’t even know me. You know jack shit about me!” 

He was quiet now, trying to come up with something to say, anything to prove that you weren’t right.

But you were too quick.

“Exactly, silence because even you know it’s true. You don’t know the first fucking thing about me, and yet for the past year and a half, you’ve treated me like the bane of your existence. I get that you’re mister hot shot Falcon now, but for fucks sake, you don’t need to be such a douchebag! You couldn’t even tell me my favorite color. That’s how little you know about me.”

He scoffed. “As if you could tell me mine”

You shook your head. “It’s orange, your favorite fucking color is orange, the bright ass orange that matches the University of Miami’s orange. You jackass.” With that you walked off again, shaking your head, while muttering a series of curse words. Whenhe tried to follow you, you waved a hand in the air, a random vase flying towards him.

Part of you wanted to blow something up, the other part of you wanted to kick Joaquin in the chest. 

There was a sliver that was upset though, upset that he genuinely thought so little of you. 

Before you could storm off to your room like a child throwing a temper tantrum, you stormed right into Bucky, practically falling back after walking right into him, but he easily steadied you.

“Seriously Bug? Still angry walking and not paying attention?” 

You sighed, looking at Bucky and shaking your head. It took him half a second to realize who made you angry.

“Let me guess, you and Joaquin still haven’t kissed and made up?” 

You scoffed at him, shaking your head, then you were walking in sync with him. You honestly had no idea where Bucky was headed, but now you were too busy venting to him about your problems. Besides, you always used to vent to him about anything and everything prior to him going off to pursue being a Congressman.

“No, Buck, you don’t understand. I’ve done nothing to him! Nothing at all! And still no matter what, he’s constantly an asshole to me! It’s like if I even breathe the wrong way he’s just mad about it. Now, we have this stupid gala to be at tonight and I have to wear a stupid dress and I’m already irritated, then, then I’m talking to Bob, y’know being nice like Sam said to be! Sure, I think the guy’s hot-he’s got the whole shy introvert thing going on-but I’m not over here throwing myself at him!”

Bucky nodded as you spoke, humming every so often so you knew he was listening. Meanwhile he was trying to figure out the best way to let you know that Joaquin Torres was obviously in love with you.

“Then-then get this Buck! He’s just mean to be mean! Today I complimented him, sure I was a little too touchy feely, but then he like jerks away from me and acts like I have the damn plague or something! Whatever happened to extending an olive branch and not being a dickhead?!”

Bucky laughed at that, it wasn’t a light laugh either, no it was loud and boisterous and it caught you off guard.

“You probably flustered him. He’s just a guy, don’t get too caught up in him being an asshole, alright? There’s plenty of other fish in the sea that won’t make you so mad you’re about to blow a hole in the tower.” 

You nodded at that.

After your conversation with Bucky, you were quick to make it back to your designated room, finding your laptop and finalizing all of your work related documents, then you knew it was about time to start getting ready for the obnoxious Gala, and of course, that also meant having to mix and mingle with everyone.

So you screamed into a pillow six times, then started getting ready. Showering and doing your best not to wet your hair was the longest part, then you’d gone back over your hair, ensuring that your hair and extensions were blended seamlessly as you sat in front of the floor length mirror curling them.

Makeup was easy, mostly because you didn’t have it in you to do an entire glamorous look, instead you’d opted for something soft and simple with a bold red lip to compliment the obnoxious dress they’d chosen for you.

You still didn’t even know who picked the dress out, but your money was on Kate, considering she’d asked you for your exact measurements three days ago over text. Plus she had an eye for dramatics. 

By the time that Peter had showed up to get dressed and ready, you were sorting through your jewelry, with your ‘I hate men’ playlist on full volume. 

He opted to stay quiet, getting dressed as you angrily applied your makeup and fixed your hair. Once it was time for you to put the dress on, you walked into the ensuite, slamming the door behind you in your own silent rage.

How Joaquin had the nerve to treat you the way he did was just baffling to you? It made no sense!

You were jumping up and down trying to get the zipper to work on the back of your dress, huffing and puffing a few times before yelling out “Can you come help me?!”.

When the bathroom door opened, you expected Peter. When your eyes met Joaquin’s in the reflection, you debated on kicking his ass right then and there, but that wouldn’t be possible, considering one of your hands was on the front of your dress, holding it up against your bare chest, while your other hand was leaning against the countertop.

He stared at you with his lips slightly parted, and if you weren’t so irritated, maybe you would’ve blushed.

“Can you zip my fucking dress up instead of staring at me?” 

He rolled his eyes at that, now standing behind you, holding the top of the dress together, then finding the zipper closer to your lower back. His brows knit together at the sight of the tattoo along your spine, and that knowledge made him a little light headed.

“Didn’t know you had tattoos.” 

You scoffed. “Once again, you don’t know shit about me so that’s not very shocking, Torres”. 

He shook his head at that, grasping the zipper and slowly sliding it up until he hit the top. His hands lingered on your skin for a few seconds after, then you were shoving him away, walking right past him, practically shoulder checking him on the way out of the en suite.

You gave Peter a dirty look while he fumbled with his tie.

“Ugh, c’mere let me fix it.” You were adjusting Peter’s tie, all while Joaquin leaned against the doorframe and watched. The sight had his right eye twitching slightly. 

Once the Gala was in full swing you were mingling with everyone, flashing fake smiles, a few winks, and even a few flirty lines to some of the older more influential politicians and socialites there. It was easy to get information out of them, a handful of giggles and a shy smile was everything they needed from you.

It also helped that your tits were practically out, sitting pretty in your crimson dress, as if you were Jessica Rabbit herself.

Joaquin stayed in the back for the most part, ignoring the pent up aggression in his body while his eyes followed you through the room. Each and every person you spoke to, he made a mental note of, part of his job was to do reconn, the other part was to keep you safe. 

At least that’s what Sam had told him prior to the event. Meanwhile, Peter was nowhere to be found, but that was also most likely because he was touring the research facilities with some of the other influential scientists present. Valentina made sure to dot all of her I’s and cross each and every one of her T’s to make tonight successful.

You didn’t even want to be there, you’d even run into Kate and Yelena, both of them doing exactly what you were doing, which earned a few succinct head nods and winks. 

The music was too loud, the champagne was disgusting, your head was hurting, and you were still a ball of pent up rage.  Across the room, Joaquin was feeling the same exact way.

It wasn’t until some politician’s son had pulled you to the dance floor in a different room for a shitty slow dance that Joaquin had finally snapped. Maybe it was the way you smiled at the man, laughing, getting too close for comfort, pressing your ample chest against his own. Or maybe it was the way that you let the man’s hands roam along your waist, down to the curve of your ass that really got to him.

Joaquin didn’t know, nor did he care.

All he knew was within seconds he was behind you, gently pulling you back and away, offering some half-assed excuse about needing to handle Avengers business, then he was dragging you away from everyone. 

You two stood in silence in the elevator, the air was thick with tension and you wanted nothing more than to rip his head off like a female praying mantis.

Then, the doors dinged and he dragged you down the hall, right to his room and as he kicked the door shut, he stared right at you in the dimly lit room.

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

You scoffed at the question, taken aback, laughing at his outburst.“You dragged me away from our job to ask me what my god damn problem is? Meanwhile, you’ve been nothing but an asshole to me for forever at this point, you don’t know anything about me, and still you constantly judge me, and constantly talk down to me like I’m some little fucking kid. Newsflash Torres, I’m twenty five not six.”

He shook his head at that, taking a deep breath.

“Your favorite color is blue. It’s not sky blue, it’s not navy, no it’s the color of a Robin’s egg, it’s not exactly blue and it’s not exactly green.” 

You stood in silence at that, brows knit together as you looked at him.

“You have a playlist for every bad mood you’ve ever been in, and I’ve probably contributed to more than half of them. Your favorite season is Spring and you hate the winter, you smell like fucking sunshine and oranges and lemons and it drives me insane because you drive me insane.” 

He ran a hand through his hair while he spoke, then he loosened his tie, with one hand, pulling at the collar of his shirt as if he was hot.

Joaquin was absolutely burning up.

“Being around you makes me feel like I’m fucking losing my mind, everything about you pisses me off to no extend, I can’t stand it when you’re around but I hate it when you’re gone-” you cut him off, closing the space between the both of you, pressing your lips against his.

When you tried to pull away he placed a hand on the back of your neck, lightly holding you in place, lips moving against yours. The kiss was anything but sweet, it was all teeth and tongue, pent up anger, jealousy, and downright delusion. Every single aspect of his being was on fire, and you were the only thing that could extinguish it.

He backed you up against the door, the thick mahogany cold against your back was the only thing grounding you. His hand stayed behind your neck, the other on your waist, holding you against him firmly. He’d easily won control of the kiss, it was like he was trying to prove himself.

You were intoxicating and maddening. 

It was sending him deeper and deeper into a hole that he wasn’t sure he’d ever get out of. 

His lower half was pressed directly against you, but the second you bit his bottom lip, one of his legs easily slid between yours, practically pinning you against the door. His grip on your waist bruising while he started trailing open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your throat.

He spoke between kisses “do you know-” kiss “-how crazy you make me-” kiss “every single day of my life”. Then as he met your pulse point, you gasped, earning a smirk from him before he started nipping at the skin there, sucking a harsh mark against you, your hands now in his hair, tugging at the curls as your back arched into him.

“Shit-fuck you Torres” he nodded at that, tongue gliding against the freshly bruised skin.

“Trust me, you’re gonna” you blinked a few times, letting out a raspy laugh, shaking your head at him.

“This why you’re always so mean? Cause you wanna fuck me? Could’ve just asked nicely” he groaned at your flirtatious tone, a short giggle leaving your lips as his tongue moved against your neck, tracing your skin, the saltiness made him moan. He wanted to run his tongue along your entire body.

He shook his head, leaving another bruising kiss to your exposed skin as he started moving lower, then you gasped as the hand that was on the back of your neck slid between your body and the door, easily finding the dress’s zipper, slowly tugging it down.

“Gonna make you mine for tonight” his words were muffled against your skin, lips moving along your exposed shoulders down to the swell of your chest. Then he was pulling the dress down, moaning against your skin. 

“These are so nice-you’re so fuckin pretty” he took his time, kissing along each of your tits, leaving a few marks. Each time you pulled his hair, he’d moan then lightly bite against your supple skin. He took his time trailing his tongue along each of your nipples. Rolling the hardened peaks between his teeth before lightly sucking against them.

Your whimpers and gasps were like music to his ears.

You managed to press yourself closer to him, head leaned against the door behind you as he moved lower and lower, pulling your gown down to the ground as he tried to kiss every single inch of your exposed skin.

His lips were searing, he felt like he was on fire. His ears were practically ringing.

Then he was on his knees, pulling his tie off, tossing it to the side as he helped you step out of the dress. Then you were being pushed further against the door, one of your thighs now resting against his shoulder while he kissed along your lower stomach, moving to your upper thighs, then he bit into your inner thigh, a sharp gasp leaving your lips.

When met with your clothed pussy he moaned, leaning into it, nose practically pressed against the wet patch as he took a deep inhale, biting his bottom lip before licking a flat stripe against the thin lace. 

“Smell so good-fuck can I taste you?” your eyes widened at his needy tone, nodding your head as you looked down at him, he looked absolutely wrecked and he’d barely even touched you.

He used one hand to pull your panties to the side, moaning at the sight of your glistening cunt.

The Joaquin Torres you were seeing now was a completely different man than the one that’d been purposefully being an asshole to you for months. 

He looked desperate as he licked his lips, a breathy laugh slipping past his kiss-swollen lips before he leaned in, tongue flat against your cunt, moving from your weeping entrance to your clit.

Your hands were back in his hair in seconds.

That was all it took for him to absolutely lose himself in your cunt. He focused on lapping his tongue against your clit, swirling around the pearl as if it was his last meal, moaning at your taste. Then he brought it into his mouth, sucking on it as if he was dying of thirst, the motion made your thighs shake slightly.

You tried to push him away-it was too much. 

But he’d just begun. He used one of his hands to pin you in place, fingers digging into your thigh, holding you right against him, the other hand was currently focused on undoing his belt, trying to relieve the pressure on his restrained cock.

You were loud, louder than he expected as you ground yourself against his face, moaning a mixture between half-spoken words and whines.

He didn’t let up, keeping his focus on your clit while you felt the coil in your abdomen tightening. Then he moved away from your clit slightly, licking against it a few more times before trailing down, tongue now prodding at your sopping entrance, the slight intrusion made you light headed.

Joaquin was teasing you now, enjoying the sting from you pulling his hair and your low whines and whimpers. Not to mention the way you tasted, he’d stay between your thighs for days if you’d let him.

“Fuck-please I need more” he smirked, now pulling away to look up at you.

“More what?” you let out a low whimper at that, now looking down at him again, your brows knit together, lips swollen and parted, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin. 

You were glowing, he wanted to be a little mean, but he couldn’t, not when you were looking at him so desperately.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you everything you need” then his tongue was back on your clit, and one of his thick fingers was sliding right into your hole, he was met with a little resistance as you immediately clenched around the digit, your walls fluttering, then practically pulling him in as you ground your hips against his hand and face.

Then he slid a second finger in, and you just about lost it, your back arching even harder, a high pitched moan practically echoing in the room as you were creaming around his fingers, rocking your hips, fucking yourself on them to prolong your own orgasm.

He bit his lip at the sight of you, then he started moving his fingers, thrusting them into you, curling them perfectly, finding the spot that made you see stars. 

It was too much, but you couldn’t push him away, not when he had you pinned between himself and the door. 

He continued to suck on your clit, moaning at the taste of you as his fingers sped up, the sloshing sound of your cunt was almost embarrassing. You were positive you’d never been this wet in your life.

He didn’t care anymore, he didn’t have time to be sweet or gentle with you, his pace was brutal, fingers practically pounding into you while his tongue flicked against your swollen bundle of nerves. Except the faster and harder his fingers fucked into you, the slower his tongue moved against your clit.

He looked up at you, hooded eyes moving from your tits, moaning at the sight of them slightly bouncing as you ground yourself against him, to your pretty face. You were biting your bottom lip, one hand still in his hair, the other moving to your thigh that was propped up on his shoulder. 

Joaquin thought you were going to try to push his hand away, instead you grasped it, yours clutching against the top of his. That made him blush-as if he wasn’t already flushed from tongue fucking you.

You were an absolute wreck above him. He knew you were close, your walls constantly clenching around his fingers.

“You’re so fuckin tight-can’t wait to get my cock in you” you nodded at that, biting your bottom lip and whimpering. “Gonna fuck you so good-make you forget all about anyone else” you were moaning above him, getting closer and closer to your orgasm, chasing your high as you practically bounced against his penetrating digits.

“Yeah, you’d want that huh? Want me to fuck you stupid?” you tugged harshly on his hair, pushing him back into your cunt, the motion earned a throaty laugh from him. Then his tongue was back on your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure as he focused on the rosebud.

Then you were gushing on his fingers and the lower half of his face. It had initially caught him off guard, then he pulled back, watching your cunt squirt for him as he finger fucked you through your orgasm.

He then slowly pulled his fingers out, smirking at you whimpering. Then his fingers were in his mouth as he licked them clean before his tongue was back on you, licking and slurping everything, moaning at the taste of you.

“Fuck Torres-shit stop-” you were now pushing his head away, still out of breath as you looked down at him. He sat back on his haunches, looking right at you, his face still wet, chest rising and falling, and it was then that you noticed his belt was undone, his pants were unzipped, and there was a very large tent emphasizing his hard-on.

Your legs were a bit wobbly as you leaned against the door, then he slowly stood up, tossing his suit jacket to the side. 

Then he stood up, and suddenly you felt too exposed. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes trailed along your nearly-nude figure. Taking in every single detail of your body. 

“You’re beautiful y’know that” you rolled your eyes at him, shoving past him and walking towards the bed, and when he stood in place, just watching you, head tilted to the side as his eyes focused on your ass and thighs you scoffed.

“Are you gonna fuck me or stare me down?” 

He shook his head at your tone. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt as he approached you. “That attitudes gotta go Princessa” you rolled your eyes at the pet name, slowly starting to remember why you didn’t like him in the first place.

Then when you stood at the edge of his bed facing away from him, he smirked, pushing you down, guiding your body onto the mattress. Once you were on it, he was quick to grasp your hips, pulling them up, his strength shocked you. Then again he was an Air Force Captain and the Falcon for a reason. 

His hand was at the small of your back, pushing you down slightly, enjoying the way that you arched for him while your upper body was flat against the bed. He wasn’t going to force you onto your hands and knees-not when he knew you couldn’t take it. 

Then you started moving your hips, swaying them side to side as your legs parted a bit further. But when you were on your forearms, taking a second to look back at him, your hair cascading around your figure while you met his eyes-that was his breaking point.

He didn’t even fully remove his pants, he pulled his cock out as fast as possible, and you moaned at the sight. Joaquin looked directly at you as he slowly stroked his cock, then he was leaning forward, one hand outstretched close to your face.

“Spit” you raised a brow, eyeing his hand, then his dick, then as you made eye contact you moved closer to his hand, slowly spitting into it, letting it glide off of your tongue right into his palm. He bit his lip at the sight, then pulled his hand back, now running it along his cock.

“You gonna let me fuck you just like this? Fuck you raw so you can feel it all?” you nodded at him, ignoring the part of your brain screaming at you that it was a bad idea. This was Joaquin Torres, he was an asshole! But you couldn’t give less of a shit right now.

Then he was closer to you, tapping the head of his cock against your swollen clit a few times, the motion making you whimper. He started running the tip along your cunt, and each time it would catch on your entrance, you’d roll your eyes and whine.

You hadn’t expected him to land a firm slap to your ass-the motion caught you off guard, eyes widening at the feeling. Then he did it again, and on the third time you let out a broken moan.

“I always thought you were wound too tight, guess you just need to be fucked good huh?” his condescending tone made you whimper, your forehead resting against your arms while you clenched around nothing. The sight had him biting his bottom lip, watching as your pussy fluttered over and over again.

He hadn’t stopped jerking himself off as he watched you, then he was lining himself up with your entrance and part of him wanted to go slow, but you were just too fucking agitating. So the second he was able to slide the head of his cock into you, he bottomed out in one harsh thrust, the motion practically knocking the air out of your lungs.

Your back arched even harder-the sight had his brows raised while he took a second to breathe.

“Fuck-you’re so fuckin tight, cunt’s gripping me in a vice” you moaned at his words, taking a few deep breaths as you tried to adjust to him. 

“‘S too big-fuck you’re too deep” your words were slurred together as you tried to move your hips, he was invading each and every one of your senses, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

He shushed you as he slowly pulled out “It’s okay, you can take it-I know you can” you moaned at his words, toes curling slightly, one hand moved back-you tried to push him away, but he grasped it instead, now holding your wrist, pinning your hand in place on your lower back while he started fucking into you.

Joaquin was slow at first, giving you time to adjust to his size, he knew he wasn’t exactly small, but the way you were practically mewling from the stretch was making him feel light headed. 

“Just like that baby, relax into it, taking it so well now-” he spoke as he started building a rhythm, each thrust earning moans and whimpers from you. He bit his lip at the sight of him fucking into you, watching as your pussy swallowed him whole, over and over again. “-just like that baby, fuck, pussy was made f’me”

You were fluttering around him again. He let go of your hand, instead leaning over you more, grasping your hair, pulling you up slightly, your hands catching on the bed, holding yourself in place at the new angle. Then he dropped your hair, one hand on your jaw now, while he leaned into your space.

“Feel that Princessa? Feel how deep I am, fuck, look at you, can’t even talk huh?” you nodded at him, head leaning back now as you tried to look at him, but you couldn’t focus on anything he was saying, not when he started fucking you harder and faster.

Then two of his fingers slid into your mouth, you were quick to start sucking on them, swirling your tongue around them as he muffled your whimpers. 

He bit his bottom lip, now sliding his fingers to the side of your mouth, keeping it open, pulling you back slightly just like that. They were hooked into your cheek and you were leaning into his hand, spit dribbling along his fingers and your jaw while he practically pounded into you.

The mixture of your moans and his were loud, but not as loud as the sound of skin slapping and the wet slosh of your cunt. 

“‘M gonna cum-please-fuck let me cum” you were begging him, words a bit slurred as he was still pulling against the side of your mouth. The sounds of you begging had his hips faltering slightly, but he easily regained his rhythm, now moving his fingers out of your mouth, dragging your spit along your jaw as his hand wrapped around your throat.

Then he was leaning over you, practically caging you in as he kept his relentless pace. You leaned your head back against his shoulder as he lightly tightened his grip on your throat, the added pressure making your head fuzzy.

“You wanna cream all over my cock huh baby?” you nodded, looking to the side slightly, trying your best to look at him. 

You were so fucked out and that only turned him on more. His lips were on yours in an instant. You couldn’t really kiss Joaquin back, you tried, but you were just moaning and whimpering against his lips.

“Fuck-cum for me princessa” you nodded, moaning as you felt yourself tip over the edge into a sea of ecstasy, except it was never ending, he fucked you through your orgasm, moaning against your shoulder as your cunt clenched around him.

He was quick to pull out of you, resting his head on your shoulder for a few seconds before moving back. You were too focused on catching your breath to focus on what he was doing. Then you felt it-his tongue back on your cunt, and you were a mess of whines and whimpers, hands clutching the duvet below at the overstimulation.

“You’re so sensitive, so fuckin reactive all the time-fuck you drive me crazy” he spoke before licking a flat stripe along your used cunt, then his tongue moved further, until it was resting along your other hole, lightly lapping at it, the newfound sensation made your eyes widened. Then he slid two fingers back into you, tongue lapping at your ass while he curled his fingers inside of you.

When he slid in a third finger, you were babbling, begging him for a break. 

He smirked at the sound, pulling his fingers and tongue away from your fucked out pussy.

As he moved back, he watched you practically flop into the bed, biting his lip at the sight of you in his bed. Where you belong. 

Then he was slapping your ass again a few times before helping you roll over.

“We’re not done baby” he stroked his cock as he spoke to you, you nodded your head at him, looking at him, eyes trailing along his bare chest, then down to his big cock, hand curled around it. “Eyes are up here Princess” you blinked a few times, gaze now on his.

You laughed while he kicked off his pants, he rolled his eyes at you for a few seconds, but for the first time in a long time, it was playful.

Then he made his way onto the bed, easily spreading your legs, making room for him between them as he used one arm to hold his weight above you. Now the two of you were face to face again, your eyes trailing his features, while he did the same thing.

“You ready beautiful?” you raised a single brow, wrapping one leg around his waist, pulling him closer to you. The motion made the both of you laugh. 

It was nice to laugh with Joaquin.

He lined himself back up with your entrance, and as he slowly rolled his hips into you, you gasped, back arching slightly while one of your hands gripped against his side, nails digging into his tanned skin. 

“Can you go slow?” your voice was breathy, and the question was almost a whisper. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of him pulling his hips back.

Your question made his heart race, his eyes practically popping out of his head. It wasn’t that Joaquin had anything against slow sex, but he was already on top of you, and he was about to lose his mind and profess his love to you like an idiot.

It didn’t help that even after a few orgasms, your cunt was still squeezing him in a vice grip.

“You feel so fuckin good baby” you nodded at the praise “and you’re so pretty, fuck just look at you” his free hand was now on your jaw, thumb tugging at your bottom lip slightly while he spoke.

“Fuck-need you to be mine” you nodded at his words, too cockdrunk to care about anything that he was saying. The intimacy of it all was sending you to cloud nine. 

Then he started moving a bit faster, fucking into you a bit harder-the new pace had your eyes opening, looking up at him while you rolled your hips into him, meeting his motions.

“Just like that baby-fuck taking it so good-so fuckin tight” you nodded at his words, pulling his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it briefly before he pressed it against your tongue. 

“Open your mouth, fuck-good girl-just like that” then he leaned over and spit directly on your tongue before pulling you into a sloppy heated kiss. Your lips moved in sync as you both swallowed each other’s moans, your hands were scratching along his back as his thrusts got faster and a bit more sporadic.

He pulled back for air just in time to hear you moan his name. 

“Fuck-say it again baby” you nodded, moaning his name while he trailed open mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulders “-fuck I’m close-where do you want it?” his breathy words were strained and raspy while he moaned against your skin.

You moved one hand, now tugging on his hair again as you moaned out “Inside-fuck inside Joaquin” he let out a deep gutteral moan at that.

Then he started talking, and it was a bit incoherent at first, but you fully understood him the longer he spoke “fuck-feels so fuckin good baby-fuck gonna fill you up-fuck a baby into you- make you mine forever” you couldn’t help the whimper that left your lips following his words.

“Just like that, fuckin little cunt’s squeezing me so well-that’s what you want huh? Want me to fill you up? Want me to make you mine?” you nodded, your eyes watering from the overstimulation.

Then your orgasm hit and it was as if your entire body was levitating, a white heat spread throughout you while you gushed around his cock, practically screaming his name while your nails dug into his back and shoulders.

He was quick to follow, a warmth spreading inside of you as his hips jerked a few times, filling you with everything he had while he moaned against your skin.

Then he pulled out of you, laying right beside you while staring up at the ceiling.

You two sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, you shifted awkwardly at the feeling of his cum running down your cunt and inner thigh, meanwhile he was trying to process what just happened.

“Uh…for the record…I don’t want to get you pregnant. It just kinda came out of me” you slowly nodded your head at his statement. 

“What about the other part?” he blinked a few times before his eyes widened and he registered what he said.

“Which part?” you scoffed, now glancing over at him. “So you’re seriously gonna act stupid as if you didn’t just fuck me, then tell me you wanted to get me pregnant so I could be yours forever.” 

He took a sharp inhale, grimacing slightly at your words before he finally turned to look at you.

“Is now a bad time to tell you that I’ve been a dick to you because I’ve been really jealous of Peter this entire time and was completely under the impression that you two were dating?” you stared at him with a dumbfounded expression, then you scoffed and shook your head, getting up-wincing slightly- and making your way to the en suite.

“You’re such an asshole with shit communication skills!” you shouted as you slammed the door behind you. In this moment he was glad you weren’t some kind of super soldier, otherwise the Avengers tower would’ve been down a door. 

He sighed as he sat up, running a hand through his now messy hair. Then he found his clothes and slid on his briefs, pacing around the room, trying to figure out what to say to you, or how to apologize, or what to do next. It wasn’t like he could just waltz up to you and apologize.

You interrupted his pacing when you stormed out of the bathroom wearing one of his Air Force t-shirts and your panties. When did you manage to find either of those items? He had no idea. All he knew was he really liked the look on you.

Then you were grabbing your dress and heels, and for the first time in a long time, he watched you use your magic, disappearing into a cloud of red dust. 

He was so fucked.

Joaquin didn’t sleep well last night, that was for certain. Half of the night was spent with him reliving the night with you. He couldn’t get his mind to focus on anything but the image of you above him and below him, the way that your hair framed your face, the way that you moaned his name-every single bit and piece of it.

Then he was tossing and turning contemplating on how to actually address the situation properly. It also didn’t help that his bed smelled just like you. It was as if he couldn’t get away from you.

Not that he wanted to ever get away from you.

In the past forty-eight hours he’d managed to realize that the entire reason you irritated every single morsel of his being was because he was jealous of your friendship with Peter Parker, he’d then been able to actually have mind blowing sex with you, then embarrass himself by letting his breeding kink slip out, and finally, get you to hate him even more.

You’ve also been avoiding him.

This was the most he’d seen you use your magic in years at this point. Usually you used it when needed on a mission, or for small miniscule tasks. You never did the whole ‘disappearing in thin air’, not until last night and today that is.

You’d done it twice already today.

He couldn’t even track you down to talk to you, and he was overly frustrated. 

Joaquin found himself sitting in one of the high-tech laboratories in the tower, his arms resting against a random desk as he leaned his forehead on them. Giving himself time to wallow in self pity under the guise that he was actually doing work.

Besides, it was clear hardly anyone used these labs. 

He thought he would just be alone all day, that was until the doors opened and the sound of whistling filled the room. Joaquin knew exactly who it was before even looking up.

Then a chair was pulled out near him, not too close, but not too far. It was a fair distance, and Peter was quick to clear his throat.

Joaquin slowly looked up and over at him, meanwhile Peter had his hands in his hoodie’s pocket while he looked directly at Joaquin with an expression that was the perfect mixture between disappointment and shock.

“So, I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I’ve had a girlfriend for a long time now, her names MJ, uh yeah. Bug told me what happened-well she spared me most of the details. Outside of the whole baby thing. I’m not judging though, just thought I’d come with some helpful advice”

Joaquin sighed, running a hand over his face while he looked at Peter.

“I fucked up didn’t I?” the younger man nodded. “Majorly, listen I’m not mad about the whole jealousy thing, I think I see where you’re coming from but she’s like family to me. Uh but the thing is, she thinks you hate her which is kind of the whole issue here”.

“I’ve never hated her, I think I might actually be in love with her” Peter nodded, shrugging a bit.

“Yeah I’ve been saying that for a while, kinda figured between the lovesick staring and the glaring at me anytime she laughs at anything I say. But between me and you, you still have a chance, she wouldn’t be reacting the way she is if she didn’t like you even a little bit.”

Joaquin slowly nodded, looking down at his hands for a few seconds, running his thumb over the few small scratches you left on one of them.

“Don’t try to do a grand gesture either, she hates that kind of stuff. You just gotta talk to her and actually act like a civilized adult. Don’t worry though, I’ll help you actually get her in a room”

Four hours later, you were sitting in a conference room, on top of the table, swinging your legs back and forth as you looked at the few monitors in front of you. You were focused on taking note of the different feeds, and diagnostic issues with the satellite imaging and reports. 

The sound of the door opening didn’t catch your attention, you just assumed it was Peter coming back with either Yelena and Kate. He said he’d be back in fifteen minutes, it’d been around thirty.

Then again, it’s not like he’d left you with some hard task.

However, at the sight of Joaquin Torres you rolled your eyes. This had to be Peter’s idea. You couldn’t exactly up and disappear when monitoring two live feeds while actively running diagnostic scans that required specific time variations. 

“Can we talk? Please?” you clenched your jaw, putting the notebook down.

“What could you possibly have to say to me? Are you here to tell me you regret fucking me too? Or just that you don’t know how to actually talk about your feelings like a grown adult, and instead opt to treat people like shit for funsies because you can’t control your own jealousy?” 

He rolled his lips in, nodding his head at you. He had to admit, you were right, and there wasn’t exactly much he could do or say that would make up for how he treated you.

“I wanted to apologize, not just for the whole acting weird after we had sex, but for being an asshole to you and constantly pushing you away. I know it was stupid for me to be jealous of you and Parker, and he told me about his girlfriend, and I realized that I don’t know everything about you but I want to, everything I know about you is from eavesdropping on your conversations and based on what everyone tells me.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair “-I just want us to be more than what we were. And I’m genuinely sorry for everything, I just, I guess I thought I’d never have a chance so I pushed you away and then you constantly irritated me. Everything about you pissed me off and I think that’s also because I told myself that I would never be able to have you so it was just easier-”

You cut him off “easier to be a dickhead than to be my friend?” he nodded at that.

“But not because it was easy to be an asshole to you, but because I could never just be your friend. I’d never want to just be your friend. I think I’m in love with you, or I’m falling in love with you”

You slowly nodded your head, unsure of what to say to him. It wasn’t like you would forgive him overnight for the way he’d treated you, and having sex with someone wasn’t exactly a decent apology.

But maybe, maybe you could give him a chance.

“So you’re in love with me?” he slowly blinked, hands now on his hips while he looked at you, then around the room before awkwardly laughing.

“Uh-maybe? I don’t actually know.” your brows knit together at that.

“Okay Joaquin. Tell you what, what if we just try being friends first, and then see where that takes us? I’m not just gonna magically forgive you for being a dickhead to me all the time, but I guess Peter was right about you”

He blinked a few times, head tilted to the side slightly “what’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged again “he told me you were like desperately into me which is why you said you’d get me pregnant when we had sex” you said it so casually, and that had him choking on air. He shushed you immediately, looking around the room, making sure no one was outside listening in. After all, the conference room was surrounded by large glass windows.

You looked him up and down.

“Yeah, I could see myself falling for you-the real you. Not the asshole version of you” he smiled at that, biting his bottom lip slightly.

“So friends?” he nodded at you. “Friends”.

[writting-stuff-sometimes]

Or you just told us to do it...- Lando x F reader

Summary: Y/N is the McLaren community manager. Lando leaves a comment on the latest Mclaren post, y/n is not happy about it.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive

Word Count: 1.2 K

Notes: My romance book delulu mind instantly thought of something when reading Lando's response. I'm working on the Play with fire part 3 but it will be a long one

Your job as a McLaren CM was awesome, as it was stressful. You had two young drivers and complete freedom from the managers to do all sorts of trends. And you would if you weren't dealing with a PR nightmare and a black cat.

As much fun as it was when the two of them were in the mood to record stuff, sometimes it could be a torturous nightmare if one was in a funky mood or couldn't deal with pr at that moment.

But after the last race and all the comments on the most recent McLaren post about Oscar deserving more support and Lando being a spoiled diva, plus all sorts of posts on social media about the two of them doing an eventual Hamilton vs Rosberg. The heads of coms had requested to do as much damage control as possible. So the moment you walked in the garage and saw a tyre trolly laying around, you got an idea.

You sent the drivers a text requesting their presence at the garage entrance.

Both drivers knew why you wanted them, so they stalled as much a possible, making you wait over 45 minutes.

"Hey, sorry for the delay." Oscar said with his classic half smile

"Yeah, sorry for the delay. We didn't really want to come." Lando spoke both their minds. Oscar just turned towards him with a look of disapproval but held back a smile.

"I'm just doing my job, guys." You lifted your hands in defeat.

"So, what dance are we doing today?" Lando walked and took your phone from your hand.

"No dance today." You said, yanking the phone back and trying to hide your blushing cheeks. "This will be super simple. You'll push each other on this trolley." They both stared at you, not a single emotion on their faces.

"You're serious?" Oscar wasn't usually so critical, and it almost made you doubt your idea, but you were certain this would please the fans.

"C'mon you guys, this will be gold. It's fast, easy, and the fans will love it."

"You've become so good at describing Lando" Oscar said and then laughed silently as he inspected said trolley.

"I ain't that easy," Lando tried to defend himself

"Or lovable," you replied softly, looking down at your phone.

"Hey, I heard that." Lando turned to look at you, offended.

"Anyways, please, help me with this, and I won't bother you for the rest of the day."

"Promise?" Oscar asked.

"Promise" You answered, crossing your fingers in front of your heart.

"Fine, c'mon Lando, before she comes up with another weird trend."

Both drivers did their best to look entertained, and as much as they hated your idea initially, they ended up having a good 20-minute play date with the trolley, giving you enough material for the day.

After they were gone, you posted the video to Instagram, and like you imagined, it got tons of reactions right away.

At lunch, you checked your phone again, reading through the comments and smiling at your success. Most of them were positive and praised how fun both drivers looked; a couple of mean ones remained, but this was normal. Then a blue check mark caught your eye.

lando "Or you just told us to do it..."

"I'm going to kill him," You said out loud.

"Lando?" Mike, the engineer eating beside you, turned to look at you, amused.

"Who else?"

"You two are like an old married couple." Mike said as he took his coffee and walked towards the exit. "Don't hurt him much; we need him for quali" Mike shouted back as you took your stuff from the table and stormed towards his driver's room. If you weren't so angry, you would've been worried about people thinking about you and Lando as a married couple.

You knocked a couple of times, but there was no answer, then opened the door to find an empty room. You weren't about to search for him around the entire track and make a scene out there. He had to eventually come back, so you decided to sit there and wait, reading the comment whenever you felt the anger was easing down.

Finally, after an hour and a half, you heard his distinctive laugh approaching.

When he opened the door, his eyes went from amused to worried in two seconds, your expression far from friendly.

"Jon, can you give us a sec?" Lando asked his trainer without taking his eyes off you, as if you were an animal about to attack their prey.

"Told you it was a bad idea." Said the trainer before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Lando walked towards you, but you stretched out your arm, your hand on his chest, making him stop at arm's length.

"Are you trying to get me fired?" You asked, staring right into his soul.

"I was just messing with you."

"No, Lando. You're messing with my job."

"C'mon, it was just a comment." He pushed your arm to the side and walked to hug you tight against his chest. Your arms stuck to your sides, not wanting to fall for his sweet cologne or warmth.

"No, it wasn't. I got specific instructions from coms! We needed this to ease the shit going around"

"People will always say shit" He spoke against your head, his tone slightly tinted with sadness. Social media hasn't been the same for him, at least for the last couple of seasons. The moment you felt his sadness, you couldn't hold back and placed one arm around his waist; he wasn't fully forgiven yet.

Your phone rang in your free hand.

"Ugh" you pushed yourself away, just enough to lift your arm and read the message.

Steve Hello, can you stop by my office in ten?

"He's going to fire me." You let your head fall back and sighed.

"I'm sorry," his voice filled with honesty. "I didn't think."

"Sounds like your MO."

"Hey, unnecessary rudeness."

He hugged you tight again, giving a kiss to your exposed neck.

"If you forgive me, I will let you film me later in our room; I bet the fans would love that," he whispered in your ear. As much as the comment had you blushing and feeling warmer than the scorching sun outside, you had an uncomfortable meeting with your boss to think about.

"If you want to get me fired, just say so. I will sign my resignation right now."

"Fine, we can tape that, and I will let you keep it for personal use."

"You're unbelievable."

Your phone rang again.

Steve Sorry, something just came up. See you in an hour.

"Excellent, extend the torture" you sighed loudly again.

"I'm really sorry" Lando spoke against your neck, giving you goosebumps. "How about I make it up to you?"

You stared at him, eyebrow raised and a serious look on your face.

"I don't have to be out there for another 40 minutes; we can have some nonsocial media-approved fun." He started laying open-mouth kisses to your neck as he took the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

"And what are we doing for the other 35 minutes?"

"Forget it." He said, unwrapping his arms and turning to walk towards the door.

"Come here." You took his McLaren-issued shirt and pulled him back to join your lips. He had done it bad this time, but Steve was probably just going to give you a slap on your wrist, and you would just blame it on Lando.

__________________

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[alexiroflife]

Hello! May I request an angsty toji fic where reader finds out she's pregnant (post megumi) and she knows toji doesn't want anymore children so she just kinda leaves with little to no explanation? Maybe just a small note saying things aren't working out. It's up to you if it will be a hurt/comfort. Idk you don't have to do this request I don't want to overload you! I seriously love your writing. The way you right the character just warms my heart. I especially love ur hiding an Injury fic it was SO SO SO GOOD. 🩶🤍🖤

“promise”

toji fushiguro x reader

Synopsis: see above

to sum it up: you think it’s better to run away than to be the one to get hurt

WC: 5,668

Warning(s): angst, suggestive themes, yelling, pregnancy, mentions of abortion

You stare down at the plastic tube clutched in your trembling hands in awe, eyes blown with shocked grief as you peer closer to get a better look, as though those two bright pink lines could have been a trick of your vision.

Unfortunately, however, your vision remains just as crystal clear as it always has been. As you stand in your cramped apartment bathroom, illuminated by a flickering fluorescent gaze shining down from above, horror befalls you.

You’re pregnant.

You should have known sooner when you began feeling queasy every morning, taking trips to either your or Toji’s toilet to hurl out the contents of whatever swam inside your stomach. You always tried to be silent if Toji was around, for he slept like a dog that could not be woken even if a meteor struck earth, and you had been remarkably exhausted. You aren’t even sure if there is a word to describe how sluggish your entire mind and body had been feeling, but you wanted to rule out the very obvious answer to your problems before exploring it.

You begin to panic, your heart pounding in your ears and throat and every inch of your body you could feel the pulse, eyes blurry over the positive test. You’re conflicted. You don’t know how to feel. On the one hand, you would have been jumping for joy to learn that you are starting a new life with your boyfriend, to step into a new chapter of your lives and to provide his children with another sibling.

But hell, the celebration is far too naive and implausible to be had. The sage eyed man has told you time and time again that he does not wish to have anymore kids, that the ones he has are enough and he is not equipped financially or mentally to care for another brat. In honor of those wishes, you’re on the pill, and consequently, Toji has taken the opportunity to plow his load inside of you time after time after time.

And you really, truly should have known that with Toji’s uniquely abled body, what was meant to serve as a barrier and a means of contraception did not work.

You feel like throwing up. What would Toji say? What would he do? What are you supposed to do? Should you tell him, fill him in on what’s going on to risk rejection and abandonment, a nasty habit that Toji had to work to rid himself of when he met you? Would he even care? Would he listen?

You know Toji to be a very tough man, despite the softened interior he attempts to hide in others’ company that is only displayed for you and for his kids. If he has always been adamant about one thing, it’s been to never have kids again, to focus on where he fucked up before and to pour his attention into the little family he’s grown, the one that he has now.

His voice echoes through your head like the gong of a church bell striking upon the ear’s of a sinner.

“Hell, I already got my hands full tryna get Megumi through his teenage years. What the hell is another child gonna do for us?”

“That shit’s fuckin’ expensive. Not to mention, I’d have to baby proof the house again. That’s another expense.”

“If I was capable of givin’ you y’er own, I would, doll. But I ain’t cut out for it. You know that.”

You don’t even know why he would stress the matter so often. You suppose he’s caught the way your eyes linger on a mother tossing their giggling baby up and down into the air, innocent pools of joy beaming down at her each time it reaches the air and lands in her secure hold. Or maybe he’s seen the way you care so deeply for Toji’s kids as though they are your own, despite telling you when you first got involved with each other that he did not expect you to step into their lives in anyway - and yet, you have done that and more. You know how the kids must struggle each day with the trauma of losing their mother so early on, and you never wanted them to think that you were trying to step in as her replacement, but you love them so clearly, as much as you love the man who created them.

Which leads you to your next concern. How would the kids react?

It’s one thing for you, as their father’s girlfriend, to wander into their lives and help navigate them their teenage hood alongside the dark haired man, but to introduce an entire other child only leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

They may be crushed. They me turn to hate you, to despise how you have contaminated the life they have worked so hard to rebuild after numerous tragedies. And would Toji agree with them? Would he turn his nose up to you, that scowl of his melting over his harsh features as he shuns you just as he shunned every other woman who came after his wife and before you. Would he leave you? Would he kick you out of the world that has become your own because you failed to live up to your promise, though it technically isn’t your fault that you are pregnant now but it feels as though it is?

You can not stand the thought, of the man you love turning his once loving gaze stone upon the sight of you, of him pushing you further away, permanently, in the same manner that he tried to when he realized that he was falling in love with you, of watching Megumi and Tsumiki turn their backs to you as though the past four years of your lives had never happened, banning you from their acceptance forever more.

Tears well in your gaze, interfering with your vision. This can not be happening, you think to yourself, everything has been going so well, and now this? This is going to ruin your relationship with Toji for good. Even if you were not in a committed relationship with him, you assume that the idea of any woman getting impregnated by Toji would have been thrown away. You would be thrown away, just like all the others who gave Toji their bodies but not their hearts.

Not the way you have.

Your heart clenches thinking of just how much you love Toji and the kids, of how you would be willing to lay down your own life for the sake of them as Toji swears that he would for you all in return. Even so, despite the commitment to you that a man who swore never to be committed to accustomed, this would be going too far.

…You’re not even sure if he would love you anymore.

Now that you’re pregnant with his child, a child he never meant to have with you, you assume you will mean nothing to him any longer. In his eyes, you will simply become the slut that he took a chance on by a whim, carrying something he would never call his own. You believe the old Toji will resurface, the one who claimed not to care, the one who shoved women out of his bedroom before the sun rose in the sky, the one who often failed to remember to pick his kids up from school, the one who would no longer meet you at eye level but look down upon you, frown upon you for being so clumsy.

You know Toji is the one who did this, but this still feels like it is your doing. Like somehow, you trapped him and he now has no choice but to break free from the steel cage you have barred around him with your conception.

Your fingers clutch over the plastic, your eyes scrunching closed to release a fresh set of tears that cascade over your cheeks and onto the test. You can feel yourself mourning your relationship already, you can feel it slipping through your fingers, see it fading in the distance until it becomes nothing but a bittersweet memory that you can not determine as reality or a figment of your imagination any longer.

You tilt your head, bringing the test to your forehead as you think, grieve, cry. You mull over your options; you could hide this from Toji, get an abortion and never think of it again or you could tell Toji and lose him forever.

You open your bleary eyes, lashes decked with dewy tears, as another idea dawns upon you. You could leave, leave before Toji and the kids have a chance to leave you.

It’s a cruel thought, you think, especially abandoning those children without any proper explanation for them, but what else are you meant to do? You’d be doing them all a favor if anything by taking your leave without them having to be plagued by the knowledge of your unplanned pregnancy, of what they may view as a scheme to destroy their family in your new baby’s wake.

The thought kills you to even entertain. You had promised those kids that you weren’t going anywhere, that you’d stay with them for as long as they allowed you… but this is different. This is not what any of you had in your cards, how you believed your futures to go. Toji wants simplicity at home while he works through chaos through his occupation. He wants security, warmth, safety for you, Megumi, Tsumiki, and no one else. He would never welcome another child. You believe he’d be caught dead before approving of your pregnancy.

And therefore, you know what you have to do.

After taking a few more tests to ensure that the readings are accurate, which they are, you pledge to walk away. You pledge to leave the only man you’ve ever truly loved, the strongest family you’ve known, and the slim possibility that despite Toji’s wishes, he may accept you.

But you don’t want to take that chance and risk the humiliation and unplanned heartbreak. You’d much rather take matters into your own hands, and plan the shattering of your soul yourself.

You don’t sleep all night, for you’re too busy drafting about twenty different letters to Toji. Crumpled loosleaf paper litters the floor beside your bed as you try to think of how to best write down everything you want to say. You go through pages and pages until you are finally satisfied with the result, and the next morning, you slip the envelope into his mail slot and prepare to pack your life away.

It is late Sunday morning when Toji rises from his slumber. The first thing he does is lean over the sheets and drape his arm toward his nightstand to read your daily good morning text - only he finds there isn’t one. With pinched brows, he takes his phone to unlock it and visit your contact. Nothing.

The time reads 12:35 pm. Normally, you’re up and at it or even banging down his door by then to wake him. Maybe you’re just sleeping in?

He goes to give your cell a call, but nothing. Not only that, but your phone is also on do not disturb mode. His gut immediately swells with the suspicion that something is wrong. The dark haired assassin supposes he’s going to pay you a visit this afternoon as soon as he checks on the kids to ensure that they are alright.

His bedroom door opens with a creak, and he calls out to the teens gruffly through a yawn. When they don’t respond, he’s truly growing concerned.

He rounds the corner to prepare to head for their rooms when he finds Tsumiki and Megumi at the dining table. His brows furrow, his pace slowing as he takes in their faces. Tsumiki’s lips are pressed together tightly and the muscles in her face are scrunched as though she is about to cry, while Megumi stares ahead with empty eyes and a hardened exterior.

Toji frowns with quirked brows, approaching his kids. “What’s wrong with you two?”

His brunette daughter looks up at him with glassy eyes and wrinkled chin, lashes fluttering while Megumi does not bother to look at his father. Instead, he brings Toji’s attention to a torn envelope and a thick packet of papers pressed beneath the sixteen year old’s palm. Wordlessly, Megumi slides it toward him, brows slanting.

Toji, perplexed, looks between the papers and his children’s troubled faces. What is this letter? Overdue taxes? An eviction notice? That can’t be possible, because you had ensured that Toji and the kids’ place was secure long ago.

He crunches the papers in his hands and picks them up to read. The first thing that catches his eye is your scribbling handwriting, and the following words that send his heart plummeting to his ass:

This isn’t working out.

Toji whips his head up, baffled, and when he meets Megumi’s gaze again, his eyes are ablaze with resentment.

“What the hell did you do?” he growls.

The green eyed man is not even thinking before he’s dialing Shiu’s number, asking him to watch the kids for the next hour or so, and running out of the apartment after throwing rather unconvincing words of assurance over his shoulder to his kids, who are still with disbelief - Tsumiki with devastation and Megumi with rage, for surely his father pushed you away.

Toji does not bother finding a ride, electing to run to your place which is only a few blocks away. You two were just discussing moving in with one another, combining households, and this is what you spring onto him? Not even for him to stumble across first, but his kids who look up to you and love you like their own mother?

Oh, he’s fuming, a rush of emotions taking over his mind as it fuels his speed. The letter you wrote is still crunched in his fist, whipping through the air as he makes his way to you.

Dear Toji,

This is not working out.

But before you rampage and get angry with me, please let me explain. Let me explain how much I love you, how much those kids mean to me, and how every day I wake up I want to be greeted by all of your smiling faces. For the rest of time, forever. You are undoubtedly the only man for me, and I truly believe that. I know you may think I’m bullshitting because of how the beginning of this letter contradicts what im saying now, but it’s true. I have never loved another person the way I love you, and while it scared me at first when you were so stubborn and full of anger that you misdirected onto me, I stayed and I waited and I helped you and I’ve loved you through every single moment, ever week, every month, and every year. You brought purpose back into my life, and I can picture you scoffing because you’d say the same, but I mean it. You, Tsumiki, and Megumi are the best things that have ever happened to me. I love you all so much.

But in this case, that love is not enough.

I hate to be doing this to you, to the kids, but I have no other choice. Things aren’t going the way they used to, and it’s not your fault but mine. I’m the reason. And it is tearing me apart to know that and simultaneously know what I have to do in order to keep you and the kids happy. Stable. I wish I could explain to you more why I am doing this, but I can’t. Not just because I am dying to picture you reading this, but because I truly can not say. I do not want to ruin you guys’ image of me. While I think that’s a selfish thing to say because who knows how me leaving is going to hurt you all, you would not understand even if you knew the reason behind this.

By the time you are done reading this, I will be gone. I’m going away because as long as I am not with you all, I can’t stay here anymore. I am staying with my mother while I get my travel plans arranged, because I know how you worry when you do not know where I am or if im safe. I should be gone by Friday.

Please do not come see me. I have made my decision, and you will only be hurting us more by trying to stop me. I won’t be stopped.

Kiss and hug and apologize to Megumi and Tsumiki for me. I hope you find someone who fills the role of their mother, someone who knows how Megumi likes to do his homework in the silence of his room with no music or anything, completely isolated so he can focus. Someone who knows how to fix Tsumiki’s eggs properly - to add extra butter to the sides when you fry them so the edges get crispier. Someone who won’t try to feed Gumi’a demidogs because he hates when people assume they can coddle up to them upon first introduction. Someone who cares for the wholly the way I do and always will.

And you. I know how stubborn you are. I know how angry you probably are at me right now, and I will miss that about you, but please do not let that interfere with the possibility of falling in love again. Beneath the layers of grit, standoffishness, and indifference, you are a man with a big heart. For me. For your kids. For those you love and seek to protect.

You say you aren’t a good man, and while that may be true to you, you are an amazing partner and you’ve already become an amazing parent. I’ve seen you grow, and I am so in love with you and so proud of you. I know you’ll be okay without me. It maybe take some time, but you’ll adjust to what’s best. I promise.

With all the love that could possibly be harbored in this world, you are everything to me and that is why I have to go. I wish you every happiness this planet can offer you, and I know that without me, you can begin to find joy again.

Love,

Your doll

You had believed to time this perfectly, for you know that Toji usually does not wake until one, so soon as you are finishing up packing, you are trudging down the stairs to the leasing office to inform them that you will be moving.

You push open the door to the first floor, the breeze hitting you gently, and you round the corner only to be blocked by the last person you wanted to run into during this time.

Your eyes widen as you look up, the burly figure you have grown oh so familiar with over the years heaving as though enraged, ivy eyes crowding over slim pupils as Toji glares down at you, an image of indescribable fury.

Your heart drops and your words die in your throat. “T-Toji?” you whisper, horrified of an outburst. You are rattled by fear, having been so unprepared to walk into this. You did not put it past him to chase you down. But you figured that you’d be at your parents by the time he woke. Then, you could have at least told them to tell him off at the door.

But no. Instead, here he is, six feet and then some of bulking mass as he takes quick, deep breaths that expand the entirety of his chest.

You shift. “What are you doing here-“

“What the fuck is this?”

Toji swiftly, yet aggressively, lifts the papers in his hands, now damaged by his travels and his grip, shaking it firmly with the question. You gulp, lowering your eyes.

“Toji, I told you not to come…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he swears firmly, and you jump, looking to see if anyone is around to hear you, as the two of you are standing outside your complex.

“We shouldn’t be- let’s just go inside,” you go to grab his arm, but he tears it away. He stares at you as though you have burned him, singed the heart in his chest from the inside out, and he is so unforgiving. So unforgiving before he hears directly from your mouth what this is about.

“I’m not doin’ shit until you tell me what the fuck this is, (Y/n),” he demands, his hand moving the papers about passionately with his speech, and you feel your heart hammering again. This is not how things were supposed to go. You are not supposed to be seeing him right now. “Cause I refuse- I fuckin’ refuse to believe that you’re breaking up with me.”

Your eyes gloss over as you look down at your feet, unsure of what to do or how to handle this confrontation. You can’t do this. You can’t, it’s too much. It’s too hard.

“…I am,” you mumble.

Toji steps forward, leaning down to get a peek of your face, his expression so angry that it worries you. “What?”

“I said… I am.”

“Uh uh, you better say that shit with your chest if you can write a whole damn letter about it,” he growls, fucking further as you continue to turn away. “Look at me,” he barks, and you cringe.

“Toji, don’t yell at me!” you shout back.

“What else do’ya want me to do, huh?” he throws his hands up. “How else do you expect me to react to this bullshit?! You’re leavin’ me? After everythin’ we been through, after everythin’ you and the kids’ve been through, you’re leavin? Are you fuckin’ serious?”

He takes a swift glance at the papers, the very sight sending him into a spiral, before he’s heatedly looking back down at you.

“I don’t buy this shit for one second. No. You’re not leavin’. Not in this world, or the next.”

“I am, Toji, the quicker you accept that, the easier it’ll be for everyone!”

“Easy?” he winces as though the prospect pains him. “You call this shit easy? You call up and tryin’ to abandon me easy? You call the kids waking up to your letter and reading it at the table before I saw it easy?”

Your face falls. “…what?”

“Yeah. You fuckin’ heard me,” he sneers. “Megumi and Tsumiki read this shit first. First thing in the morning, they see a letter about how the woman they love is leavin’ ‘em, just like their mom did, and for what?”

You close your eyes, his words stinging you as they cut through. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, ain’t it? Y’er leavin’ us, (Y/n), and you didn’t even have the decency to say why!”

Guilt crowds you, like a blanket of darkness consuming you from overhead, and as Toji stands before you completely torn apart by your letter, you see the fear in his eyes, the sadness, the unspoken plea for you not to go.

You try your best to keep your composure as you turn away again. “I told you, I can’t tell you.”

“Fuck that,” he lifts the letter and tosses it to the ground with a thud. You gasp, watching it slam to the concrete pavement.

“Toji!” you exclaim.

“You think you can just leave without me comin’ to hunt you down and see your face so I can figure out what the hell is goin’ on? You must not know me at all.”

“Why do you always have to be so aggressive about everything?!”

“Of all fuckin’ things, (Y/n), I think I got a right to be aggressive about this. You were gonna leave without sayin’ goodbye!” he tosses his arm out to the side with the exclamation, brows twisting and teeth bearing. “Is that what our relationship means t’ya? You think you can just toss us aside?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you beg, a lump forming in your throat as the two of you stand face to face, arguing without a car about who will see you.

“Then tell me,” he shouts. “Cause you’re not givin’ me shit to go off of!”

“I told you already, I can’t,” your lips quiver.

“Then our relationship is nothing to you.”

“No, Toji.”

“Clearly it ain’t, cause I’d think it’d be worth an explanation if you’re runnin’ away!” you frown and shake your head, turning to walk back into the complex when Toji cuts you off, moving in your way. “You don’t think I know you? You don’t think I see it all over your face that somethin’s got you scared, and y’re takin’ off because of it? You think I don’t know what that looks like, (Y/n)? I did that shit. I did it all the damn time before I met you, and hell, I tried to run then but you wouldn’t let me, so what the hell makes you think I’m gonna let you now?”

“This is different,” you say shortly, afraid to reveal the tremble of your voice to the man before you. You keep your gaze down as you try to go around him again, but to no avail. He steps in your path. “Stop!”

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he says gravely, keeping his eyes to yours though you try to avoid contact with them. “Not until you spit it out. I’ll be damned if I got another broken home cause y’re fuckin’ scared.”

“I said stop!” you try to find some bass in your voice, but against your will, it falters when you yell. Toji eyes you carefully, reaching his hand out to grip your shoulder and steady you into place.

You scoff, attempting to pull away, but it’s no use. The dark haired man is everywhere, keeping you from walking away.

“You talk to me like the grown ass woman you are,” he tells you sternly, stepping in. “You use that voice I know you have, and don’t you ever let me catch you writin’ a letter to me about how you wanna break up instead of comin’ to talk to me. Y’understand?”

You exhale shakily, lips pressing together and brows curling. “I can’t.”

“Y’re still not tellin’ me why you think that.”

“Because I can’t, Toji. I can’t tell you. It’ll- it’ll fuck up everything!” you break, and Toji feels the pit in his stomach shift as he looks over your aggrieved expression, depicting the same exact things he feels.

“(Y/n),” he calls your name firmly, the sound of it on his tongue only inspiring the urge to cry more. You continue to shake your head though Toji isn’t exactly speaking, and his green eyes wander you with frustrated concern. “Y’scared of what I’ll do if you tell me?”

You freeze, slowly peeling your eyes to look at his, his face tense with grief. You stare at him for a moment, mouth gaping like a fish as all of your insecurities that talked you toward this ledge run through your mind once more.

“Don’t look surprised,” he says. “I know you like the back of my hand, and I know that you knew I’d be over here to stop ya.”

Your frown deepens, and this time as you look at him, you see every second of your future that you were quick to stomp dow. You see the unbridled, unfiltered love he holds for you as well as the blood curdling fear of letting you go.

“You have to understand,” you whimper. “I know how you’ll react, I- I can’t do this to you. You have to let me go.”

“What the hell could be so horrifyin’ in that head of yours to make you think that I won’t stick with ya through hell and high water?” he grits out, searching your swollen hues of (e/c) hesitation. “You’d do the same for me.”

“I know, but-“

“There’s nothin’ else to say. I ain’t leavin’ until you spill, and when you do, y’re comin’ with me.”

You look at him, pained. It’s a trap, you think. If Toji only knew, he’d be running for the hills instead of trying to track you down.

“Out with it, now.”

You can’t. You can’t tell him. He’ll leave you, he’ll reject you, he’ll turn you away, he’ll never let you see the kids again.

“(Y/n)!”

“I’m pregnant!”

The earth seems to freeze and time seems to slow. You scrunch your eyes, anticipating the worst to come as Toji takes in your words, his tensed expression melting slowly.

You don’t open your eyes to see his reaction. You keep your head ducked and your fists closed as the white noise of nature flutters into relevance. You’re trembling, terrified, and Toji can not move but instead proceeds to stare at you, stunned.

His words about not wanting any more kids run through your mind again as you await his response, and the suspense kills you as you do. You can feel his grip on your shoulder slacken before tightening again, and you are terrified.

He’s going to leave you.

You are quick to step away when the sentiment arises once more, Toji’s hand falling from you arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, still unable to look at him. “I’m sorry, I know that you don’t want any more kids. I know, an I thought we were being careful, but- I took five tests. They’re all positive.”

“You’re pregnant?” he echoes, and you still. You knew it. You knew this would happen.

“I told you, Toji,” you exhale. “I told you that I couldn’t tell you, and now everything’s a mess.”

He twitches. “Hold on-“

“Don’t tell me all of a sudden you want kids,” you snap. “I know how strongly you feel about it.”

“So instead of talkin’ to me, you were gonna leave? Knocked up? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“What other choice do I have?!” you cry. “You don’t want more kids, and if I kept it, it would only be a nuisance to you. And Megumi and Tsumiki?”

He scrunches his face. “What about ‘em?”

“How do you think they’d feel if the woman you’re dating after their mother died surprised them with a new baby? They’d be crushed!” you say shakily as salty tears well in your eyes again. “I can’t overstep your boundaries. I just can’t. It’s easier for me to go.”

“And do what, (Y/n)? Raise a kid on your own without any help?”

“I can’t bare you leaving me!” you suddenly confess, tear striking past your cheek.

Toji examines you and frowns. “What are y’talkin’ about? You’re tryin’ to leave me!”

“So I can prevent the inevitable from happening,” you huff. “I’m okay with it. I’ve made peace with everything. That’s why you need to just let me go-“

“After everythin’, you think I’d throw you away because you’re pregnant with my kid?” Toji says incredulously. You falter, for you had been so sure of his reaction before. “You think that low of me?”

“No, but I want you to have what you want.”

“What I want is you, you fuckin’ idiot,” he hisses. “All I ever wanted was you, and I can’t fuckin’ believe you’re tryin’ to take that away from me.”

You furrow your brows, confused. “…You’re not mad?”

“Girl, I’m livid,” he scowls. “Not about the damn kid, but because you assumed what I would say before comin’ to me.”

“Toji, you have to understand that I was trying to look out for you.”

“There’s not lookin’ out for me or those kids or makin’ them happy if you’re gone, (Y/n),” he bites. “Who th’fuck put that idea in your head?”

You stammer, tears proceeding to flow down your face as you reel in the reality of the situation. “I… I just thought-“

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Before you can respond, his hand is gripping your wrist and he’s tugging you toward him into his chest. You shake when you fall into him, listening to the pace of his heart rapidly beating against your ear as he breaths quickly against you. Large palms smooth over your head and down to your waist as he holds you tightly, and you notice how desperate his grip is. He’s holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, as though you’ll fly away if his hold is not tight enough.

He tucks his head into your neck, fingers grasping into your shirt, and suddenly the animosity of the moment prior is gone. You’re still trembling, leading Toji to hold you tighter to him.

“Can’t believe you tried to leave,” he murmurs into your hair. “Christ, (Y/n) you’re tryin’ to gimme a heart attack. The fuck is goin’ on with you.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, looking off sadly. “I thought you’d be upset about it. I didn’t want you to know.”

“I should know about any and every single thing that’s goin’ on with you, y’hear me? This ain’t no exception.”

A weight flutters from your shoulders as you sink into Toji’s head, silent tears streaming for the life you almost sacrificed. “What are we gonna do?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “But we’ll figure it out. As a team. Alright?”

You nod meekly. “Okay.”

He groans, pressing himself impossibly further to you. “That letter… fuck, don’t do that shit. Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that. Without you, I ain’t shit- pregnant or not. And those kids would adore another sibling if you were bringing it into this world. Don’t say that shit about them again either. They need ya. We need ya.”

“I’m sorry,” you whine again, Toji’s hand stroking over your back soothingly.

“It’s okay,” he grumbles. “We’ll figure it out.”